When I get messages anon or not to my inbox, I get so emotional. It's so weird that a person out there, in a different part of the world, who hasn't meet me or see my face, cares for me, send me love and good wishes. It's weird, but not in a bad way, in a good way . Maybe I just don't know a word to explain this feeling.
Sometimes people in our daily life, whom we see everyday, whom we spend lots of time, doesn't care us this much. They don't see the small things about us, or maybe we don't feel comfortable enough to share with them. But here people who hasn't meet in real life, can see real parts of each other's soul. They don't judge for how you look, what you wear, where are you from, what's your religion or political idea is. They only know as much as you share, they know you from mutual interest. It is such a pure communication. Without having a prejudice against each other. Sending love to a stranger, caring for a stranger, wishing well for a stranger...
It's so weird, yet it is so beautiful.
I want to thank everyone who pops up in my blog, whom I see frequently in my notifications, who send a kind message to my inbox or dm, who show love and support to my writings, who followed me, who reblogged or shared good posts that made me feel better, who write my favorite fics...
I am a little socially awkward, especially in real life. But here too. I am very bad a texting or keep contacting. I postpone answering messages sometimes because i dont feel ready to talk or answer or don't know what to say. Not because i don't want to, but i feel awkward sometimes. I rather send love from my heart and wish the best for them.
So, if i answer late, or text awkwardly and the talk got boring, i can't keep up contact, doesn't answer your tags etc., please know that I appreciate it, i appreciate you and your friendship. I just don't know what to say, how to answer, how to thank, how to ask someone how have they been, how to comfort or console someone. So I postpone or avoid doing it sometimes.
So if I have done any of these to you, please know that I care for you and appreciate you. Your friendship means a lot.
I opened this blog when I had such hard time with having friends in college. I was very depressed, always alone, envying other students who are hanging out with their friends. Hanging out with your friends or having friends is such a normal, daily life something, but why couldn't I do that? I was thinking and pitying my self. But this blog gave me friends, confidence, happiness and I spent lots of time here and enjoyed it. So it means a lot to me.
⤷one-shot!! in which.... jungkook shows up every Friday for six months to ask your father for permission to marry you, and gets rejected every time. Still, he returns each week with flowers, pastries, and stubborn determination. Meanwhile, you have no idea your boyfriend has been secretly trying to “apply” for the role of your husband behind your back.
I'm gonna marry her anyway (Magic!-Rude)
pairing: 전정국 x fem!reader
Genre: romance | slice of life | comedy | fluff | bittersweet
warnings: jk is down baddd, he's SOO in love, jk's a bit delusional tho, peak romance trope btw, he loves to pamper y/n, he would do everything all again without question, crying, happy tears, respectfully he wont give up, Jungkook is the sweetest
word count: 7.2k
Every Friday at Four
If someone asked you to describe your boyfriend, you would probably say something annoyingly sweet.
Kind. Talented. Loyal.
The sort of person who remembers the name of the stray cat that lives behind your apartment building, not only he remembers it but buys extra cat food and leaves it out in little dishes. The sort of person who buys two of everything because he knows you'll steal half of his anyway, and he'd rather plan for the theft than risk you going without. The sort of person who texts "Did you eat?" at 2 PM and then again at 6 PM and then again at 9 PM, and actually waits for an answer each time, and sends follow-up questions if you take too long, "What did you eat?" and "Was it good?"
What you would not say is: "My boyfriend spends his Friday afternoons getting rejected by my father."
Mostly because you don't know what's happening, and sweet Jungkook intends to keep it that way.
The first time he drives to your parents' house, he almost turns the car around.
Three times… scratch that…actually, four.
The fourth time is especially embarrassing because he has already parked. The engine is off. The keys are in his hand. He's committed, and yet his hand keeps drifting toward the ignition like it has its own agenda, like it wants to go home.
He sits behind the steering wheel, staring at your childhood home. The house itself isn't scary. It's just a house with white walls that need repainting. A small garden where your mother has beautiful flowers. A blue mailbox that has your last name on it with faded stickers that are peeling at the edges. Normal things.
Unfortunately, your father lives inside, and your father is terrifying. Not in a dramatic movie way, he doesn't threaten people or is part of the mafia, and he definitely doesn't own weapons or has a scar across his face.
It’s the fact that he looks at people the way professors look at exam papers, as if he's found three mistakes in the first paragraph and is debating whether he should continue reading or just fail you now and save him some time.
Jungkook swallows. His palms are sweating against the steering wheel. This is ridiculous… What if your father hates him? What if he laughs? What if he says no?
Then you'll ask again.
He grabs the box of pastries from the passenger seat and gets out before his courage disappears completely.
The door opens, and your father appears. For a moment, nobody says anything. The silence stretches and Jungkook becomes suddenly, painfully aware of every part of his body. He bows politely. The low and respectful kind of bow that says I come in peace, I mean no harm, please don't destroy me.
The silence grows longer, and our dear Jungkook begins wondering if people can die from awkwardness. If that's a medical condition, and if he should have written a will. Your father stares, Jungkook bows a little deeper. His back protesting.
Finally, your father speaks. "Did my daughter send you?"
"No, sir." Jungkook's voice comes out steady.
A pause. Your father's eyes narrow slightly, scanning him like he's reading a label. "Did something happen to her?"
"No, sir."
"Then why are you here?"
Jungkook suddenly forgets every sentence he prepared during the drive. All those carefully constructed arguments inside his overthinker mind, all those practiced phrases…gone, evaporated.
Wonderful
He manages a nervous smile. It feels crooked on his face, too big, too desperate. "I wanted to talk to you."
Your father doesn't move. "About?"
For a fleeting second, Jungkook considers pretending he came to discuss the weather. The weather is safe, but unfortunately for him, that would make even less sense than his actual reason, and also, he's pretty sure your father can smell lies the way other people smell smoke.
"Sir, I love your daughter."
Your father blinks a few times. "Oh."
Jungkook nods. Encouraged. Maybe this is going well. Maybe the hard part is over. Maybe…it is not going well.
"That's unfortunate," your father says, and steps aside to let him in.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Five minutes later, they're sitting at the kitchen table.
Jungkook has never seen such an intimidating kitchen before. Everything is clean and organized. He is afraid to touch anything. Your father places a cup of tea in front of him. The gesture is kind, but the expression on your father's face is not kind. Not in a malicious way, it’s the expression of someone who has watched young men come and go from this exact house, who has learned that most of them are not worth the time it takes to memorize their names. Jungkook suddenly understands where you inherited your stubbornness from.
"So," your father says.
"So," Jungkook echoes, and he immediately hates himself for echoing. He's not a parrot. He's a grown man. He has tattoos. He pays taxes, and he should be able to handle a conversation without turning into a robot.
"You love my daughter."
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
Why? Because you're funny, because you laugh with your entire body, throwing your head back, because you cry during movies and then deny it, because you pretend not to like affection and attention and then complain when he stops giving it, which is confusing and annoying and completely endearing, because loving you happened so naturally he didn't notice it until he was already too deep in love with you.
He clears his throat. All of this is too much to say to your father. "She's amazing," Jungkook says.
Your father's face remains unreadable. "That's your argument?"
Jungkook panics. His brain, which had just started working again, shuts down completely. "No, sir."
"Good."
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
An hour later, Jungkook has somehow been interviewed more thoroughly than a job applicant for a position that requires government clearance.
Career plans. Finances. Future goals. Emergency savings. Apartment size. Life insurance. Retirement planning. Your father asks about his parents, his siblings, his thoughts on home ownership versus renting, his opinion on private schools versus public schools for hypothetical future children that Jungkook is definitely not ready to discuss but finds himself discussing anyway because when your father asks a question, answering feels mandatory.
At one point, your father asks what kind of husband he intends to be. Jungkook answers honestly. It's the only answer he has, the only one he's sure of. "The best one I can."
Something shifts in your father's expression, only for a second. Maybe it was approval…or pity…or maybe even indigestion. Who knows…Then comes the final question and the most important one.
The reason Jungkook is here, sweating through his nice shirt
His heartbeat speeds up. He sits straighter, tries to look like the kind of man who deserves what he's about to ask for.
"Sir."
