Jungkook - JJK

“You look lonely, I can fix that.”

That was how it started. A simple, unsettling comment under a video you posted months ago. You were isolated, naive, and looking for a distraction—so you let him in.

You thought he was someone your age. But when he pulled up on that heavy black motorcycle, tossing you a spare helmet without a word, you realized he was older. Tattooed sleeve down his right arm, a silver ring piercing his lower lip, and dark, dead eyes that looked right through you.

He never gave you a title. He never called you his girlfriend. He only called you when he was bored, when the night got too quiet, or when he wanted to remind himself that you belonged to him. It wasn't love—it was ownership.

It was 3:15 AM. You hadn't heard from him in four days. No answers to your texts, no explanation.

Click.

The lock on your front door turned softly. You froze in bed as the door creaked open, illuminating the dark figure standing in the doorway.

Jungkook closed the door behind him, locking it back up with a mechanical slowness. Rain dripped from his black leather jacket onto your floorboards. He didn't ask if you were asleep. He didn't ask how you were. He didn't care.

Tossing his bike keys onto your table with a loud clink, he walked over to the side of your bed, staring down at you through his wet dark hair. His face was entirely devoid of emotion—cold, detached, and dangerously calm.

—"Lights off," he murmured, his deep voice slicing through the silence of the room as he unzipped his jacket. —"You're awake. Don't pretend you're not."

It was 2:30 PM on a Tuesday. The supermarket was bright, noisy with shoppers, and completely mundane. You thought you were safe here—that the daylight and the crowd of strangers gave you a buffer from him.

You were standing in the beverage aisle, reaching for a drink, when a familiar shadow fell over you.

Before you could turn around, a heavy, tattooed arm reached right past your head, grabbing a bottle from the shelf above you. The scent of cold rain, leather, and tobacco instantly hit you.

—"Buying that again?"

Jungkook’s low, raspy voice sounded dangerously close to your ear. He was wearing a dark jacket, messy dark hair falling over his forehead, his dark eyes looking down at you with that same cold, unbothered expression.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You hadn't texted him back since yesterday.

He didn't care that people were walking past. He leaned in slightly, his thumb lightly brushing the back of your neck under your hair—a slow, possessive gesture that made you freeze in place.

—"You didn't answer my call this morning," he murmured, his tone completely flat and calm, devoid of any anger or affection. He took the item from your hands, dropping it into his own jacket pocket, before catching your wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

—"Leave the cart. We're going to my bike."