That Was Intense And Sharp. And The Twist... Ahhh *chef's Kiss*

this ascended me to a higher plane of existence

jungkook’s ending pose ALSKASKAS I’M SCREAMING

Miracle in Room 901 || JJK

Summary: Christmas is never the same when you have to spend it alone.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of child-loss/miscarriage, character in coma, hospitals and machinery.

Note: I don’t do angst a whole lot, so I’m not sure this turned out the way I hope it did.

Masterlist

“Guess what I’ve got?”

You walk into the room with a large box in your hands. The weight of it makes your arms shake slightly, though your bright smile doesn’t leave your face. You set the box on the closest chair and open it. Colorful shiny decorations spill out over the top. You don’t bother cleaning up the ones that fell to the floor, rather, you dig through the box to find a specific item: the wreath your mother gifted to you a few years back. After you had moved out and gotten married, your mother has helped you create a collection of holiday decorations, most of them for Christmas.

“What do you think, in the window?”

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Piss Off Your Parents

Piss Off Your Parents Ship: BadBoy!Jungkook | RichGirl!Reader Description: Roommates!AU | BadBoy!AU | FakeDating!AU | In an effort to piss off your parents you move in with their worst nightmare- a boy with tattoos, a rock band, and an irresistible charm. Warnings: Dom!JK, Daddy Kink, D/S Themes, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Intercourse, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Creampie, Fingering, Oral, Multiple Orgasms, Squirting, Size Kink, Hair Pulling, Praise Kink, Lots of Pet Names, Angst, Fluff, Drug Use (it’s just weed) Word Count: 16,411 A/N: Based on the song 18 by Anarbor! This ends my hiatus! I’ve been writing this for literal months so I hope you guys like it. Happy Early 3rd Year Anniversary!

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—chapter ten: chasing pavements

this is a part of my an ode to a broken heart drabble series.

pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

genre: unrequited love, best friends to (?), heavy angst, smut

word count: 2k

summary: august slips away like a moment in time. slowly, day after another. a story of love that never meant to be. 

previous || next

a/n: sorry for the delay, my loves. i was going through some writer’s block lately and didn’t really have any energy to write but i’m over it now, so here’s a new chapter. prepare tissues :)

If you could use just two words to describe what is it like to be in love with Jeon Jungkook, you’d say it’s like chasing pavements. Fruitless activity, trying to achieve something destined to failure, a result of your blind hope, and perhaps foolishness.

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ANOTHER TIME | JJK

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst. Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Oral [m/f] Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance]

[Tags: Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark, Kook's a jerk and mean for the earlier chapters]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Note: This was originally a long one-shot but Tumblr's being difficult. So I've decided to break it down to phases. Part 2 to be posted soon.]

[Chapter Word Count: 8k+]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

Summer has always felt like a quiet promise to you. There’s something about the way the morning light slips through your curtains—soft and golden—that makes everything feel a little easier, even the things you keep inside. The heat never bothered you. It felt like warmth you could hold onto, like being hugged by the world when no one else could see you slipping.

Maybe that’s why summer became your favorite.

Or maybe it was him.

Because it was summer when you met Jeon Jeongguk.

You remember the sun that day—how it blazed unapologetically over the shoreline, how the heat curled around your ankles as you sat in the sand, watching yachts slice lazily through the water like moving sketches on a canvas of blue. The world felt slow, easy.

Until it didn’t.

A few feet away, he was there. Camera in hand, lens pointed right at you. Bold. Unapologetic. Not even pretending to look away when your eyes met his.

“What the hell? Are you seriously taking pictures of me right now?” you’d snapped, jumping to your feet, brushing sand off your shorts with all the anger a sixteen-year-old could manage. “Do you even get how creepy that is? You freaking pervert—”

“Wait—wait! No! It’s not like that!” he had stammered, hands raised like the camera was some weapon he never meant to pull. “It’s for a portfolio—college applications! I swear! I was just trying to catch the mix of people and nature, you just—uh—you fit into the scene—”

He’d fumbled with the camera strap, trying to explain between nervous laughs and rushed apologies.

And you? You were mortified. If the ocean had opened up right then, you would’ve let it pull you under without a fight.

But somehow — between his flustered panic and your still-burning anger — he said something about not even knowing if the picture turned out, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

That was the beginning.

That summer, Jeon Jeongguk became your best friend.

It was a summer night when everything smelled like pavement heat and distant jasmine, and all you wanted was to peel off your work clothes and melt into the couch. The kind of night where even your bones felt tired.

You hadn’t expected the light. Not the soft glow flickering from dozens of candles tucked across shelves and countertops, or the trail of flower petals curling like a secret through the apartment. It felt surreal—like walking into a dream set up by someone who had memorized all the quiet corners of your heart.

And then you saw him.

Jeongguk stood in the middle of the living room, his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders a little stiff, like he wasn’t sure how to breathe. He looked like a boy caught between fear and flight, only staying because he wanted this more than he feared the fall.

You blinked. Because for weeks—months—he’d been telling you about a girl.

The girl who made his chest tighten. The girl he wanted to impress without looking desperate. The girl he asked you about late into the night, as if your advice were gospel. And you, being his best friend, had answered every question with a brave smile and a cracking heart. You told him what flowers to bring, what not to say, how to read a moment without overstepping.

You played the part. You always did.

You had been there through all of it—those messy college years with coffee-stained notes and shared deadlines, the victory of your first job offers, the tiny celebrations and the quiet disappointments. You watched girls chase him and get turned away, every time.

And every time, he turned to you, his safe space.

“You’re just easier to talk to,” he’d say, kicking at the floor. “You get it.”

And maybe that’s when the lines began to blur.

You weren’t sure exactly when your chest started to tighten at the sound of his laughter. When his name, unspoken in your head, started to feel different. Maybe it was never a single moment. Maybe it was all of them, stitched together into something steady and impossible to ignore.

So that night, when you stepped into that room—into the flickering candlelight and the warmth he’d tried to contain—you thought, she’s coming. The girl he’s been talking about. He’s going to tell her everything.

You even turned to leave.

But then he said your name.

And three words that didn’t belong to anyone else. “I love you.”

At first, you stood frozen, trying to understand. Trying not to hope too hard.

Then he stepped closer, and from behind his back, he pulled a bouquet of tulips. Purple. Your favorite.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

And in that moment, the world quieted. Not in some big, movie-like way—but in that gentle, everyday pause when everything just feels right. Like letting out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You remember thinking, So this is what it feels like. To be chosen. To be seen without having to ask.

That summer, at twenty-one, with candlelight brushing his skin and tulips in your hands, your best friend had become something else entirely.

The love of your life.

The summer you had turned twenty-three, you expected nothing. Life was moving too fast to pause for birthdays.

Jeongguk had spent almost a year working toward a promotion to Creative Director, buried in late nights and never-ending deadlines. You had just quit your job— nervous but determined—to begin preparing for something bigger, taking over Seora company. Your mother had wanted to retire, and you, with your heart pounding, said yes to stepping into her place.

That year, you hadn’t made any big promises to each other. Just a quiet understanding. Takeout and sweatpants, maybe a quick kiss over leftovers, and the real celebration could wait until life calmed down.

So when Jeongguk texted you that afternoon, “Leaving work early. Be downstairs in ten,” you hadn’t expected much. You figured he’d forgotten a gift and was making up for it with a last-minute dinner somewhere quiet.

What you hadn’t expected was the way he grinned the second you opened the car door, eyes bright despite his exhaustion, hair slightly messy from the wind. Or the way he said, as soon as you settled in, “It’s going to be a long drive,” like he had a secret folded up in his chest.

You spent the first twenty minutes badgering him with questions, poking at his side at every red light, demanding clues. But he only laughed. Reached into the glove compartment. Pulled out your favorite snacks like weapons in an old, familiar war.

“Here,” he said, placing a candy bar in your hand. “Eat this and be quiet.”

It worked.

And somewhere between city roads and country silence, between the music humming low and the smell of tulips that hadn’t yet touched the air—you stopped trying to guess.