Your father waits. He knows what's coming. Jungkook can see it in the set of his shoulders and the slight tilt of his head.
"I want to marry her."
Your father folds his hands and looks directly at him.
And says:
"No."
Like he was declining extra napkins. Like Jungkook had offered him a flyer for a kebab place he wasn't interested in. Like this whole hour meant absolutely nothing.
Jungkook stares. Surely there's more, surely there's a ‘but’ or an ‘unless’ or a ‘however’ waiting in the air, ready to step on stage and save this moment from being exactly what it sounds like.
There isn't.
Your father takes another sip of tea.
Jungkook blinks. His mouth feels dry. His ears are ringing. "Sir?"
"No."
"I understand, but—"
"No."
"Can I ask why?"
Your father nods. "You can."
Jungkook waits. Your father waits too.
Nothing happens.
"...Why?"
"Because I said no."
Jungkook nearly laughs. Not because it's funny, but because otherwise he might cry, and he's pretty sure crying in your father's kitchen would be the final nail in a coffin that's already been nailed shut, buried, and had a parking lot built over it.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
The drive home feels longer. His pride aches took, his heart too…everything aches, actually, in a way that makes him wonder if this is what adulthood feels like. He should probably be upset, and angry, and embarrassed that he poured his heart out to a man who responded with a single syllable.
But Jungkook finds himself smiling, a small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth while he waits at a red light because beneath the frustration is something unexpected.
Your father didn't laugh or mock him or send him out, and he didn’t tell Jungkook to find someone else’s daughter to love and cherish. He didn't say Jungkook wasn't good enough, wasn't successful enough, wasn't worthy. He just said 'no', and then he said it again, and then he kept saying it until Jungkook ran out of questions. He smiles because for two whole hours, he listened.
And Jungkook overthinks about it… a man doesn't spend two hours questioning someone he doesn't care about. A father doesn't interrogate a future son-in-law candidate unless the answer matters… unless the person sitting across from him is a real possibility.
‘No’ wasn't the end.
Jungkook glances at the road ahead, next Friday isn't far away. Five days, six hours, maybe less if he leaves work early. He can survive five days. He can survive anything if there's a chance at the end of it.
That evening, you're both sprawled across his couch, casually stealing fries from his plate. Your own plate sits untouched, still full, but you keep reaching for his anyway. Not because they're any different, just because they're his. This is the thing that you always do, and Jungkook loves it; it’s predictable and is exactly what he wants to come home to, exactly what he's fighting for.
Jungkook watches you. You glance up, caught, a fry halfway to your mouth.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Suspicious. Very suspicious. You narrow your eyes, and he sees your father in you for just a moment.
"What are you smiling about?"
He shakes his head. He can't tell you. Not yet. Not until he has something real to offer, something earned, something that proves he's serious. "Nothing."
You throw a fry at him. It bounces off his forehead and lands in his lap. You look proud, as if you've accomplished something significant, and your boyfriend laughs. Suddenly, the rejection doesn't feel so heavy anymore, because at the end of the day, every difficult conversation leads back to this. To you, to the future he's trying to build, one Friday at a time.
Jungkook picks up another fry. You steal that one too, quick as a cat, and he lets you. He doesn't even try to stop you. He watches you eat it, watches you chew, and for now, he lets you.
After all, he has bigger battles waiting for him next Friday. And the Friday after that. And however many it takes until your father finally says yes.
Now, 6 Months later
You are folding laundry when your phone buzzes against the coffee table, skittering like an insect that can't decide where to die. It's a text from him.
jk: Still at work, might be late for dinner, don't wait up
You smile because, of course, he is. He's always at work, or the gym, or somewhere building his body while you eat instant noodles in sweatpants that have a hole in the left thigh. (no shame)
What you don't know is that your boyfriend is not at work. Your boyfriend is currently sitting in his car in front of your parents' house. He's been here before. Many times. 6 months of Fridays, to be exact, which is 24 Fridays, which is 24 times he's climbed out of this same car with his heart hammering against his ribs.
Jungkook checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looks good. He looks great, actually, black sweater, hair styled in that particular way that took him 45 and 3 YouTube tutorials. He looks like a man who deserves a ‘yes.’ He looks like a man who is about to get another 'no', but hope, as they say, is a stupid and beautiful thing that dies slowly.
"Okay," he whispers to himself. "Okay. This time."
He reaches into the backseat for the flowers, peonies this week, because last week your mother mentioned she liked them and Jungkook remembered. He bought pastries again from that French place across town that requires a reservation three days in advance. Your father sees him coming up the walk through the living room window, and he doesn't move.
"Who is it, dear?" your mother calls from the kitchen.
"Nobody," your father says, which is technically true because, as far as he's concerned, Jungkook hasn't earned the right to be somebody yet.
"Nobody" rings the doorbell. Your father counts to ten before he stands. He opens the door.
"Sir," Jungkook says.
"Jungkook," your father says, like he's surprised, like he hasn't been watching the car sit in the driveway for fifteen minutes. "Again?"
"Yes, sir. If you have a moment."
"I suppose I have a moment."
This is their ritual. Your father steps aside to let him in, and Jungkook enters your childhood home. He can smell your mother's cooking from the kitchen. Something with garlic. His stomach growls, which is embarrassing, but your father pretends not to notice because even he has limits to his cruelty.
"Flowers," Jungkook says, holding them out. "For Mrs. … he clears his throat…for your wife."
"She'll appreciate them."
"And these are from Maison Blanc. The almond croissants you mentioned."
"You remembered."
"I remember everything, sir."
This is the part where your father should feel bad. This is the part where a normal person would see the earnestness in this young man's face. Your father is not having any of it. "Sit," he says. "I'll make tea once again."
They sit in the living room. The couch is old, and Jungkook sinks into it the way he always does, while your father sits in his armchair. The tea is green and bitter. Jungkook hates green tea, but he drinks it anyway.
"So," your father says.
"Sir," Jungkook begins, and he sets down his cup because his hands are shaking again and he doesn't want to spill on the carpet. "I know I've asked before. Many times. But I'm here to ask again."
"Mhm."
"I love your daughter. I have loved her for…" He pauses, does the math "…two years, four months, and sixteen days. Not that I'm counting. I mean, I am counting. I have a calendar. That sounds creepy. It's not creepy. It's —"
"Jungkook."
"Yes, sir?"
"Deep breath, son."
Jungkook takes a deep breath. Your father watches him.
"Sir, may I have your blessing to marry your daughter?" The question hangs in the air between them.
Your father takes a sip of tea. He thinks about you, his daughter, his only child, the person who once cried for three hours because her goldfish died and then forgot about it by dinner time. He thinks about the way you looked at Jungkook the first time you brought him home, like he was made of magic and promises. He thinks about the way Jungkook looks at you, like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he would burn down every building between here and the sea if you asked him to.
He thinks, good.
Then he says: "No."
Jungkook nods. He expected this, but something in his chest still sinks, still curls up small and wounded. 25 rejections. 25 times he's asked.
"Can I ask again why, sir?"
"Because," your father says, and he leans forward, and Jungkook recognizes this posture. This is the posture of a man about to deliver a lesson. "You still flinch when I say no."
"I … what?"
"You flinch. Your shoulders go up, your eyes go down. You look like a dog that's been kicked." Your father's voice is not unkind, but it is firm. It is the voice of a man who has spent thirty years teaching high school English and knows exactly how to make a point land. "If you want to marry my daughter, you need to be able to hear 'no' without breaking. You need to be able to hear 'no' and keep standing anyway."
Jungkook stares at him. "You want me to… you're testing me??"
"I'm teaching you," your father corrects. "There's a difference."
"How long?"
"Until you stop flinching."
"And if I never stop flinching?"
Your father smiles. "Then you're not the man I thought you were, and my daughter deserves better."
They sit in silence. From the kitchen, your mother's voice rises in a question about dinner, and your father calls back that they'll be a while.
"You can go," your father says. "Unless you want to stay. Daeun made enough for three."
Jungkook should go. He knows he should go. He's supposed to meet you in two hours, and he needs to shower, and he needs to practice his smile so you won't know that he's been here again, that he's been rejected again, but the smell of garlic is making him dizzy with hunger, and your father's face has softened in a way it never has before, and something in Jungkook makes him stay.
