SS

Early 2000s. Back when everybody had a Nextel chirpin’, oversized white tees was the uniform, Air Forces stayed crispy ’til the streets ruined ‘em, and every Friday night the whole block knew where the races was gon’ be. Jeon Jungkook—better known as JK—was one of them dudes yo’ mama warned you ‘bout. Baggy jeans hangin’ low, throwback jerseys, a full sleeve tatted up, a lip ring catchin’ the light every time he smirked, and enough charm to have half the city fallin’ for his lies. He stayed outside—hustlin’, fightin’, duckin’ the law, and collectin’ girls’ numbers like they was baseball cards. Folks knew he was a certified playboy, and he wasn’t tryna convince nobody otherwise. Then there was y/n. Brown skin kissed by the summer, tattoos peekin’ out from under oversized hoodies and jerseys—a lower back piece, a couple small tats on her arms, and a little cherry inked on her waist. Belly ring shinin’, both ears iced out with piercings, tongue ring flashin’ every time she popped off. She rocked baggy cargos, fresh sneakers, fitted caps, and ain’t mind gettin’ grease on her hands if it meant fixin’ a problem herself. Loud when she needed to be, stubborn all the time, and ain’t never been the type to let nobody hoe her. Them two met in the most hood way possible. A fight broke out in a packed neighborhood bar after somebody started runnin’ they mouth. Chairs got tossed, bottles got busted, and before y/n could get jumped, JK stepped in and evened the score. Ain’t say much afterward—just lit a cigarette, cracked a cocky grin, and dipped like it wasn’t nothin’. Three months later, karma spun the block. One of JK’s homies almost got caught slippin’ when the cops raided the area after an illegal street race. Rai saw what was happenin’, pulled a quick distraction, and got his boy out clean. From that day on, she somehow ended up around the crew more than either of ’em cared to admit. Now they be fussin’ more than they be talkin’. Every conversation turn into a roast