You didn’t expect the garden. Didn’t expect the burst of color in the middle of nowhere. The sunset lighting up each petal like it was meant to happen right then. You didn’t expect the table, softly set under hanging lights, or the quiet sound of your favorite song drifting through the air.

You hadn’t even known a place like this existed.

“Happy Birthday, my love.”

Jeongguk’s voice was gentle in your ear, his lips brushing your temple as his arm slipped lightly around your waist. Two years in, and somehow the sound of his soft nicknames still made you melt, still lit up something warm and tender in your chest. It was proof that the spark hadn’t faded. That time had only made it deeper, more real.

Dinner unfolded like something out of a dream, somewhere between romance and playful banter. You’d barely taken your first bite before launching into a full-on interrogation, bombarding your boyfriend with questions, how he found this place, when he had the time to pull it all off.

Jeongguk only laughed, stealing a bite of your food and shaking his head. “Just eat, baby. You ask too many questions.”

You smirked, leaning in as you wiped a bit of sauce from his lip with your thumb. “Look at you evolving. Feels like just yesterday you were panicking about how to flirt with a woman.”

His expression crumpled into mock outrage. “That was my first time! I was going to declare my undying love for you! Had to get it right for the perfect woman.”

That nervous boy, fumbling with his feelings and petal trails—it was hard to believe this confident man in front of you had ever stuttered through a sentence.

“You’re still so cheesy.”

“And you still love me,” The grin that followed, soft and certain.

“I do,” you whispered. “I love you, Gguk.”

By the time dinner was over, your stomach was full and your heart even more so. You leaned back in your chair, soaking in the breeze, the stars above, the warmth of his hand in yours.

Then came another surprise — a small birthday cake, carried over by one of the garden staff with quiet, careful steps. You raised a brow, laughing softly. “You already fed me dessert.”

“Can’t have a birthday without cake,” he said, already lighting the single candle. “Come on, make a wish, baby.”

You smiled, the flicker of the flame reflecting in his eyes. For a moment, everything slowed.

A safe home. A stable career. A loving partner. A healthy life.

What more could you ask for?

And yet, as your eyes fluttered shut, you wished anyway. Not for something new, but for this—this exact moment, this exact love—to last. And if change ever came, may it be the kind that blooms, never breaks.

You opened your eyes, ready to blow out the flame—

But what you saw wasn’t the candle anymore.

Jeongguk. Down on one knee. A ring shinning between his fingers. Eyes locked on yours, trembling, hopeful, sure.

“That day you called me out for being a stalker?” his voice wavered slightly, his smile laced with nostalgia. “That was actually the happiest day of my life.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“It was the day I met you. You were yelling at me, face all red. I honestly thought you were going to explode.” He let out a breathy laugh. “But there I was—sixteen, camera in hand—completely mesmerized by this girl who didn’t even know she looked like she’d stepped out of a painting. Your hair was flying with the wind, and your eyes… they looked like the galaxies. The sun hit just right, and you—” He paused, eyes softening. “You looked like the start of something.”

Your chest clenched, but in the best way. You tried not to smile too hard. Tried not to cry. Tried not to melt under the memory he was bringing to life.

“That day marked the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he added, his voice gentler now. “One I never thought would turn into this.”

Your fingers were damp with sweat; you quietly wiped them on the back of your dress, hoping to steady yourself.

Jeongguk’s words kept flowing, low and sincere.

“You stood by me when I had nothing figured out. When I failed, when I fell short, when I let things get to me—like that time I cried over failing an exam, or losing my camera bag like the world was ending—” he chuckled, and you did too, tears prickling now from laughter and longing all at once.

“You were just always there. You were my calm. My constant.” He looked at you with such deep care it almost ached. “And you cheered me on through everything. Even the small wins—like that two-hundred-dollar incentive I got from pitching that campaign.”

You laughed again, that memory coming back in crisp detail. Jeongguk had burst into your office, practically bouncing, holding up his bonus slip like it was a golden ticket. He hugged you so tight he nearly lifted you off the floor.

Those small wins… they had felt like the peak of the world back then. Not because of the money, but because you’d been in them together.

And just when you thought your heart couldn’t take more—

“You know me better than I know myself,” Jeongguk said, voice steady but eyes a little too bright. “When I can’t figure out which tie to wear, or what shoes go with my pants, you pick them out instantly. And just like that, everything feels easier. You always look after me. Even when you’re tired. Even before we got together, you were already putting me first.”

He reached for your hand then, softly, like he could sense the storm inside you. And oh, how it churned—your stomach tight, your breath uneven.

“I know you think I’ve done the same for you,” he continued. “That I’ve made you my priority too. And I have. Always have. Always will. But deep down…” he swallowed, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “I still feel like I could do more. As your husband. If you let me.”

You froze, your pulse loud in your ears. You told yourself to stay calm—but they gave you away, trembling against his warm hands.

“Today is for your wishes,” he said softly, drawing you closer. “But I have one of my own.”

And just like that, your world shifted.

“I want to be your husband. Your forever partner. To love you endlessly, for as long as time will allow. Will you marry me?”

Tears spilled before you could stop them. Your voice wouldn’t come, not at first. But your body answered for you—nodding quickly, sinking to your knees, wrapping your arms around him like you’d just found the safest place in the world.

He laughed—half breathless, half crying—and pulled back just enough to cup your face.

“W-wait, babe, I need to hear you say it,” he whispered, grinning so wide it almost hurt to look at. “You’re saying yes, right? This is real?”

“Yes,” you finally breathed. “Yes, Gguk. I’ll marry you. I love you. I love you so much.”

Jeongguk threw his head back with a yell of pure, unfiltered joy. It echoed into the tulip fields like a promise. “I can’t wait to call you my Mrs. Jeon,” he beamed. “Or—hell—I’ll take your name. As long as you’re mine forever.”

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t delicate. It was wild, eager, soaked in love. You tasted it in every press of his lips—every wave crashing into you like a vow unspoken.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured again, forehead to yours, as the tulips swayed around you like they, too, were celebrating.

The sun dipped a little lower, casting gold across his skin. You thought time might stop for you both, just for a while.

And somewhere in the soft drift of laughter and love, you found yourselves in another season, another golden evening—one where the air smelled like grilled food and summer fireworks, and Jeongguk’s hand was laced with yours under a different kind of sky.

The following summer, on the day you turned twenty-four, the world felt still in the best possible way.

You and Jeongguk had come a long way since that quiet birthday dinner in the tulip garden. What once felt like a distant dream—building a life together while chasing your own ambitions—was slowly becoming reality.

Jeongguk had earned the promotion he worked tirelessly for, settling into his new role with newfound ease. The stress that once creased his forehead had begun to fade. And you, with steady determination, took over at Seora, walking the path your mother had gently prepared for you.

Everything started to fall into place. The late nights, the risks, the struggles—they all suddenly felt worth it.

You moved out of the tiny apartment that once held all your early memories and into a house that reflected how far you’d come. It was larger than you needed, tucked away in a quiet compound, but it was yours. Every corner felt like a fresh page.

Jeongguk had picked your birthday for the wedding. “It’s poetic,” he once said, lightly running his finger along your palm. “I get to celebrate the day you were born and the day you chose to stay with me forever.”

And he truly meant it. That choice—so thoughtful and deliberate—wasn’t just romantic. It was the kind of gift you’d hold in your heart always, something only he could give you.

And so, that summer day became more than just a birthday celebration.

It became the beginning of something timeless.

The air smelled of sea salt and lavender as the ocean breeze drifted through the half-open window of the bridal suite.

Your dress shifted softly with each breeze. Light ivory silk with thin layers of tulle that floated like water. The bodice hugged you just right, with lace stitched in soft, wave-like patterns that reminded you of all those summers by the Busan shore. A short train gathered behind you like a memory waiting to happen. Your hair was pulled back in a loose, low twist, with a small pearl comb set gently above your ear.

You had been ready for over an hour. And still… you waited.

A gentle knock broke the quiet.

Hobi’s familiar face peeked into the room, his voice warm. “Ready, Mrs. Soon-To-Be Jeon?”

You tried to smile. Tried. “Hey.”

He stepped inside, practically shaking with unspoken feelings. “You look stunning,” he said, placing a hand to his chest. “Like, Jeongguk-is-gonna-lose-it stunning.”