"I'd like to stay," he says. "If that's okay."
Your father nods. "Set the table, then. You know where the plates are."
He does. He knows where everything is. He's been here enough times to have memorized the layout of your childhood home. He knows your father takes his coffee black and your mother hums when she cooks. He knows these things because he loves you, and loving you means loving where you came from, even when where you came from keeps telling him no.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
You just got out of the shower when he texts again.
jk: “omw saved you some dumplings. It was a coworker's bday today.”
Y/n doesn’t question anything. You don't know about the tea, or the conversation, or the way your father's eyes went soft when Jungkook finally laughed at one of his jokes. You have no idea that somewhere in your childhood home, there's a drawer where your father keeps the cards Jungkook has brought. And you definitely have no idea that your father talks about Jungkook to his friends, calls him "that persistent kid" with something like pride in his voice. You don't know that your boyfriend is learning how to be the kind of man who doesn't flinch. You don't know that his heart that's been broken so many times and still beats hopeful.
He thinks about you. He thinks about the way you look when you first wake up, he thinks about the way you laugh, he thinks about getting down on one knee and offering you everything he has, which is not much, which is everything. Because many months ago, he made a promise to himself that he would do this right, that he would have your father's blessing.
You text him
You: hurry up, I'm hungry, and the TV show just started!! <3
Three socks and a suspicion
You are standing in front of your open sock drawer when you realize something is wrong with your boyfriend. Not wrong-wrong, not cheating-wrong or lying-wrong or has-a-secret-family-in-a-whole-different-country-wrong.
Jungkook has been... off.
Not distant, if anything, he's been more present than usual, texting more, calling for no reason, showing up at your apartment with food he claims is "leftover from the guys" but is clearly freshly bought because since when does Namjoon eat salmon with lemon dill sauce? Since when does anyone in that dorm eat vegetables that aren't covered in cheese? (again, no shame)
You hold up three socks. None of them match.
"You're thinking loudly," Jungkook says from your bed, where he's sprawled on his stomach, scrolling through his phone. He always knows when you're thinking. It's one of his most annoying qualities as a boyfriend.
"I'm not thinking," you lie.
"Your forehead does this thing." He finally looks up, and his eyes… those big, dark eyes that you fell into like a well you never wanted to climb out of… crinkle at the corners. "It wrinkles. Right here."
"Maybe I'm just getting old."
"You're 23."
"24 in three months."
"Ancient," he agrees, solemn as a funeral. "Should I buy you a cane? Or maybe one of those chairs that lifts you up?"
"Jeon Jungkook."
"Yes, my elderly girlfriend?"
You giggle and throw a sock at him. "You've been weird lately," you say.
"Weird how?" he asks, and his voice is casual, perfectly casual, too casual.
"I don't know. Distracted. Happy distracted. Like you're not telling me something."
Something flickers across his face. Something that looks almost like panic, or maybe hope, or maybe a little bit of both.
"Maybe I am," he says, and then he smiles and pats the space on the bed next to him. "Come here. I'll tell you, angel."
You go because you've always been weak when it comes to him. After all, he could ask you to follow him into a burning building, and you'd follow. The bed dips under your weight.
"Tell me," you say.
"I can't."
"Jungkook."
"I literally can't. It's not my secret to tell…But I promise it's a good secret. The best secret, and when you find out." He stops and swallows… "when you find out, I hope you'll say yes."
Your heart does something complicated in your chest, a backflip, a small, confused seizure. "Say yes to what?"
"Everything," he whispers.
You should push. You know you should push, but he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world, and you forget how to form words. You forget your own name. You lean in to kiss him because that's the only thing your brain will allow, you kiss him and he kisses you back.
Your mother knows.
She's known since week three, when she came home early from her book club and found Jungkook washing dishes in their kitchen while your father dried. They were arguing about baseball, and your father was laughing. She stood in the doorway and watched them.
"Mrs. Y/L/N" Jungkook had stuttered when he saw her, dropping a plate back into the sink with a splash that soaked his shirt. "I can explain."
"Can you?" she'd asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Not really. No. I'm sorry."
She'd looked at your father, who was doing a terrible job of looking innocent. Your father, who had told Jungkook ‘no’ 13 times at that time, showed no signs of stopping.
"How long?" she'd asked your father.
"13 weeks," he'd said, like he was proud of it. Like this was an accomplishment.
"And how many more?"
"We'll see."
Your mother had sighed then, it's the sigh of a woman who has been married to this man for 22 years and has learned that some battles are not worth fighting. She'd picked up a towel, started drying the plate that Jungkook had abandoned, and said: "He likes the almond croissants from Maison Blanc. But the chocolate ones are better."
Jungkook had stared at her. "You're not... mad?"
"Oh, I'm furious," she'd said, and smiled. "But I'm also hungry, and you two have clearly been eating without me, so you're taking me to dinner. Somewhere expensive."
That was week 13.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Now it's week 27, and your mother has become Jungkook's accomplice. She texts him recipes your father likes. She has, on two occasions, lied to you about where Jungkook is on Friday afternoons, which makes her feel slightly guilty, but she's never seen your father have this much fun. Not at your graduation, not at your sister's wedding, not when he finally beat his brother at golf after 15 years of losing. This ridiculous ritual of weekly interrogation is the most fun he's had in decades.
"He's coming today," your father says now, not looking up from his newspaper. It's Friday. It's 3:30. He checked the clock four times in the last hour.
"I know," your mother says.
"He's bringing those almond things."
"You love almond things."
"I tolerate them," he corrects.
She sits down across from him. "You know you're going to ahve to say ‘yes’ eventually."
"Do I?"
"Yes. Because, despite your best efforts, you like him. You like him more than you liked Minji's husband, and you liked Minji's husband enough to cry at their wedding."
Your father sniffs. "I had allergies."
"You had feelings." She reaches across the table and touches his hand. "When are you going to tell her?"
"Who?"
"Your daughter. The person this actually concerns."
Your father is quiet for a long moment. Outside, Jungkook's car pulls up, and your father straightens his shoulders and puts on his mask of indifference to become the man who says ‘no.’
"When he stops flinching," your father says. "Or when she figures it out. Whichever comes first."
"And if she never figures it out?"
Your father smiles. It's a small, complicated smile, the smile of a man who has spent his life teaching other people lessons they didn't know they needed to learn. "Then she's not as smart as I raised her to be," he says, "and Jungkook will have to keep coming forever."
The doorbell rings. Your mother gets up to answer it, leaving your father to his newspaper and his anticipation and his strange, stubborn hope.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Jungkook is not flinching today.
He's thought about it all week, actually, ever since your father said those words like a challenge.
He's practiced in the mirror. He's practiced in the shower. He's practiced saying ‘no’ to himself, which felt ridiculous but also necessary.
He stands on your parents' porch with lilies-of-the-valley in one hand and chocolate croissants in the other. He switched because he suspects your father is tired of pretending to like almonds.
I will not flinch, he thinks.
Your mother opens the door. "Chocolate," she says, looking at the box. "Smart boy."
"I have it on good authority that almonds are overrated."
"Your authority is correct. Come in. He's in his usual spot."
The living room is the same as always. The couch is waiting to swallow him. The armchair is waiting to judge him. Your father is waiting to break his heart, gently.
"Sir," Jungkook says. He doesn't sit. Not yet.
"Jungkook." Your father folds his newspaper. "You're early."
"I couldn't wait."
"Eager to be rejected?"
"Eager to try."
They sit. The tea is prepared, black today, not green, which Jungkook takes as a good sign, or maybe just as your mother intervening on his behalf. The chocolate croissants are placed on a plate.
"So," your father says.
"Sir," Jungkook says, and he sets down his cup, and he looks your father directly in the eyes, and he does not look away. "May I have your blessing to marry your daughter?"
Your father opens his mouth to say ‘no.’
Jungkook does not flinch or move, and your father notices. Your father notices, and something shifts in his expression like seeing a student finally understand the lesson.
"No," your father says.
Jungkook does not flinch.
"Okay," Jungkook says. "I'll ask again next week."
Your father leans forward. "Why?"
