Jungkook - One-Shots

Running away with the theif - J.Jk (Bonus)

Rain ticked against the windows in that slow, hypnotic rhythm that made the rest of the world feel far, far away. Like the ocean outside was sighing, and the sky was just too tired to do anything but weep.

Inside the safehouse kitchen, it was dim and quiet — not dead quiet, but alive quiet. Like breath. Like anticipation. The kind that thickens the air and fills the silence with meaning.

Jungkook stood shirtless by the sink, towel around his neck, water still dripping from the ends of his dark hair. A long, angry scratch curved down his left side — red and healing — a souvenir from the last escape.

Y/N had cleaned it herself two nights ago, her hands shaking more than his, her jaw clenched tighter than the bandage she wrapped around him. She sat on the kitchen counter, hoodie drooping off one shoulder, bare legs swinging gently. Steam coiled from her chipped mug of tea, rising like a ghost in the warm hush of the room.

She watched him — not just looked, but watched. The line of his back. The cut of his jaw. The bruises that bloomed like shadows on his ribs. “You know,” she said finally, voice teasing, “for someone supposedly undercover, you’re very loud in the shower.”
Jungkook glanced at her over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.
“And yet,” he said, “you didn’t mind sneaking in.” “I was cold.” “You didn’t even get in the water.” “I was observing.” He turned fully now, smirk tugging at his lips as he walked toward her.
“Observing my back tattoos with your hands, right?” She grinned, eyes gleaming under her lashes. “They’re very... intricate. I’m a curious woman.” Jungkook stopped in front of her, close enough that the air shifted, warmer, charged. “Is that what you’re calling it now?”
“Curiosity is healthy.” She lifted her cup, sipped. “It keeps me alert.” “And yet I nearly slipped when you touched my waist.”
“Not my fault you’re distractible.”

He chuckled — low and warm. The sound settled deep in her chest. But then her smile faded just a little. Not gone — just softer. As if the laughter had made her remember something heavier.

She looked at him again — not the tattoos, not the muscles, not the tease — but him.
Bruised. Guarded. Loyal to a fault. “Why’d you really come with me?” she asked quietly.

“In Madrid... you had the chance to disappear. Clean. Safe. You didn’t owe me anything.” Jungkook’s expression changed. The lightness dimmed, replaced with something deeper. He stepped closer, standing between her legs now, his fingers brushing her thighs.

“You think I stayed for the adventure?”
She hesitated. “You stayed for the thrill.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t laugh. “No. I stayed because I couldn’t stand the idea of watching you run without me.” The silence after that wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Real.

“You could’ve had an easy life,” she murmured, looking down. “Kept stealing high-end art, kept charming the rich out of their safes. No bullets. No blood. No... me.”
His hand found her chin, gentle as he tilted her face back up.

“Easy doesn’t mean anything if I’m not breathing beside you.” She stared at him, heart pounding in her throat. “I’m dangerous,” she whispered. He leaned in, his forehead brushing hers. “I know.” “I’ve lied. I’ve stolen. I’ve—” “I know, Y/N.” His voice dropped, thick with heat and truth. “That’s why I can’t stop.”

He kissed her.
Not softly.
Not carefully.

He kissed her like he’d been waiting since Lisbon, since the boat ride from Marseille, since the moment she whispered “Run” in the dark alley behind that museum and didn’t look back.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, lips parting for him, the mug falling forgotten to the floor with a soft clink. His hands slid to her thighs, gripping them with reverence and possession all at once.
“You’re still wet,” she gasped between kisses.
“You’re still clothed,” he murmured back, already lifting her off the counter.
She locked her legs around his waist as he carried her down the short hallway, never breaking the kiss, her hands tangled in his hair, his name a whisper in her throat.

-The Bedroom-
It wasn’t fancy. The bed was low to the ground, the mattress slightly uneven. The curtains were drawn, letting only the faintest silver of moonlight spill across the floor.
But in this moment — with the danger on pause, the city far behind, the world reduced to two hearts beating in sync — it was everything.

He laid her down carefully. Reverently. Like she was the last valuable thing in the world and he’d already stolen it.

Clothes came off slowly at first — half laughs, half tension. Then faster. Desperate. Like they’d held back too long. She mapped every bruise on his body with her mouth.
He worshipped every sigh from hers with his hands. No music. No noise. Just the steady rain and the soft rustle of sheets and the sound of two people finally, finally letting go.

Later, tangled in each other, limbs knotted and hearts thudding low, Y/N pressed her face to his neck, her fingers tracing that same healing scratch on his side.

She spoke quietly. Like a confession. “If we get caught—” “We won’t,” he said against her hair. “But if we do?” He pulled back just enough to look at her — eyes dark, voice honest. “Then at least I’ll know I didn’t waste a single second not loving you.” She stilled.
Her breath caught. “You... love me?” she asked, barely audible.
He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, lingering like a vow. “I stole a diamond for you, Y/N.” “You think I wouldn’t steal time, countries… lifetimes too?” Her throat closed up. Her heart cracked open.
And in that moment, she believed him.

Every word.

Every impossible promise.

Because even if the whole world was chasing them…

They had this night.

And maybe, if they were lucky, a hundred more just like it