You laughed, barely. Your fingers kept picking at the hem of your dress. “Hobi…”

“Yeah?”

“What if this… changes everything?”

The question hung in the room like fog. He paused, eyes gentle as he stepped toward you.

“What if we ruin it?” you whispered. “What we had. What we have. We've always been best friends first. What if marriage breaks that?”

He walked over and sat beside you at the edge of the dresser bench. Without hesitation, he took your hand — grounding, warm, familiar. His thumb traced slow circles against your skin.

“You’re scared love might erase the friendship."

You nodded. “Or twist it into something we can’t come back from. What if we lose what made us, us?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you with the kind of knowing only someone who had seen every chapter could offer. “You know what I see when I look at you and Jeongguk?” he said at last. “Two people who always find their way back. Every detour, every almost. You always chose each other, even before you knew you were choosing.”

A shaky laugh slipped out of you, soft and a little unsteady.

“And listen,” Hobi continued, gently but firm. “Love didn’t come to take the place of friendship. It grew from it. You really think that’s something that falls apart easily?”

You shook your head slowly.

“No,” he said. “It’s the strongest kind. You’re not losing anything today. You’re building something new — on top of everything that already made you strong.”

And in that moment, something eased in your chest. Just a little. Just enough.

You finally smiled. This time, it reached your eyes. “How’d I get lucky with you as my man of honor-slash-wedding planner-slash-therapist?”

He grinned, already misty-eyed. “No idea. But I’m billing you later.”

The sun dipped low not long after, golden light spilling over Gwangalli. Purple tulips arched overhead at the altar, swaying gently as the sea whispered behind them.

A hush settled over the small crowd as soft music started. You stepped into sight.

And Jeongguk — waiting at the end of the aisle — looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His lips parted, eyes wide and bright, hands shaking just enough to make yours start to tremble too.

You walked to him, everything else falling away. He let out a breathless laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

The officiant’s voice faded into the background — because your hearts had already started speaking.

When it was time for the vows, Jeongguk reached for your hands. His grip was warm, steady, even as tears swelled in his lashes.

“I don’t remember the exact moment I fell in love with you,” he began, voice thick. “Because it wasn’t just one moment. It was all of them. Every inside joke, every late-night walk, every time you looked at me and saw more than I thought I was. Every dumb argument about ramen flavors.” A soft wave of laughter rose from the guests. “You were my best friend before anything else. You still are. And I promise, no matter what love turns into, I’ll never stop choosing you.”

You could barely breathe. Still, you found the strength to speak.

“I never imagined we’d end up here,” you said, voice trembling, “but I’m so grateful we did. You’ve seen every part of me — even the ones I tried to hide — and loved me anyway. I promise to keep choosing you. Even when you leave your ridiculous toe socks all over the house.” More laughter. More tears. “I vow to be your rock, your hope, your home. I’m thankful for every moment we’ve shared and every one we’ve yet to live. I love you — always and forever.”

The officiant didn’t even get to finish. “You may now—”

Jeongguk was already moving, hands cradling your face as he kissed you. Soft. Sure. Fierce with every vow spoken and every one unspoken.

The applause, the waves, the music — all of it disappeared.

There was only you and him.

Still standing. Still choosing.

The night folds around you both like a velvet ribbon — warm, private, endless.

You hardly remember making it to the suite — just bits and pieces. His hand holding yours a little too tightly. The soft thump of your bodies pressing into the door as it closed behind you. The way Jeongguk looked at you like you were his whole world — eyes wide, a little out of breath, his smile unsteady with all the feelings he was struggling to hold in.

You’re laughing when he scoops you into his arms — a clumsy, chaotic lift that has you squealing.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he says, voice rough with awe as he carries you to the bed. The words spill out messy and honest — pure, aching truth. “Finally. All mine.”

He sets you down like you’re the most fragile thing in the world. You’re still laughing, fingers skimming the strong line of his jaw, then the chain of his necklace as it disappears into the hollow of his throat. His pupils are blown wide when he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. Then your mouth — slower this time, savoring.

It feels like the kiss from the ceremony never ended. Like it just melted into this one — deeper, heavier.

“You’re staring,” you tease softly when you pull back, trying to catch your breath.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “Can you blame me?”

His hands find your waist, thumbs tracing small, careful circles against the silky fabric of your dress. He’s trembling slightly, you realize — a tremor in him, delicate and charged, like he’s terrified of doing this wrong.

You brush his hair back from his forehead. “We can go slow,” you whisper. “We have all night.”

His answering smile is boyish, crooked, devastating. “No,” he says, tugging you closer until your noses brush again. “We have forever.”

When you finally pull him down onto the bed with you, there’s a flurry of limbs and laughter — the kind of ridiculous tangle that only happens when two best friends try to be lovers and forget, for a moment, how to breathe.

“Wait, wait,” Jeongguk’s laughing into the crook of your neck as he fumbles with his jacket, then your dress. “I’m doing this wrong. I had a plan. It was a very sexy plan.”

You giggle, breathless, reaching for the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. “We’re not doing plans tonight.”

“No plans,” he agrees, voice low and giddy, “just... you.”

He kisses you again, harder now, a little clumsy from how much he wants you. His hands map every inch of you they can reach — shoulders, arms, waist — like he’s memorizing you all over again. Like this time, the stakes are different. Higher.

When he finally peels your dress from your shoulders, he moves slow. Painfully slow. Like unwrapping a gift he’s dreamt about but never thought he could touch. His fingers ghost down your skin, his gaze drinking you in like he’s starving.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t mean for you to hear. His voice is thick, frayed at the edges. His hands shake when he cups your face again, grounding himself with your skin.

“You’re not wearing the socks, are you?” The tease slips out before you can stop it.

Jeongguk snorts against your shoulder, biting gently at your skin in retaliation. “Married five hours and you’re already picking on me.”

“I love your dumb socks,” you promise through a breathless laugh.

He hums, trailing kisses down the slope of your shoulder. “Yeah, well. Tonight, I’m wearing nothing but you.”

The teasing fades into something quieter when he lays you back against the pillows, his body covering yours, warm and solid. You feel every place he touches, every place he doesn’t, like they’re marked on your skin. His mouth moves slowly, in awe — kisses pressed to your chest, the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your hips. Wherever his lips go, his hands follow — stroking, coaxing, making you feel it all.

And God, you do. You feel everything.

You arch into him instinctively, a soft, helpless sound slipping from your lips. His breath stutters at the noise, and he lifts his head just enough to look at you — really look at you.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says. His voice is raw, scraped-down, stripped of anything but restraint. “I’ll stop. Anytime. Anything.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper back. You cup his face in both hands, thumb tracing the soft curve of his bottom lip. “I want you.”

A low sound — almost a whimper — slips from him then, and he nods, lowering himself until every inch of him is pressed against you. His hips shift against yours, experimental, a little awkward.

You both gasp.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, burying his face against your shoulder. “Okay. We’re... figuring this out.”

You laugh again, breathless and deliriously happy. You tilt your hips, guiding him, and he groans — grateful, needy.

The first time is clumsy, achingly sweet. There are moments you miss each other, teeth knocking, soft curses murmured between kisses. But there’s laughter too, and whispered encouragements, and the kind of heat that comes from knowing someone so deeply, so completely, that the vulnerability feels natural — like breathing. Like coming home.

“You’re doing so good, baby."

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking, “say it again.”

You smile against his skin, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “You’re doing so good, Gguk.”

He moves with you, guided by instinct and the quiet understanding you’ve built over years together. Every thrust, every kiss, every shaky moan feels like a new promise — I love you. I want you. I’m yours.

When you both finally fall apart, it’s not with fireworks or grand declarations. It’s quiet, almost sacred — his name on your lips, yours on his, whispered like prayers into each other’s mouths.

Jeongguk refuses to let you go. His arms band around you, tight and unyielding, even as your skin cools and the room settles into a sleepy hush.

“You’re my best friend,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your chin. “And now you’re my wife. How the fuck did I get so lucky?”

You smile, heart so full it aches. “Guess you’re stuck with me... forever.”