"Because I love her. Because I want to do this right. Because… because you saying ‘no’ doesn't change what I want. It just changes how long I have to wait."
Your father is very still. From the kitchen, your mother is listening, holding her breath, ready to intervene if necessary.
"And if I never say yes?" your father asks. "If I keep saying ‘no’ until you're old and gray and she's moved on to someone else?"
"Then I'll keep coming," Jungkook says, and he means it. "I'll keep coming because this isn't about you. It's about her. And she deserves someone who doesn't give up just because it's hard."
Your father looks at him for a long time. "You're not flinching," your father says quietly.
"No, sir. I'm not."
Your father sits back. He picks up his tea. He drinks it, slowly, thoughtfully, like he's tasting something new. "The chocolate croissants are better," he says finally. “Do you think I’m being cruel to you?”
"No, I understand you’re being careful."
"Do you?"
"I have a sister," Jungkook says. "She's younger, if someone wanted to marry her, I'd want them to work for it. I'd want to know if they were serious." He pauses, chooses his words carefully. "I don't think you're cruel, sir. I think you're scared. And I think that's okay. Because I'm scared too."
Your father laughs. It's a short, surprised sound, like a cough that turned into something better. "You're scared? Of what?"
"Of not being enough. Of messing up. Of all of it…marriage, forever, being someone's whole world. What if I'm bad at it? What if I hurt her? What if I try my best and my best isn't good enough?"
Jungkook realizes he's said too much, but your father doesn't attack. He just nods, slowly, like he's hearing an answer to a question he didn't know he was asking.
"So that's why you flinched," your father says. "Not because of me. Because of the fear."
"Yes, sir."
"And now?"
Jungkook thinks about the fear, which is still there; it will always be there, he knows that now. He thinks about the future, which is uncertain, which is terrifying, which is beautiful because it contains you.
"Now I'm scared," he says, "but I'm here anyway."
"Next week," your father says. "Bring the almond croissants. I changed my mind. I like them better."
"Yes, sir."
"And Jungkook?"
"Yes?"
Your father turns around and smiles, "Stop calling me sir. My name is Seojun."
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
You are eating a salad when Jungkook finally shows up, two hours late.
"Sorry," he says, dropping onto your couch with the boneless grace of a man who has been through something and survived. "A meeting ran long."
"Liar," you say, but you're smiling because he's here. He's always here, because even when he's keeping secrets, he's keeping them with such obvious love that you can't really be mad.
"Am I?"
"You're wearing a hoodie. You don't wear a hoodie to meetings."
He looks down at himself, surprised, like he hadn't noticed. "Huh. Guess I'm caught."
"Guess you are. Where were you, really?"
"I was," he says slowly, "learning how to be brave."
"Jungkook…”
"And I think," he continues, "that I'm almost there, almost ready., my love." He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers are warm. "Soon," he promises. "Soon you'll know everything.”
"Okay," you say. "But if this secret is bad, if you're secretly a criminal or you have a twin, I'm going to be mad."
He pulls you close, rests his chin on your head, and you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek. "I love you," he says, like it's a promise, like it's a prayer, like it's the only true thing in the world.
"I love you too," you say..
The Blessing
You are standing in the middle of your apartment holding a spoon when the world changes. Your mother calls, and her voice, when you answer, sounds strange.
"You need to come home," she says. "This Friday. Four o'clock."
"Mom, I have work-"
"Four o'clock," she repeats, "And honey? Don't tell Jungkook."
"Mom...?," you say slowly, "what's going on...?"
But she already hung up.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Jungkook knows something is different. He's known since Tuesday, when your mother texted him with instructions for this Friday that were more specific than usual.
Daeun: Wear the blue shirt, and bring the small box, not the big one. She's suspicious enough already.
He's been carrying the small box for four months. It lives in his gym bag, wrapped in an old T-shirt, tucked between his protein powder and his backup headphones. He's taken it to work, to the convenience store at 2 am, when you wanted ice cream. He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. The blue shirt, your favorite.
Today feels different. Today feels like the last time, one way or another. He drives across town with the box in his pocket and his heart in his throat. He doesn't know you're already there. He doesn't know that your mother finally broke, finally told you everything, finally couldn't stand keeping the secret for one more day. He doesn't know that you're sitting in your childhood bedroom right now, listening to your mother's rushed explanation to you, “Every Friday, for 6 months, he…” with your hands shaking and your eyes filling with tears that you can't quite name.
Are you angry? You should be angry. He kept a secret. A big one. A secret that involved your father and pastries and some kind of ongoing test that you apparently needed to pass without knowing you were taking it. But underneath the anger is something else that feels like being chosen, over and over again.
"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask your mother, and your voice sounds small, like a child's.
"Because he asked us not to. Because he wanted to do it right. And because your father was having too much fun to stop."
"He's been rejecting him? For 6 months?"
"29 times," your mother says. "This will be 30."
"That's…" you stop, because you don't know what that is. Cruel? Romantic? "Where are they?"
"Living room…waiting."
You stand up. Your legs feel unsteady, and you walk to the door, opening it and hear:
"You're late," your father says.
"Traffic," Jungkook replies, and his voice is steady.
You walk slowly and silently down the hall. You can see them through the doorway. Your father in his armchair, the throne, Jungkook on the couch.
"So," your father says. "This is 30."
"Yes, sir."
"You know what I'm going to say."
"I think so," Jungkook says. "But I'd like to hear it anyway."
"You stopped flinching," your father says. "Week 26. Do you remember?"
"I remember."
"I thought that would be it. I thought I'd say ‘yes’ then, and we'd be done with this." Your father leans forward. "But then I realized… flinching was just the first test. The easy one. The real test is what you do after."
Jungkook is very still. "And?"
"And you've shown up," your father says. "29 times. Through my bad moods and my stupid questions and that week where I made you help me clean the garage because I wanted to see if you'd complain."
"I didn't complain, sir."
"Yes, that's right."
You are holding your breath. You realize this only when your lungs start to hurt, when the edges of your vision go blurry. You let it out, slow and silent, and you watch your father's face.
"Jungkook," your father says.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you love my daughter?"
"More than anything."
"Will you keep loving her? When is she difficult? When she's tired? When she's been your wife for 20, and the newness has worn off, and you're left with just, with her ordinary flaws?"
Jungkook doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Will you keep showing up?"
"Every day," Jungkook says, and his voice breaks slightly, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't look away. "Every Friday. Every Tuesday. Every day that ends in Y, I'll keep showing up until you believe me, and then I'll keep showing up so you don't forget."
"Jungkook," your father says.
"Yes, sir?"
"My name is Seojun."
"I know, sir. I mean — I know, Seojun."
Your father stands up. He walks to Jungkook, who stands too, automatic, respectful, ready for whatever comes next. He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder.
"Yes," your father says.
Jungkook's face crumples for a blink…the relief, the exhaustion, the pure happiness of finally being enough.
"Seojun," your father corrects, but he's smiling. "And you're welcome. Now…" he steps back, clears his throat "…you have a question to ask, don't you? Might want to get to it. She's standing right behind you."
Jungkook turns.
You are crying. You didn't realize you were crying, but your face is wet, and your hands are shaking, and you can't seem to make your mouth form words. You look at him. at your boyfriend, at this stubborn, persistent man who loved you enough to endure 29 rejections just for the chance to propose properly.
"You…" you start, and your voice breaks. "You idiot. You absolute…why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to- " he starts, and then stops, because you're walking toward him, and then you're in his arms.
"I would have said yes," you mumble into his shoulder. "Week one. I would have said yes."
"I know," he says.
"Ask me," you say.
"What?"
"Ask me. You came here thirty times to ask him, now ask me."
Jungkook's hands are shaking. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the small box. It's worn from being carried, from being hidden.
He gets down on one knee. Your mother appears in the doorway, raising the phone to record this, to capture it, to prove that it really happened.
"Okay," Jungkook says, and he's crying now too; you realize the tears tracking down his face in the most undignified, most beautiful way. "Okay. I've been practicing this. In the car. In the shower. In my head, about a thousand times." He opens the box. The ring is simple, exactly right, exactly you. "I love you. I've loved you for two years and four months and thirty days. Your father told me I wasn't ready. But I think- I hope- I'm ready now. Will you…" He stops, swallows, starts again, " …will you marry me? Will you let me keep showing up? Will you be my family, officially?"