He grins against your skin, already half-asleep. “Good. I never wanted to be anywhere else.”

You reach for the blanket draped over the chair, wrapping it around yourself like a shield — or maybe a memory. A soft, bittersweet smile touches your lips as a gentle warmth fills you.

The laughter that muffled into pillows, the way he used to look at you like the world disappeared when you walked into a room. You think of those tangled nights in bed, when wanting each other turned into something deeper, where you'd both go again and again — not for pleasure, but to prove, in the only language you both spoke fluently back then, who loved the other more.

You close your eyes.

And for a moment, you're back there.

You remember the second you stepped through that door. How everything else had faded away.

The house had felt alive somehow, even in its quiet—sunlight spilled generously through the wide windows, the air tinged with fresh paint and the sea salt that clung to Busan’s breeze. It had been perfect. Everything you two dreamed of and bled yourselves dry to build.

You could see it all—lazy mornings tangled in white linen, coffee still warm in hand as the waves crashed just beyond the terrace. No urgent calls from both your jobs in Seoul. No blinking notifications. Just this. Him. The two of you, in your own little world.

You hadn't meant to cry, but of course you did. A single, stupid tear betraying you the moment the front door clicked shut behind you.

Jeongguk noticed before you could pretend. "My love," he’d murmured, pulling you close, thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek like it hurt him to see it. "We did it."

You nodded, burying your face against his shoulder, breathing in the comfort you always found there. "We really did."

He kissed your forehead like he was sealing it in—this moment, this house, this dream you’d both chased until your feet bled. For that second, there was no future to fear. Just him, his hand in yours, and a home filled with quiet hope.

But of course, Jeongguk couldn’t stay soft for long.

"You know we have to break it in," he’d murmured against your lips, eyes already dark with intent.

You’d laughed, pulling back slightly to raise an eyebrow. "Already? We’ve been here for five minutes."

He smirked, cocky and shameless. "Five minutes too long. Been thinking about fucking you in this house since the day we signed the deed."

Your fingertips tailed down his neck. “Don’t remember signing up for this version of you.”

“Maybe I’ve been holding back. Maybe you just bring out the braver side of me.”

You remember how you shoved him playfully in the chest, only for him to catch your wrists and spin you against the wall, pinning you there with his hips. You’d felt him, already hard, pressing between your thighs through your clothes, and it set something wild sparking in your veins.

Your breath hitched. That grin—the wicked one that meant trouble—lit up his whole face. "Obsessed," you murmured.

He didn’t even pretend to deny it. "With my wife? Always."

You slipped away, dancing into the kitchen with a smirk. Jeongguk followed like a man chasing salvation, jeans already undone, tattoos on display as he stalked toward you.

"You think you love me more than I love you?" you called over your shoulder, hopping onto the counter.

"Baby," he said darkly, eyes trailing over your body like a promise. "I know I do."

"Then prove it."

He’s between your thighs in an instant, hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow—and you want them. His mouth crashes onto yours again, messy and heated, stealing every ounce of air from your lungs. His hands work with urgency, tugging at your clothes, until your blouse and bra hit the floor and his tongue is tracing the swell of your breast like he’s worshipping you.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he groans, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum. “So mine.”

You tug at his shirt, yanking it over his head, nails raking down his tattooed arms. “Still waiting for the proof, Gguk,” you whisper against his jaw.

He growls again. Real. Feral. Sinks to his knees in front of you like you’re something holy. His hands slide under your skirt, shoving it up, baring you completely. The first sweep of his tongue over your core makes you gasp, your head tipping back, hand flying to his hair. He groans into you, like just the taste of you is enough to ruin him.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he rasps against your soaked skin.

You tighten your thighs around his head, breathless. “Make me.”

And he does.

His mouth is relentless, tongue and lips working you until you’re writhing on the countertop, whimpering his name like a prayer.

But you’re stubborn. You don’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you surrender. Not yet.

When you finally yank him up by his hair and drag his mouth back to yours, he tastes like you—filthy, desperate—and you wrap your legs around his waist, grinding against him through his jeans.

“You need me that bad, babe?”

“Need you always,” he pants, fumbling with his jeans, too wild to care about anything but being inside you. When he finally pushes into you, it’s fast, almost rough with need, and you both groan—loud and raw—as he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he hisses, forehead pressed to yours as he thrusts deep, slow, savoring every inch. “No one... no one loves you like I do.”

You moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip, nails digging into his back as you meet his thrusts, desperate to match him, desperate to win.

“We’ll see about that,” you whisper fiercely, clenching around him just to hear him whimper.

And he does—beautiful and broken—and it spurs you both on, the pace rough and messy, your moans filling the empty house like a chorus. By the time the sun dips lower, you’ve christened the kitchen counter, the living room sofa, the hallway wall. You’re both half-dressed, half-wild, bruised and kissed within an inch of your lives.

When he finally collapses onto the bed with you tangled in his arms, sweaty and wrecked, Jeongguk still doesn’t let go.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, voice wrecked from moaning your name too many times. “You’re it for me. Always.”

You press your lips to the center of his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart. “Then you better be ready to spend forever proving it.”

His laugh was ragged, but full. "I’ll spend my whole life proving it."

And you believed him. Of course you did.

Because in that house, in that life—you’d been sure you were winning. Together.

Somewhere beyond the walls of your home, Seoul moves on without you – light rain falling in the garden, leaves moving in the breeze, the faint sound of a gate opening somewhere in the compound. In the distance, you heard a neighbor’s dog bark, a car door close.

But in here, everything was still. Silent.

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the quiet ache you didn’t dare name. Either way, your mind slipped, without meaning to, back to another time.

A warmer time.

You could still feel it if you closed your eyes—the sunlight in Busan, the salt on your skin, the weight of Jeongguk’s body against yours, the way he had looked at you like there was no one else in the universe. The way he laughed when you challenged him. The way he kissed you when he thought you weren’t looking.

The memory came back easily. His hands on your waist, the two of you laughing, you playfully refusing to let him have his way even as he kissed every bit of you against the kitchen counter.

You smiled faintly, tracing the rim of your mug with your thumb.

It felt like another lifetime now. Like it had happened to different people.

The quiet pressed heavier on your chest, so you let yourself sink further, slipping into an old memory you hadn’t visited in a long time.

Somewhere in the middle of Seoul, in a small, cozy restaurant he loved because they made the kimchi just like his mother’s.

You had been picking at your bibimbap when Jeongguk put down his chopsticks, cleared his throat dramatically, and leaned across the table with that wide, mischievous grin that always meant trouble.

“Wife,” he said grandly, ignoring the side-eye from the ajumma at the next table.

You arched a brow, amused. “Yes, husband?”

He held out his hand like he was about to make a toast at some royal event. “I have a very important statement to make.”

You snorted, trying not to laugh. “Right now? In the middle of lunch?”

“Very serious. Life-altering.” His eyes were shining. Boyish. So in love it almost hurt to look at him.

With an an exaggerated sigh, you set down your spoon. “Fine. I’m listening.”

He straightened, cleared his throat again—overdoing it just to make you roll your eyes—and then said, with theatrical seriousness. "I do promise you, Mrs. Jeon, that no matter what love turns into, I’ll never stop choosing you.”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the raw sweetness of it.

He wasn’t laughing anymore. Was just looking at you, like he was falling for you all over again.

Your heart stuttered. Then, quick as a snap, you leaned across the table and flicked his forehead.

“Ow!” He jerked back, clutching his forehead dramatically. "This is why people write their vows once and never bring them out again!”

“You’re lucky you're cute."

He pouted, rubbing at his forehead like you’d truly injured him. “See if I ever get sappy with you again.”

Laughter bubbled up, warmth blooming in your chest, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Please. Nothing’s going to change with you until the kids are running around the house. Maybe even until they grow up. You’ll be that embarrassing dad crying at every school event.”

Discussing children felt natural. Familiar. Without even needing to plan, you both held an unspoken promise that when the time came, you’d face it together, ready to give all your love. Even mundane things—like folding laundry—turned into whispered conversations about baby names, arguments over whose genes would dominate.

Jeongguk groaned like you’d stabbed him. "God, you're right. I’m doomed. Gonna be that dad with the 'I love my kid' bumper stickers all over the car. Jeongguk Jr. or Little Ha-yun will have to live with it.”

"Bet you’re going to come up with matching shirts,"

He pointed his chopsticks at you. "If I ever show up in a 'World’s Best Dad' T-shirt, it's on you."

You laughed until your sides hurt, while he just stared at you, like you were the answer to a prayer he hadn’t known he was whispering.

The memory dissolved as the cold, damp present crept back in.

The rain soaks into the loose weave of your sweater, the tea now forgotten and stone-cold in your hands. The hedges bent low under the weight of water. The petals of the camellias you once planted together lay bruised against the earth.

Absently, you pulled your phone from your pocket, the screen lighting up in the muted gray light.

The wedding photo stared back at you. Frozen in time.

There you were, standing with Jeongguk at the altar, laughter bubbling from your lips, his hand linked firmly with yours. His eyes had been impossibly bright that day—full of promises that felt too big, too boundless to ever fade.

You traced the outline of his face on the screen with a trembling finger, wishing you could reach through the glass. Wishing you could fold yourself back into that moment. Hold onto that feeling just a little longer. Maybe if you had clung tighter, believed harder, things wouldn’t have slipped away.

Change is something no one can escape. You knew that well—everyone does.

Still, when it came, it hit hard at thirty, turning you and Jeongguk into strangers.

The rare mornings you find him in the kitchen, he walks past you on the way to the coffee maker. Casual vows exchanged easily over meals, had turned into clipped, tired arguments about who forgot to take out the trash. Whose turn it was to restock the empty egg tray.

You knew when everything changed. You wish you hadn’t.

You knew the exact moment Jeongguk stopped seeing you as the light in his life. When his love for you became a burden, he didn't know how to carry anymore.

You wished you could erase that night. Wished that when he chose you, it hadn't come with the weight of resentment that now lived between you.

Just because he had chosen you.

When the hospital room spun in blinding, sterile white. When the machines screamed warnings and the doctors begged for a decision—he chose you.

He chose you over Ha-yun.

And in some cruel twist of fate, you survived while your daughter didn’t.

You pressed your forehead against your knees, curling tighter on the rain-damp bench. The garden blurred into a smear of color and gray.

The life you had once imagined for the three of you—Jeongguk’s hand around a tiny fist, your laughter filling the house—died the same night she did. And no matter how much he smiled at you after, no matter how tightly he held you while you cried, a wall had already been built between you. Thick. Unscalable. Brick by agonizing brick.

You were no longer his home. You were his reminder of what’s been lost.

It didn’t begin with shouting. It began in the quiet — in the half-finished conversations, the way his hand hesitated before touching your back, the way you stopped asking, just to spare yourself the disappointment.

Then came the nights where he didn't come home at all.

Like that night.

You had only wanted for him to stand beside you. To support you. To be proud of you again. To be that husband who believed his wife would conquer anything if she puts her heart into it.

But even then, you were already losing him.

"Tomorrow’s the contract signing for the Tuan partnership. Hope you can be there. Eomma’s expecting you to," your voice was careful, like walking a thin line that could snap any second.

You wiped your makeup off mechanically at the dresser, your eyes catching his reflection.

His back was turned to you, the bathroom light glowing behind him as he tugged over his shirt.

The distance between you wasn't just physical. It hadn't been for a long time.

"It’s just a contract signing," His tone’s cold, almost bored.

The words stung more than they should have. More than you let on.

Jeongguk knew the weight of this partnership for you. It was more than another business move. It would be a stepping stone to expand your mother’s clothing line to Europe. Tuan Elegante had years of experience in the fashion world. Their reach was global, with a million-dollar-selling line in Italy and Paris. You and your mother had dreamed about this for as long as you could remember.

Yet here was your husband, treating the conversation, like it revolved around what to buy on the next grocery errand.

“It’s not just another event, Gguk.” You held the cotton pad a little too tight, blinking fast to hold back the sting. “I want you there.”

He didn’t turn around. Of course he didn’t.

"And do what exactly?" he muttered, pulling his towel off the hook. "Play the perfect husband? Show off a perfect marriage? Smile for the cameras so they have more to gossip about? Like they haven’t torn our lives apart enough already.”

Your throat burned, but you forced yourself to stay steady. "Could’ve just said no," you mumbled. "I would’ve understood. No need to be such a dick about it."

"I did say no. More than once." The towel hit the floor with a dull thud. "You just never fucking listen."

You whirled on him then, anger rising sharp and fast. “Maybe I was hoping. Hoping that you’d still care enough to show up. That you’d still want to stand by me.”

His laugh was bitter, mocking. "You really think standing next to you in a room full of strangers will fix this?"

"This isn't about fixing anything!" You cried, voice cracking. "This is about you showing up! Being there for once, instead of finding another excuse to stay away!"

Jeongguk’s face twisted, rage flashing for just a second before something else — something worse — flickered behind his eyes.

"You’re not even supposed to be working yet," he bit out. "Dr. Min told you to rest. Told you not to push yourself. But no, you’re back at it again, throwing yourself into work like it’ll patch up everything you lost."

"Don’t," you whispered, chest heaving. "Don’t you dare put that on me."

He shook his head, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. "You never knew when to stop. Even when it meant risking everything."

"Losing Ha-yun wasn’t on me," you said, barely above a whisper. "You had a choice that night. Be a father, or stay my husband. You chose."

Pain twisted across his face, raw and sharp. "If you had just—" he started, voice rising, but he broke off, breathing hard. " If you had just looked after yourself better—”

"Say it," you snapped, fists trembling at your sides. "Say it. Say you blame me."

He didn’t. Couldn’t. Didn’t deny it either.

The silence between you was loud enough to drown everything else out.

“If you regret it that much,” Your words trembled, "then maybe you should have let me go that night."

"Never said I regretted it.”

“Yet you can’t even look at me like you love me anymore."

That was what hurt the most. Not the anger. Not the fighting. The absence. The part of him that had once looked at you like you were the sun shined bright on a new hopeful morning.

Jeongguk stared at you for a long moment — then turned away.

“I’m going out,” he said. Cold. Detached. As if you were nothing more than a ghost. Grabbing his wallet and phone off the nightstand, not sparing you another glance, he leaves the room. Leaves you behind.

Sleep was impossible when tears drowned any chance for you to rest. The argument from earlier echoed in your mind, like a song stuck on loop. 1:00 AM. 2:00 AM. 3:00 AM. You stared at the clock, each tick mocking you. Your heart sank every passing hour.

Where was he? Why hadn’t he come back? The silence weighed heavily in the room, your anxiety only growing. Daylight crept through the curtains, a reminder that sleep was futile. You tossed and turned, anxiety gripping you about the big event today. Preparations demanded your focus.

Arguments with Jeongguk had piled up since you both lost Ha-yun. You'd lost track of how many. Yet, he always found his way back home. You lay side by side, even with the chill creating distance. But tonight was different.

You woke up to an empty side of the bed. Cold and untouched sheets lay there, unwrinkled – a reminder of the restless night you had endured. As you prepared to leave for work, Jeongguk returned from a long night. His presence felt heavy. The harsh words from the previous night loomed over you.

Fear gnawed at you. A reality you wanted to escape. You didn’t want this to become your new routine but you knew this was a change you had to bear with from now on.

Stepping back inside the house, your heart sinks at the sight of another untouched dinner on the table. Candles burned low, wine glasses untouched, the dinner you spent hours preparing now rests cold and forgotten under the soft glow of the kitchen lights.

Still, a tiny, stubborn part of you dares to hope.

You glance at your phone. 11:40 PM. There’s still time.

Maybe — just maybe — Jeongguk would walk through the door, the way he used to.

Maybe he’d see everything you put together, maybe he’d smile, call you ‘baby’ in that soft, lazy way, maybe he'd pull you into his arms like no time had passed at all.

Maybe you’d sit together and talk about meaningless things — which coffee you picked up that morning, the weather, the fact that you were both overdue for another Marvel marathon even though you could quote every line.

Maybe, for just a little while, you could pretend the distance hadn’t swallowed you whole.