You look at him. You look at your father, who is wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and pretending he's not. You look at your mother, who is crying, who has been waiting for this for weeks when she first saw Jungkook washing dishes in her kitchen.
You look at Jungkook.
"Yes," you say. "Yes, you idiot. Yes, I'll marry you. Yes to all of it. Yes, forever."
He puts the ring on your finger. He stands up, and he kisses you.
⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔
Later, after the crying and the laughing and your father insisting on opening the good wine that he's been saving for something important, you sit on the porch with Jungkook, your hand in his, the ring catching the light.
"30 Fridays," you say. "You came here 30 times."
"29 rejections," he confirms. "One yes."
"Was it worth it?"
He looks at you. He looks at you like he looked at you the first time, like he'll look at you when you're old and gray and arguing about whose turn it is to take out the trash.
"Every single one," he says. "I'd do 30 more. 300. However many it will take."
You lean your head on his shoulder.
Inside, your father is telling your mother that he knew Jungkook would make it, that he never doubted, that he was just testing him to be sure. Your mother is rolling her eyes and pouring more wine and smiling in a way that says she knows exactly what really happened. That her husband has already accepted your boyfriend somewhere around week twelve, and has been pretending otherwise ever since.
But that's their story.
This is yours.
The future is waiting.
It's going to be exhausting and beautiful and completely worth it.
— In which eight months of perfect harmony are shattered by a single, sharp sentence. What starts as a silly argument over weekend plans turns into a cold, suffocating silence when Jungkook accidentally triggers a trauma you thought you’d outrun. Now, trapped in a "shutdown" you can’t control, you have to watch as he fights the urge to walk away, choosing instead to stay and wait for you in the dark. It’s a story about the messy, unglamorous work of unlearning your past to save your future.
— established relationship | first intense argument | childhood trauma mentions | hurt/comfort | emotional growth | non-smut | patient jungkook | communication is key!! |wc:4k — Req by @goldenjjksworld 🧡 — Dividers: @chrisssiren 🤎
…
The eighth month of a relationship is a strange, beautiful middle ground. You are no longer on your "best behavior" 24/7, but you haven't yet reached the stage of effortless, decades-long predictability. For you and Jungkook, this was the sweet spot. You knew his coffee order by heart, and he knew exactly which playlist to put on when you had a long day of creative work. It felt safe.
That evening started with the kind of comfortable domesticity you had come to cherish. The apartment was warm, the scent of a failed attempt at a new pasta recipe lingering in the air. Jungkook was sitting on the edge of the sofa, scrolling through his phone, while you were trying to organize a cluttered shelf nearby.
The disagreement started over something incredibly small: a weekend trip.
"I already told the guys we’d probably join them at the cabin," Jungkook said, his voice casual, not looking up from his screen.
You paused, a stack of books in your hands. "Wait, this weekend? I thought we were staying in. I have a deadline for my draft, and you said you wanted to help me with the new product shots for the shop."
Jungkook sighed—a small, tired sound. "It’s just two days, and I haven't seen them in a while. You can bring your laptop. It’s not a big deal, right?"
"It is a big deal if we already had a plan," you countered, your voice steady but rising slightly. "I’m trying to get this business off the ground, Jungkook. I can't just drop everything because you 'probably' told them we’d come."
Jungkook finally looked up, his brows furrowed. He was tired from a long day of practice, and the frustration he’d been suppressing bubbled to the surface. "It’s not about dropping everything. It’s about being flexible. Sometimes it feels like if things don't go exactly your way, you just... stall."
"I don't 'stall,'" you snapped, feeling a defensive heat creep up your neck. "I prioritize. There’s a difference."
"Is there?" Jungkook stood up, tossing his phone onto the cushion. He wasn't yelling, but his voice had that sharp, competitive edge he used when he was pushed too far. "Because whenever things get a little complicated or stressful, you start overthinking and making everything a hurdle. You’re so focused on your own little world that you forget there’s someone else here trying to move with you."
You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that your "little world" was the career you were building from scratch, but he wasn't finished.
"Honestly," he muttered, turning to grab a glass of water from the table, "it’s like I can't ever fully rely on you to just... be there without a thousand conditions. You’re always looking for a reason to stay guarded."
The room went icy.
It wasn't a loud sentence. It wasn't even the meanest thing someone could say in an argument. But the word rely and the accusation of being guarded hit a tripwire deep inside your chest.
Suddenly, you weren't in your apartment with Jungkook. You were years back, hearing a similar tone from a voice that should have loved you unconditionally—someone telling you that your needs were a burden, that you were "too much" and "too difficult" to deal with. Your brain didn't process it as a lovers' spat anymore. It processed it as a threat.
The air in your lungs felt thin. You looked at Jungkook, who was now leaning against the kitchen counter, looking slightly guilty for the sharpness of his tone but still waiting for a comeback. He expected you to fire back, to defend yourself, to keep the "silly" argument going until you both got tired and apologized.
But you couldn't.
The familiar, heavy curtain of silence began to fall. It started in your throat, a physical tightening that made swallowing difficult. Then it moved to your limbs, making them feel heavy and disconnected. You didn't want to be angry at him; in fact, you could see the slight regret in his eyes already. But the "shutdown" wasn't a choice—it was a door locking from the inside, and you didn't have the key.
You carefully placed the books down on the table. You didn't look at him.
"Hey," Jungkook said, his voice softening. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just frustrated. Let’s just talk about the schedule properly."
You didn't answer. You walked past him toward the bedroom.
"Are you serious?" he asked, his frustration returning, fueled by the sudden lack of feedback. "Are we doing this? You’re just going to walk away because I said one thing you didn't like?"
You stopped at the doorway, your back to him. You wanted to say, It’s not that I don't like it, it’s that it hurts. You wanted to say, Please don't use those words with me. But the words stayed trapped behind the wall of your trauma. To speak would be to show the wound, and your brain told you that showing the wound was dangerous.
You stepped into the room and gently closed the door.
Outside, you heard Jungkook let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Fine. Great communication. Truly."
You sat on the edge of the bed, the silence of the room ringing in your ears. You knew, logically, that you were making it worse. You knew that shutting him out was a flaw—a reflex you hadn't outgrown. You loved him, and you knew he loved you. But as you stared at the wall, the weight of the words he’d spoken felt like a physical barrier between the bedroom and the kitchen.
Eighty-five feet of hallway felt like a thousand miles. The silence had officially begun.
Inside the bedroom, you sat perfectly still. The "shutdown" wasn't just a lack of words; it was a sensory experience. It felt like being submerged in deep water where every sound from the surface was muffled and distorted. You could hear Jungkook moving in the living room—the clink of a glass, the heavy thud of him sitting back down on the sofa, the restless tapping of his foot. Each sound felt like a physical pressure against your chest.
You hated this. A rational part of your brain was screaming at you to stand up, open the door, and say, “I’m sorry I froze, let’s talk.” But the rest of your body was in survival mode. To your nervous system, Jungkook’s comment about being "unreliable" hadn't been a critique of a weekend schedule; it had been a confirmation of your deepest fear—that you were fundamentally difficult to love.
When you were younger, silence had been your only shield. If you didn't speak, you couldn't be blamed. If you stayed quiet, you were invisible, and if you were invisible, you were safe. Now, as an adult in a loving relationship, that shield had turned into a cage. You felt the guilt pooling in your stomach, heavy and bitter. You knew you were punishing him with your silence, even though you didn't want to.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Jungkook was vibrating with a mixture of confusion and mounting irritation.
He stared at the closed bedroom door, his chest tight. He was a man who lived loudly—he spoke his mind, he laughed with his whole body, and when he was upset, he wanted to hash it out and move on. To him, the silence felt like a weapon. It felt calculated, even though it was anything but.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” he thought, dragging a hand through his hair. “Every time I’m honest about how I feel, she just disappears?”
He felt a flash of resentment. He had worked hard to be a good partner, to support your business, to be the "reliable" one. Seeing you pull back felt like a rejection of everything he had invested over the last eight months. He wanted to knock on the door and demand an explanation. He wanted to tell you that it wasn't fair to leave him hanging in the middle of a conversation.
But then, he stopped.
He remembered a night three months ago, early in the relationship, when you had briefly mentioned how your parents used to stop speaking to you for days as a "lesson." You had said it with a forced laugh, dismissing it as "just how things were," but Jungkook had seen the way your fingers trembled as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
His anger flickered, replaced by a cold, sobering realization.
He looked down at his hands. He had used the word unreliable. He had told you that you were guarded. To him, they were just words born of frustration. To you, they were the echo of a ghost.
The silence stretched for hours.
Around 11:00 PM, you finally emerged. Your throat felt dry, and your head ached from the internal tension. You walked into the kitchen to get water, moving like a ghost. You saw Jungkook still on the sofa, the TV on but muted, his eyes fixed on the blank screen.
As you passed, he looked up. His expression wasn't angry anymore—it was exhausted.
“Do you want to talk now?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.
You looked at him, and for a second, the wall almost crumbled. You wanted to reach out. But then you saw the flicker of expectation in his eyes, the "demand" for a resolution you weren't ready to give yet, and the wall reinforced itself. Your throat tightened.
You didn't say a word. You filled your glass, drank the water in a few quick gulps, and walked back toward the bedroom.
“Seriously?” Jungkook’s voice cracked slightly. He didn't follow you this time. He just stayed there, shadowed by the dim light of the TV. “You’re just going to pretend I’m not even in the room?”
You closed the door again, but this time, you leaned your forehead against the wood. Tears finally began to prick at your eyes. You weren't pretending he wasn't there. You were painfully aware of every breath he took. You were just terrified that if you opened your mouth, you would fall apart, and you didn't know if he would be there to catch the pieces or if he would just see the mess and finally decide he’d had enough.
The silent treatment wasn't just hurting him; it was isolating you in a way that felt like drowning. And for the first time, you realized that if you didn't learn how to swim, you were going to take the person you loved down with you.
Jungkook didn't sleep. He spent most of the night on the sofa, the cushions feeling less like furniture and more like a raft in the middle of a dark ocean. He was used to fixing things—broken electronics, a difficult dance routine, a bad mood. But this? This was a silence he couldn't muscle his way through.
By 4:00 AM, his mind was a chaotic loop of frustration and guilt.
“I’m the one who should be mad,” he told himself, staring at the ceiling. “She’s the one who shut down. She’s the one who walked away.” He thought about the weekend trip, the work he’d put into the relationship, and how much it hurt to be treated like a stranger in his own home. He felt a surge of pride—the part of him that wanted to stay silent too, just to show her how it felt. A "tit-for-tat" strategy that his ego whispered was only fair.
But then, he looked at the bedroom door.
He thought about the way your shoulders had slumped when you walked to the kitchen. You hadn't looked like a person winning a fight; you looked like a person who was lost.
Jungkook sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. He realized that if he chose his pride, he might "win" the argument, but he would lose you. And the thought of a life without your quiet laugh, your messy baking sessions, and the way you leaned into him when you were tired was far more terrifying than the thought of swallowing his pride.
“She isn't doing this to hurt me,” he realized, the thought landing like a heavy stone. “She’s doing this because she doesn't know what else to do.”
As the sun began to peek through the blinds, Jungkook stopped focusing on the argument and started focusing on the person. He knew he couldn't force you to talk. If he pounded on the door and demanded a conversation, you would only retreat further into your shell. He needed to build a bridge, not a battering ram.
He spent the morning in a state of quiet, focused energy. He didn't try to initiate a conversation when you finally came out of the bedroom to start your day. He didn't huff or puff or give "loud" sighs to let you know he was bothered. Instead, he simply existed in the same space as you, providing a calm, non-threatening presence.
He saw you sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at your laptop, your fingers hovering over the keys but never typing. You looked paralyzed.
Without a word, he moved into the kitchen. He didn't ask if you wanted anything. He just brewed a fresh pot of coffee—the roast you liked, not the one he preferred. He placed a mug next to your hand, along with a small plate of the brownies you had made the day before.
He saw your hand twitch toward the mug. You didn't look up, but your posture softened by a fraction of an inch.
Jungkook didn't linger. He didn't wait for a "thank you." He just went back to the living room and began to clear a space. He moved the cluttered boxes, straightened the rug, and set up a small, comfortable area with pillows on the floor near the window—a place where you usually felt most creative.
He was setting the stage for safety.
Throughout the day, he felt the urge to snap, to ask, "How much longer is this going to last?" but he suppressed it. He was learning a new kind of strength: patience. He realized that his desire to save the relationship had to be bigger than his desire to be heard.
By the late afternoon, the tension in the apartment hadn't disappeared, but it had changed. It was no longer sharp and jagged; it was soft and expectant.
Jungkook took a deep breath and sat down on the floor in the space he had cleared. He didn't call your name. He just waited. He was proving to you that he wasn't going anywhere—that even in the silence, he was reliable. Even when you were guarded, he would stay.
He was waiting for you to realize that the door wasn't locked from the outside. He was just waiting for you to turn the handle.
…
The evening light filtered through the window, casting long, amber shadows across the floor. You had watched Jungkook all day. You watched him choose patience over anger, and every time he moved through the apartment without slamming a door or throwing a cold glance, a brick from your internal wall crumbled.
He was sitting on the floor in the little nook he’d cleared for you. He wasn't on his phone; he wasn't distracting himself. He was just... there. Presence was his peace offering.
Your legs felt heavy as you finally stood up from the kitchen table. The silence was starting to feel less like a shield and more like a suffocating weight. You walked over, your heart hammering against your ribs, and sat down on the floor a few feet away from him.
Jungkook didn't jump to speak. He didn't demand an apology. He just looked at you, his large eyes soft and weary.
"I’m sorry," you whispered. The words felt like sandpaper in your dry throat. "I’m sorry I... stopped."
Jungkook reached out, not to pull you into a hug yet, but just to rest his hand on the floor between you, an invitation. "I’m sorry too," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have used those words. I was frustrated about the trip, but that was no excuse to call you 'unreliable' or tell you that you're always guarded. I know why you stay guarded, and I shouldn't have thrown that in your face."
The honesty of his apology made your eyes sting. You looked down at your lap, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "When you said that, it felt like... like you were seeing me the way my past saw me. Like I was a problem to be solved instead of a person."
Jungkook nodded slowly. "I see that now. But we need to talk about the silence, too." He moved a little closer, his voice calm but firm. "When you shut down, I feel like I’ve been evicted from our life. I’m standing right in front of you, but you’re a thousand miles away. I want to respect your space, but I can't fight for us if I’m the only one in the ring."
You bit your lip, the guilt finally finding a voice. "I don't do it to hurt you. It’s like... a reflex. My brain thinks if I don't speak, I can't make it worse. But I realize now that the silence makes it so much worse for you."
"It does," Jungkook admitted, his thumb tracing the pattern on the rug. "It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to be triggered. But you have to tell me, even if it’s just one sentence. Tell me 'I’m triggered and I need an hour,' or 'That word hurt me.' Give me a map, so I don't get lost trying to find you."
You looked up at him, seeing the vulnerability he was showing. He was an "alpha" in so many parts of his life—confident, strong, capable—but here, he was making himself soft just so you wouldn't feel threatened. It was a realization that hit you hard: a relationship isn't just about being loved for your best parts; it’s about someone seeing your flaws and staying to help you work through them.
"I don't want to be the person who shuts down forever," you said, your voice gaining a bit of strength. "I want to be better for you. Because I want this... us... to be forever. I need to learn to trust you with the 'messy' version of me."
Jungkook finally reached out, taking your hand in his. His grip was warm and grounding. "Then let’s practice. Next time I say something stupid—because I will, I’m human—don't run to the bedroom. Stay in the room. Even if you’re just sitting there being angry, stay in the room with me."
You squeezed his hand back, a small, tearful smile finally breaking through. "I'll try. I really will."
"That’s all I need," he whispered. "We don't have to be perfect. We just have to be present."
For the first time in twenty-four hours, the air in the apartment felt light enough to breathe. The argument hadn't been swept under the rug; it had been dismantled, piece by piece, through the very thing you feared most: being seen.