You set your phone down, pressing your hands against the table to steady yourself.

But hope is cruel when it has nowhere left to go. It eats at you — a sick reminder of everything you've lost. Because if your marriage were still alive, you wouldn't need to hope so hard. You wouldn’t be left pleading to the universe for scraps of what once came so easily.

Years have passed since you and Jeongguk celebrated your wedding anniversary, and your birthday. You can’t recall the last time you celebrated his birthday either. Life has often pulled you both in different directions, especially back when your careers were just starting to build up.

But somehow, even through the chaos, you'd find your way back to each other. Maybe after dancing barefoot in the kitchen, maybe falling asleep mid-conversation, but you’d end the day in each other’s arms

That terrible night was a constant reminder that forgetting these moments was part of the change you didn’t want to face.

The first anniversary after it all fell apart, you got a text. 'Happy Anniversary. Happy Birthday.' No ‘love you.’ No pet names. Not even a damn emoji to soften the blow. Just a clinical message from the man who once promised you forever.

Chuseok later in the year came with another lifeless apology. ‘Sorry, can’t make it.’ No explanation, no efforts to make it right. You faced both your families alone that night, forcing smiles, while you quietly fell apart. Scrambled up with excuses to keep them in the dark. To preserve the illusion that their children were still wrapped in that perfect little bubble of an unbreakable love.

Christmas was worse. No calls. No messages. Just a note on the fridge in his rushed handwriting, ‘Will be back late. Don’t wait up.’

And when New Year's came, a foolish hope lit up inside you once more.

Breakfast together — the first in months — and when you asked him to have dinner at Namsan Tower, he said yes.

You clung to that ‘yes’ like a lifeline. You believed.

But belief is brutal when it betrays you.

Because you sat there, alone at a table for two, staring at the unopened bottle of wine and the empty seat across from you.

The fireworks exploded outside the window, showering Seoul in glittering light. The restaurant staff cheered, kissed, laughed.

And you… you cried into your hands, wishing the year could just swallow you whole.

Now, the clock ticks mercilessly toward midnight.

12:00 AM. Another year gone. Another anniversary forgotten. Another birthday abandoned. You pull out a chair and sink down, the untouched meal staring back at you like a cruel joke.

Cruel, how the day you chose him as much as life chose you, has become a reminder of how much you can hold in your heart — and how easily it can break.

“Happy anniversary. Happy birthday to me.”

The poster is giving me Star Wars and Avengers vibe. Is it going to be a Sci-fi movie or what? Can't wait for the MV 🤩🤩

CHERRY ᴼᴺᴱ

In which she returns after seven years with a gun and hatred in her heart, while he's ready to cross every line to make her remember why she once called him 'love'.

au/genre : mafia heir!Jungkook x mafia heir!oc, mafia rivals, childhood lovers, mafia au

warning : explicit violence, lots of blood, angst, manipulation, possessive behavior, toxic mafia parents, trauma, lies, depression, psychopathy, slaughter and blood, murder, eventual smut, mafia.

rating : mature

This work is purely fiction and has no relation to real life people mentioned. Please take it in the fiction sense and enjoy the Rollercoaster.

© All the rights of this work belong to arxims. This cannot be modified, republished or translated without my permission or acknowledgement

word count : 2.4 k

masterlist

❝ They say the most ruthless monsters were once human, and the deepest sorrows were once happiness. ❞

"Don't let them take me away, Jungkook..." Her hands slipped from his as they pulled her away, tearing them apart.

"Please, Jungkook!"

Jungkook woke with a gasp, choking for air as realization flooded his mind. It was a nightmare. The same nightmare, for the nth time. He blinked twice, his eyes adjusting to his room. Sweat coated his body, creating a sheen layer on his uncovered chest.

The nightstand clock read 3:47. The room was dark and lifeless, bleak like his existence. Pushing away the tangled blankets from his legs, he stumbled to the bathroom. Tonight's sleep was gone. No matter how much he tried to drift off again, it wouldn't come. Only he knew how much whiskey he had to down to fall asleep. It had become a chore now.

Morning rays illuminated the grey curtains as hours flew by. A soft knock rose from the door, followed by Sooah's voice. "Jungkook? Are you up?" It was around 7:30, the usual time to wake up. This had been their cycle ever since she came to the mansion as Hyungwoo's wife, as Jungkook's sister-in-law. She knew he was awake, that he never slept properly.

"Come in," his voice came out hoarse, as if he'd been screaming for hours. Maybe he had been in his sleep, and she'd probably heard him in the middle of the night. But he never bothered locking the door. Locking the door felt too suffocating, and even the four walls of his room never felt like home.

The door opened slowly as Sooah stepped in. Her deep black hair was swept into a messy bun, and she wore simple pajamas. Jungkook hadn't bothered to put on a shirt. She'd seen him in worse states.

"Good morning," she chimed, trying to lighten the mood as she entered. He didn't reply, remaining seated on the edge of the bed. She padded across the room, collecting the discarded shirt he'd thrown mindlessly the night before. Her eyes softened at the exhaustion written on his face. But she knew better than to ask. In fact, she knew almost nothing about the reason behind his pain—just bits and pieces. Nobody told her. The whole Jeon family believed that her name was better left buried and unwhispered, except for Jungkook.

"Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Don't skip it, okay?" She patted his head carefully. She knew how vulnerable he was during these hours, and in some parallel universe, maybe he would've been her son. She treated him like one—better than his own mother did.

Hyungwoo was already in his full black suit when Sooah reached the dining table. Given her nature, she was a curious one, restless until she knew things. But she'd kept that in check for four years of her life in the Jeon Mansion. Jungkook's nightmares were getting worse day by day, and she could only watch rather than help. She knew nothing about the main character of Jungkook's past that was buried seven years ago, except for one name: Cherry.

"It's getting worse," she said as she took a chair beside him, pouring coffee for herself as Hyungwoo sipped his. "I know, jagi," his words might have felt cold to others, but only Sooah could see the worry in his eyes for his little brother.

Hyungwoo was the only person who genuinely cared for Jungkook in this household. She sometimes imagined what it must have been like for Jungkook to grow up as the youngest heir here—with a father who only cared about his mafia empire, a mother who valued his father's power, reputation, and riches over her sons, and a brother who had made it his mission to please his father, even if it meant slaughtering both his brothers. Yes, Sungmin, the second heir, would do it if it meant pleasing Mr. Jeon.

But beyond all that, someone might have been the salvation Jungkook needed. An escape from all the expectations on his shoulders, from the name Jeon. And she knew that salvation wasn't her husband, but the girl behind that name. Cherry. The one he lost.

"Is Cherry still alive?" Sooah asked impulsively, immediately realizing the weight of the question and regretting letting it slip.

"We agreed not to talk about it," Hyungwoo's eyes were now on her.

"I know, but... I want to know. It's been four years, and I've kept my silence. Don't you think it's time for me to know? I'm also part of the Jeon family now. Don't you think so?" Her left hand found its way into his free hand, tangling her fingers with his, her eyes silently pleading.

"Tell me. Maybe I can help Jungkook. You know he's more open with me than any of you." It was the truth that Sooah knew. She was the only one who had attempted to crack the concrete wall Jungkook built around himself. Over these four years, even Hyungwoo had noticed Jungkook being more at ease around Sooah. Less miserable.

A sigh fell from his lips, a sign of defeat. Part defeat, part... sadness.

"She's gone."

Suddenly, the vast hall felt too small for Sooah. Too eerily silent as the weight of those heavy words sank in. Gone.

But Hyungwoo seemed to think she deserved to know more. "Her name was Minsun. Youngest daughter of Kim Ilsung." The name sent a shiver down Sooah's spine. The emperor of the Kim mafia family. Jeon's born rivals. So Cherry... Minsun was a Kim mafia heir.

"I thought he only had two heirs," she said as things slowly started to become clear.

"There were three, until... It was a car accident, according to our sources. Her car exploded on impact, with her in it." Hyungwoo's voice carried genuine empathy—perhaps for Minsun, or perhaps for his own little brother.

"She was his everything."

Sooah knew better than to press further as she watched Hyungwoo's fingers trace the rim of his coffee mug. The whole room suddenly felt suffocating.

Movement at the doorway of the dining hall made both of them turn their heads, breaking the maddening silence. Jungkook cleared his throat as he took a seat far from them. He poured himself a mug of coffee, clad in his impeccable suit. But the dark circles single-handedly shattered the composed façade he was trying to maintain. Sooah showed no reaction to the truth she'd learned minutes ago and went to the kitchen, leaving both brothers in the silence of the dining hall.

"We found him," Hyungwoo broke the silence, prompting Jungkook to raise his head. An eyebrow arched on his face, indicating him to continue. Their men had been investigating the Kims' hotel business outside Seoul and in foreign countries, which led to a suspect possibly trading information to the Kims—information that included strategies of the Jeon empire itself.

"Our suspicions were true. He is working for Ilsung. Marco, a member of the group looking after their business in Venice." Venice, the place where Minsun had allegedly died. He hated the sound of it and the bitter taste it spread on his tongue. But he was more suspicious of the connection between Venice and the Belluccis, Ilsung's Italian allies for a decade now. This had strengthened his belief that Ilsung and the Belluccis had hidden Minsun somewhere, despite all his failed attempts at finding her.

Sooah had returned from the kitchen with breakfast, serving both of them a plate of pancakes before leaving to the kitchen again. Hyungwoo noticed the way Jungkook was looking into a far-away void, gripping the fork until it nearly bent. "He's in our custody now. I want you to interrogate him." Jungkook's attention snapped back to his brother. Hyungwoo knew exactly what kind of information Jungkook wanted from Marco. With a swift motion, Jungkook stood up, leaving the dining area. The chair almost toppled in his haste. But Hyungwoo knew holding him back would only create chaos.

"Where did he go?" Sooah stopped beside the empty chair, syrup bottle in hand.

"Marco..tch tch tch tch." Sungmin's voice echoed through the basement as he circled the bound man, studying the bloodied cloth stuffed in his captive's mouth. "Why endure such pain when death comes so easily?" He lifted a crooked blade from the metal table, turning it to catch the dim light. Behind him, two Jeon men stood silently, though their assistance would prove unnecessary.

"Anyway, you'll die," Sungmin continued, his English colored by a slight Korean accent. "Why not make it quick?" Marco trembled, muffled sobs escaping around the gag. "Imagine the agony—" Sungmin raised the blade to eye level "—when I twist this like a key in its lock." Before the last word left his lips, he drove the blade into Marco's thigh.

Blood bloomed across fabric as Sungmin rotated the blade with surgical precision. Marco's screams overwhelmed the wet sounds of tearing flesh and dripping crimson.

The basement door crashed open. Jungkook materialized from the shadows, his tall frame illuminated by the harsh overhead lights. Though his expression remained controlled, barely contained rage blazed in his eyes.

"Well, if it isn't our resident brooder," Sungmin called out, mockery lacing his cheerful tone. These past seven years had nourished his ego, believing himself to be their father's greatest hope. Before Minsun's death, Jungkook had commanded that spotlight—the heir their father expected to rule with ruthless efficiency. Now he spent his days drowning in whiskey and despair.

Sungmin understood the monster Minsun's death had forged. He relished using Jungkook as his unwitting weapon in his climb to power. Each slaughter Jungkook committed cleared Sungmin's path further—what served as Sungmin's calculated game became Jungkook's escape.

Yet Sungmin couldn't mask his contempt for what his brother had become. All this weakness, this pathetic descent—for a girl. A girl from enemy territory.

Jungkook moved past Sungmin's barbs without acknowledgment. His focus locked onto Marco's bloodied form. In two fluid strides, he stood before the chair. His tattooed fingers wrapped around Marco's bruised throat as his other hand ripped away the gag. Marco sputtered, gasping for air.

"You can't just interrupt my interrogation." Sungmin yanked Jungkook's hand from Marco's neck. Hyungwoo materialized at the periphery of the scene.

"Sungmin, stand down," Hyungwoo's measured voice cut through the tension.

A bitter laugh escaped Sungmin's lips. "How convenient. We're interrogating him about the Kim-Bellucci alliance, not about your precious dead girl.”

Jungkook's breath came in sharp bursts, his fists clenching at his sides. "You know that's a sensitive topic," Hyungwoo warned, but Jungkook's gaze had already dropped to the floor, his knuckles white with restraint.

"Sensitive?" Sungmin scoffed. "If he wanted information, he would've gotten it himself instead of wallowing in misery."

"Enough, Sungmin!" Hyungwoo's voice carried an edge of steel.

"Too bad you were spending your precious time mourning a whore—"

The word hadn't fully left Sungmin's mouth before Jungkook's fist connected with his jaw. Blood sprayed across pristine suit fabric. Hyungwoo lunged for Jungkook as the two guards seized Sungmin. Despite their grip, Sungmin thrashed like a caged animal. "How dare you?"

He wrenched free, straightening his jacket before stalking toward Jungkook, still restrained by Hyungwoo. Sungmin jabbed a finger into his brother's chest. "Don't you dare tarnish the Jeon name again. I'll kill you myself—and your blood on my hands would be a blessing."

"Let's see who falls first," Jungkook's voice came low and deadly. He tore away from Hyungwoo's grasp and stormed out. The shattering of ceramic punctuated his exit.

Cigarette smoke curled into the night air as Jungkook exhaled, watching blood trickle from his split knuckles. A half-empty whiskey bottle sat accusingly at his feet. Behind him, a spider web of cracks decorated the dark marble wall—evidence that punching it had done little to contain his fury.

The hair on his neck rose with a familiar sensation. "Oh... you're here," he murmured without turning from the moon-bathed sky, his grip tightening on the balcony railing.

Two soft footsteps, and she was beside him. She leaned against the railing, facing him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. "Cherry..." She had grown older, taller, more refined. Curves graced her figure, her features more elegant than girlish. Black hair kissed her shoulders, and only her bangs—sweeping across her forehead—held echoes of her younger self.

He had spent countless hours imagining how Minsun would look after seven years. How different everything might be if he had just... held on tighter. The thoughts consumed him until they became his reality. His salvation, conjured by his fractured mind.

Her delicate fingers found his cheek. "Why all this rage?" Her voice carried the sweetness he craved, soft as though he were made of glass. In her presence, his carefully constructed walls crumbled.

With her, he wasn't a Jeon heir. He was simply himself—the man who belonged to her. His façade of strength dissolved, a tear escaping before he could stop it. She never judged his weakness. Even this illusion showed him more kindness than any living soul.

Finally, he met her gaze—those deep brown eyes exactly as memory painted them. Her face had matured into something more beautiful than recollection could capture. No longer a teenage girl, but a woman. The woman he'd spent years reconstructing in his mind.

"You're early today," he attempted a chuckle, but it emerged as a sob. "You don't usually appear until the bottle's empty."

"You're drinking again," she tilted her head, studying him with gentle reproach.

"What else am I supposed to do when I'm losing my fucking sanity?" His voice cracked on the last word, eyes searching her face desperately.

She moved closer until her hand covered his on the railing, that familiar warmth seeping into his veins. "You look lost, love." He closed his eyes as she did, allowing her presence to wash over him like a healing balm.

"Lost doesn't define it. I'm losing my mind."

When his eyes opened, her face hovered inches from his own. "Do you think this is living, Jungkook?" The question pierced straight through his chest.

"I let you down in every possible way," he confessed, the words raw and bleeding. "I've wasted seven years drowning in self-pity. I don't know what to do anymore."

"The Jungkook I knew doesn't give up so easily."

"The Jungkook you knew died the day he lost you."

Her response came swift and sharp: "But you don't have to stay dead anymore." The words carried a weight he couldn't quite grasp, a meaning that danced just beyond his understanding.