…
The weeks following the air in the apartment felt lighter, not because the problems had vanished, but because the fear of them had. You no longer walked on eggshells, and Jungkook no longer treated every disagreement like a battle to be won.
It was a Tuesday evening, and the coffee table was a chaotic spread of your brownie business spreadsheets and Jungkook’s messy handwritten lyrics. The "S and M" logo you had been working on sat open on your laptop screen.
"I think we should go with the pastel cream for the packaging," you murmured, mostly to yourself. "The dark brown is too heavy."
Jungkook looked up from his notebook, leaning over to squint at the screen. "I like the cream. It looks... approachable. Like you."
You smiled, but then your eyes snagged on the calendar. "Oh, wait. Friday. You have that recording session, and I have the bulk order for the assorted samplers. We’re going to be in each other's way in the kitchen again, aren't we?"
A month ago, this realization might have sparked a sharp comment about space or a defensive remark about whose work was more "urgent." You felt that familiar spark of anxiety—the urge to preemptively protect your workspace.
Jungkook noticed the tiny shift in your posture—the way your shoulders climbed a fraction of an inch toward your ears. He didn't ignore it, and he didn't poke at it.
"Yellow?" he asked softly, his voice humored but sincere.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and laughed. "Maybe a very pale lime green. Not a full yellow yet."
"Okay," he said, closing his notebook. "If it's lime green, let's solve it now before it turns bright red. I can move my setup to the bedroom for the afternoon so you have the counter space for the brownies. Then, when you’re done, we can clear the table and have dinner. Deal?"
"Deal," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
It was a small moment, but it felt monumental. You hadn't shut down. You hadn't retreated into the "survival mode" of your childhood. You had acknowledged the friction, and he had met you halfway with a solution.
Later that night, as you both lay in the quiet of the bedroom, the city lights filtering through the curtains, you turned to him. "I realized something today," you whispered.
Jungkook shifted, pulling the duvet up. "What’s that?"
"I used to think that a strong relationship was one where people never fought. I thought if we hit a wall, it meant we were failing," you confessed, tracing the tattoos on his arm. "But I think I was wrong. The wall is where the growth happens. If we didn't hit it, I'd still be hiding behind my silence, and you'd still be shouting to be heard."
Jungkook turned on his side to face you, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "I think the same thing. I used to think being a good partner meant being 'right' all the time. But being right is lonely. I’d much rather be wrong and be with you."
He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. "You’ve been doing so well, you know. I see you trying. I see you staying in the room even when you want to run. I know how hard that is for you."
"It’s getting easier," you admitted. "Because I know that even if I fall apart, you aren't going to use it against me. You’ve given me a safe place to be 'messy.'"
"That's the goal," he whispered. "Eight months down, and a lifetime of 'messy' to go."
You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady, reliable beat of his heart. You weren't the same people who had argued over a weekend trip a few weeks ago. You were older, wiser, and more deeply connected.
Love is about the hard, unglamorous work of unlearning your own defense mechanisms. It’s about choosing to stay when every instinct tells you to bolt.
As you drifted off to sleep, you didn't feel the need to be guarded. For the first time in your life, the weight of your words didn't feel like a burden—it felt like a bridge. And on the other side, Jungkook was waiting, ready to walk across it with you, every single time.99
☾ note: Damn, I think this might be the longest soulmate au I've ever made - but he is my first ult and your girl had a LOT she needed to be included. As always, please like, reblog, comment and follow if you like the story, and the taglist for this is open so just make a comment if you want me to add you to it
When Namjoon turned 13 nothing showed up, nothing at all. There were no marks on his body, nor were there any thoughts in his head or pain in his body. And it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but his love had always been music, and the passion he had for that was more than enough to live a fulfilled life.
So instead of seeing his life as if he was missing out, he instead shrugged and moved on.
When he joined BigHit, when he met the boys and started living with them he realized just how much most of their lives revolved around their other halves and their marks, and for the first time he felt a ping of jealousy in his chest.
The initial conversation they had about it explained both quirks and physical attributes that they all had. Jin was looking in every reflective surface to potentially catch a glimpse of his other half, Jimin was a mess once a month from pain, and Yoongi? The scar over his one eye was suddenly less gory.
And when he told them that he didn’t have one, all they had done was stare at him with pity. As if he was missing out on this incredible thing. He had tried to explain it was a waste of time to miss something you had never had, and even though he knew he was right, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was missing out on something special.
He didn’t mean to, but as time went on, he started to crave it, the promise of internal love, the promise of a future with someone, crave the one thing that he would never have.
You had heard the stories from your parents and the adults around you, and the excitement up to your thirteenth birthday was so high that everyone feared it would not live up to your expectations.
But when nothing came, and hadn’t showed up almost a year later, you had cursed the fates for not deeming you worthy of the one thing you had always dreamed about.
You had mourned him, mourned the dreams and all that could’ve been, and then slowly moved on. But those that were closest to you could see it, there was a spark in your eyes that was gone, a lightness in your steps that had suddenly become heavy.
Instead of dwelling on it too much, you dived head first into your work, your passion and those platonic soulmates you found along the way.
And as they smiled and celebrated when they met their soulmates, you made sure to hide your tears of despair in the dark hours of the night.
It was a slow Monday morning, and you managed to drag yourself out of bed into the pouring rain to get to work, completely leaving your umbrella behind in your apartment. You didn’t mind the rain, somehow it seemed to make everything slow.
There was a beauty to it, how the droplets of water hit the pavement and pooled together, how they left the greenery in this otherwise grey city more vibrant than it had been just a few hours earlier.
You turned your head towards the sky, hoping that it would wash away your sorrows, the loneliness, the depression that had taken root in your heart.
Maybe all you needed was a forever rain.
Namjoon was laying in his bed, slowly trying to rewind his mind and body after yet another tourstop, another city, another performance.
There was this feeling in his chest, one of anxiety he had a difficult time placing, it felt almost foreign, like it wasn’t his.
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, something he had learned helped whenever he needed a bit of grounding, and then he felt a drop of water hitting his face.
His eyes shot open as he stared up at the ceiling. It fell down his face as a single tear, and when he tried to whisk it away, there was nothing there.
He slowly sat up in his bed, and then a layer, a silk sheet of emotions, wrapped around his entire body. The feeling was familiar, like something he had always carried around with him, only this time it felt as if it had been magnified.
The feelings crept in, the sadness and anxiety, the depression and hopelessness, and they were darker than anything he himself had experienced in a very long time.
It was devastating the feeling of isolation he had inside of him, the feeling of not belonging to anyone.
There was no doubt, this had to be you, this had to be his soulmate. So he cried silently over the fact that he had left you, that he had given up and just accepted life without you. Had you been able to feel it? His indifference towards you?
Or had you just assumed, like he had, that those lingering feelings that came out of the blue were just anxiety or random bursts of happiness or sadness?
Like always he dealt with his emotions by writing it all down, and as the sun started to rise outside of his window the songs he had composed were finished.
The first songs he had written weren't songs of love and happiness, but an acknowledgement of the pain he had caused you, that he saw the pain there, that he felt it, and that he from this moment on would help you carry it.
The week following your rainy Monday was different, very different. It was filled with hope, excitement and nerves. It was weird because there was not anything exciting going on in your life, everything was exactly like it had always been.
Until one afternoon; you had stretched your body, warmed your joints and were now on pointe in front of the mirror as you ran through your routine in your head.
People were talking, exchanging words of encouragement or just straight out gossiping about something, and then a slow piano started playing somewhere in the room, accompanied by the sound of rain, and your entire world stopped.
You felt chills running through your body as every hair stood up. A woman ran towards the sound and quickly turned it off, you made a mental note of asking her what the song was when the day was over.
“Any luck yet?” Yoongi popped his head into Namjoon’s room. He had very impromptu dropped a mixtape in the middle of touring, surprising everyone, his members especially.
Then he had told them all that he in fact had a mark, he just hadn’t been aware of it which had led to loud cheers and hugs, even a few happy tears from Jimin. After that they had made sure to check in on him every now and then.