"What do you mean?" He turned his head, but she had vanished—leaving only the bitter companionship of whiskey and cigarette smoke under the moonlit sky.

a/n : I know nothing much happened in this chapter. Sorry if it fell out flat. Just the world building. 😭

taglist : @haru-jiminn

I have another request if that’s okay 👉🏻👈🏻 Literally anything with super soft JK x Reader? Maybe laying in bed together watching a movie while wrapped in soft blankets, cuddling and being super soft, maybe a kiss or two. Maybe some cute banter too ❤️

You can send requests any time any day darling 😘 I love it! Soft Jungkook coming up 💟 you said banter and all my mind said was "yeah but like drunk" .....so this happened I'm sorry

Wipe Out

husband!jungkook x reader

warnings: alcohol consumption

Wc: ~800

"Are we both aware of the rules?"

You nod, a shot of tequila at the ready and determination in your eyes.

Jungkook wants so bad to giggle because you're so goddamn cute like this. But he manages to hold back for the sake of the game.

"Every time they curse we...."

"Drink," you answer firmly.

"And every time they wipe out we..."

"Kiss." Now it's your turn to giggle. "I hope they wipe out a lot."

Wipe Out happens to be your favorite show. Jungkook discovered this not long after you started dating and while you went through seasons where you were obsessed with other shows, you always came back to Wipe Out. There's just nothing better than watching people fall like idiots on national television for money.

The episode starts and two sentences in you and Jungkook are knocking back your first shots. A few moments later and the same bozo who was just talking smack ends up falling smack on his face.

"Wipe Out!" you shout before turning to your husband and planting a smooth kiss on his mouth.

He smiles, sneaking in one last peck before you can pull away.

As soon as you do, you hear another curse from the TV and another shot of tequila burns it's way down your throat. It's a game you two have played before, usually weekends, usually after sex when you wanna unwind but it's too early to go to sleep.

The cycle repeats for another four or so episodes. Your sunk into the floor at this point, unable to hold your liquor after two episodes let alone twice that many. Jungkook rests his arm around you, cheeks heating up and head begining to spin. If he's feeling it then he knows you're completely wasted.

"wIpE OUt!" you mumble cry before collapsing into your husband's lap. "I'm tired."

"I know, sweetheart. How about we call it a night and go to bed?"

Violently, you shake your head. "I wanna cuddle!"

"We can cuddle in bed," Jungkook yawns, scooping you into his arms bridal style and making his way to the bedroom. You lay your head on his chest, whining against his shirt with shut eyes already half unconscious. Your legs swing as he walks, a single sock half hanging on for dear life.

Your husband sits you down and immediately you try to fall over.

"Nope, stay," he instructs. "Arms up."

"My arms are tired," you complain.

"If you lift your arms, I'll give you a kiss."

You tap your chin, brow furrowed and mind completely blank. "After much considering, I accept your terms." Just like that, your arms fly above your head and allow him to strip your shirt. Reaching behind you, he unclips your bra and throws it away as well.

"My kiss! Don't forget my kiss!"

He falls forward, supporting his weight on the mattress on either side of you. It's a kiss on your lips but you're having difficulty kissing back due to smiling too much, so it's more like kissing pressed lips and skin. Jungkook doesn't mind so much. He loves kissing you like this, teeth and giggles and all. It's something only he gets to do, as your husband, so he feels proud getting to care for you in that way.

Plus your giggles are perhaps his favorite thing in the entire world. So getting to kiss you during one of them is always a dream.

"Do you want red or blue, baby?"

You're swaying constantly, a content smile on your face now that your boobs are free and your body is cooling down. "Blue, pleeease."

As you wish, Jungkook finds your blue sleep shirt and slips it over your head, helping your arms through the correct holes after you try to stick your head through the wrong one instead...three times.

"Lay down for me."

You fall onto your back, happily stretching your limbs as far as they can go with a high pitched mumble and a sigh. Jungkook goes to unbutton your jean shorts but you quickly fold in on yourself with a shriek, trapping him where he's leaning over you.

"Don't tickle me right now! I'm not ready, sneaky."

"Baby, you need to take your pants off," he chuckles, hands caught in your grasp as you roll and tumble around on the mattress. Somehow he manages to get your pants upzipped during the whole escapade but now he's fallen into the bed with you.

Readjusting himself above you, he pins down your legs with his own and slips his fingers beneath your waistline.

"Come on, lift your hips ___."

"Why?" you whisper, suddenly gasping at his suggestion. "Are you gonna take your pants off too? My husband is so sexy! But usually he likes to be on the bottom. We should probably switch."

Your comment has him blushing. Even after all this time, he still finds you absolutely adorable and your drunk comments still make him light up inside. "Well, thanks but not right now, only you baby. You don't like to sleep with pants on, remember?"

"Oh yeah," you giggle. "I forgot."

Once your shorts are successfully in the dirty clothes bin and Jungkook is changed as well, he pulls back the blankets and climbs inside with you. It doesn't take long before your cuddled close, arms laying limp over his waist and face tucked into his neck. He gently strokes your hair, lips pressed to your forehead, pulling you closer with his legs.

You sigh, completely and utterly happy.

"Jungkook?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we watch a movie?"

He tilts his chin so he can see you peering up at him. "A movie? Now?"

You nod, pushing your bottom lip out in a pout.

Jungkook chuckles to himself because what kind of man is as whipped for their wife like he is for you? He swears, you have way too much power over his heart, specifically when you're like this. Sure your breath stinks and you're literally a thousand degrees pressed against his body, but damn, if you're not a hundred percent absolutely flawless in his eyes.

He reaches across your body and grabs the remote to click on the tv in your bedroom. He's not sure what movie is playing on cable right now but it doesn't matter. You'll be asleep in a matter of minutes.

It plays in the background, the sound of some Christmas Hallmark ooey-gooey romance cliche trope.

"She's pretty," you comment in passing.

Jungkook shrugs. "She's alright."

"You don't think she's pretty?"

"Not as pretty as you."

You frown and snuggle back into his arms. "You're my husband. You're supposed to say that."

"Are you sleepy yet, baby?"

"He's handsome," Jungkook casually points out, waiting for your line to tell him he's more handsome.

"Yeah, he's really cute."

"Babe!"

You giggle and cuddle just a bit closer. "What?"

"You're supposed to say I'm more handsome," your husband whines, reaching down the nuzzle your neck with his nose, successfully tickling any leftover energy right out of you.

"Okay okay!" you squeal. "I give in! You're so much more handsome than him. I think you're the most handsome man on Earth."

Your praise appeases him for now. Jungkook happily tucks you back into his chest, a flat smile on his face. "Thank you."

Your little drunk ass won't remember any of this and that's perhaps his favorite part. The fact that he has so many memories from when you're drunk and snuggled in his arms just spouting off random stuff and in the morning you're completely clueless. Somehow, Jungkook likes that he has these special moments for himself. They're that much more special because of it.

"No," you answer through a long yawn, eyes slowly closing.

Jungkook chuckles, brushing a hand through your hair as he feels you slip into a deep sleep, his heart and arms full of the most lovely, important person of his entire life. With the movie still playing in the background, he feels himself lulled into a gentle dream as well.

"Yeah, me neither."

..

evolution of a lover’s heart | 06

the rules are simple: first one to take the virginity wins.

pairing: fuckboy!jk x f reader

genre: fluff, angst, smut, college au, fuckboy au, bet au

word count: 24.5k

warnings: male masturbation, a lot of flashbacks that include: oral (f receiveing), fingering, penetrative sex. also contains non-descriptive domestic abuse.

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 6/7

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© evolution of a lover’s heart is copyright jeonstudios 2021/2022. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

author’s note: yes you read that right, this is part 6 out of 7, and im still in my circus tent. hope you like <3 and im very interested in what yall think of jk after this lol

It surprises you, how Jeongguk’s hurried steps already carry him towards his car. And although you’ll never keep him from leaving, you can’t just watch him go. Not like that.

”Hey, I’m gonna have to call you back, sorry,” you interrupt the voice in your ear, confused feet already moving forward.

She doesn’t seem to really understand, or she just didn’t hear you, so you excuse yourself, ”Yeah, yeah, listen, I’ll call you tomorrow,” and you do something you’ve never done before. You hang up while someone’s still talking.

”Gguk, wait!” You call, but he doesn’t stop. He’s almost reached the black vehicle, and you don’t run after him, knowing that if he wants to leave, you won’t be able to stop him anyway. In that case, you’ll just have to knock on the door to his apartment in the coming days.

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