He shook his head with a somewhat sad smile. “No, not yet. So I guess it’s safe to say that she’s not army”
His older brother nodded with tight lips. “I’m sure she’ll find it”
The leader only shrugged. “I doubt it. At the end of the day it was a long shot”
Namjoon stood up and grabbed his phone from the table, flipping it open and then zoning out completely.
“What if she feels me, what if she has just chosen to ignore it, ignore me, as revenge for not feeling her all these years?”
Yoongi slowly walked into the room. “You’ve wanted this for longer than you’ve dared to admit, haven't you?” He laid a hand on his leader's shoulder, it was a touch of both support and comfort.
All he got in return was a small nod.
“I’ve met very few people in my life that have been as in touch with their emotions as you. You’ve always known how to express yourself, known how to listen to what you’ve felt and rationalized those feelings, hell you’ve even acted on them when that was what was needed. I’m sure that she is similar to that, for some reason your mark just hasn't really shown up before now. That has nothing to do with you, and I’m sure as soon as she feels it, she will be as grateful as you are”
He didn’t say it often but Namjoon had always valued the way Yoongi always knew exactly what to say, at the exact time that the people around him needed it the most.
“Thank you hyung”
All he got was a smile return, and he quickly followed the scarred rapper out of the room to join him and his members for dinner.
You had gotten the song name, and were now seated in your apartment alone with your hand hovering over the play button.
“Why am I nervous? It’s just a song” you whispered to no one.
Your cat made a small noise in acknowledgement, and came to you, gently laying down in your lap as she started to purr, almost instantly calming your nervous system.
Then you pressed the screen and the sound of both raindroplets and the sound of a piano slowly played, and then a voice started rapping.
The voice was raspy but at the same time it felt like it had been dipped in honey. It spoke to your soul in a way no music previously had. One song led you to the next and before you knew it you had listened to the entire mixtape.
You opened your computer and found the translations, and then you cried. It was as if the artist had taken everything you had ever felt, and managed to put it not only into words, but notes as well, as if he could feel your emotions.
It was beauty and it was art, and you were hooked and absolutely ready to dive head first into this artist's discography.
The search for the translation had led to a deep dive into the artist and the second he appeared on your screen your heart stopped and for the first time in your life you felt the pull.
A pull that up until this moment had only ever been described to you. It was a need and a want all at the same time, as if you were both seen and saw him for exactly who you were.
“Kim Namjoon” you whispered, and as if it was all it would take, for you to speak his name you felt a silk sheet cover your body, and emotions that weren’t your own washed over you like a tidal wave.
For the first time in a very long time, the tears that now fell from your eyes were of happiness.
And as beautiful as this moment was, it left a lingering fear. Because how the hell do you get the attention of your soulmate, when he’s in the biggest band on the planet?
They had been walking around on stage, when he felt you. It was stronger than the days leading up to it, it was a feeling of pure joy, relief and love that rushed over him.
He had stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes as he flung his hands around his own body, as if you were there with him. Almost as if he just hugged himself and your emotions tightly enough you would be able to feel him.
Jimin was the first to notice that their leader was no longer with them, and when he looked his way, his eyes disappeared into well-known crescent moons.
He gave Hoseok a small nudge which led to a squeal and the attention of the remaining members was suddenly on the mess of a man that stood a few meters from them all.
Jin ran up to him first and wrapped his large hand around his friend's neck which forced his eyes open.
“I think she found the song”
It was all he was able to say before the relief and happiness washed over him, all the while his brothers celebrated around him.
He wellowed in it, soaked every drop of happiness into the very depth of his soul, and despite not quite knowing how this mark of yours worked, he did his best to send every bit of joy he felt, down through that bond that now bound the two of you together.
You had felt him instantly, which had only made your heart swell even more, and after a long night, a few bottles of wine while you updated your girls on the events that were your soulmate, you had all come up with a plan.
It still felt weird. Your soulmate. You still had to pinch yourself whenever you felt his emotions, scared that this was all a dream you just couldn’t wake up from.
The days had turned into weeks, and after having danced so hard your feet almost bled, you were finally ready, ready to leave a trail of breadcrumbs out for him to find.
You took one last look at yourself before you gave a nod to one of your best friends and as soon as the music started, you danced to the tunes written to you by your soulmate.
The following days your social media pages exploded, you had uploaded your dance covers on every app you could think of. Hopeful that one of them would make his way to him, and that he would feel the same pull towards you, as you had felt the second you had laid eyes on him.
Army had been your biggest support through all of this, they had complimented the way you had interpreted Namjoon’s mixtape by sharing it, posting reactions to them, and most importantly tagged every member more than a thousand times in every post.
Now all you could do was wait.
Hoseok had been casually scrolling through his Tiktok when he had gotten a dm from a dance friend of his with a link to a series of dance covers by a ballerina, to the song written by his younger brother.
He had watched them all, over and over again. Studied your movements almost as much as he has studied your expressions. Because there was a dancer who understood in her very soul what the songs were about.
The second he had felt confident enough, that this was in fact what he thought it was, he had slid into your dm’s with a message as simple, yet significant as: I think I know someone who would love to meet you.
It was the worst possible timing, they were all slowly getting used to the new city, the new stadium. They were all getting ready for the show that very night, but he didn’t really care much about any of it, because this was more important.
He found Namjoon sitting in the beauty room, scrolling on his phone as he ignored the chaos around him.
Namjoon had told them time and time again the past few days that you were feeling nervous as well as excited.
From what he didn’t know, all he knew was that whatever made you feel this way, would work out, and Hoseok felt a sense of pride having been the one to discover it.
He gave the wide shouldered man a gentle tap on his arm to get his attention, and as Namjoon looked his way he gently gave him the phone with a subtle little smile.
Namjoon himself had done his best to scour the internet from any sign of you, but so far he had come up empty handed.
The second he had gotten Hoseok’s phone in his hand, he had stopped breathing. Because right there on his screen was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
You were elegant, beautiful incarnate, with a subtle hint of both happiness and nervousness written on your face and in your movements, and there was no doubt that you were his.
He slowly stood from his chair as he scrolled through his entire mixtape, interpreted by your movements and very own form of art. He had never felt more special, nor more proud than in this exact moment.
When he finished he swallowed once.
“Where is she?” he said with a lump in his throat.
Hoseok shrugged once as he peeled his phone out of his brother's hand. “I don’t know yet, but I’ve written her a message”
Namjoon pulled out his own phone and with shaking hands tried to open the app to hopefully get in contact with you himself.
A small ping was heard from the sunshine man's phone, and as he turned it towards Namjoon, a small message there read: ‘I think you do’ followed by a phone number.
With shaking hands Namjoon dialed the number, and the other end of it picked up before it even managed to ring once.
He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. For 7 seconds, he just stood there as you heard you breath on the other end, as he felt how nervous and excited you were at the same time.
“Where are you?” He managed to say, swallowing once more to hopefully buy himself some time to think of something a little more original to say.
A subtle laugh was heard on the other end. “Hi Namjoon”
He smiled then, wider than he ever had. His dimples were on full display, as his cheeks started to hurt, all the while his heart swelled.
“Hi baby” he said as the people around him broke out in cheers. The cameras had been turned on and all turned his way, when that had happened he didn’t know, and he didn’t really care, all that mattered right here and now was you.
He felt the flutters of your heart all the while calmness and pure joy enveloped him in that now well known silk, that he knew as your emotions.
“Well to answer your question, I’m actually in the same place as you are… Not in the stadium of course, but the city”
He removed the phone a little from his face as he screamed silently. This was perfect.
“How soon can you get here?” He asked, he knew it was a long shot, but he had to try.
You laughed and he was certain he had died and gone to heaven right then and there. “I’m pretty sure your concert is sold out”
He chuckled. “That’s not what I asked” he said back in the most lovingly teasing voice he could.
He could feel his heartbeat pick up as he awaited your answer.
“I’m currently at work, but if you have the time, maybe we could figure out how to meet tomorrow?” you said, he could almost feel how you bit your lip in anticipation, oh and how he hated he wasn’t there to see it.
“Send me the address, I’m coming to get you”
It was a long shot, he knew that, but he didn’t really care.
All he heard was that musically laugh, one he knew would be the inspiration for songs to come.
“Don’t you have more important things to do right about now?”
He looked at his members, his brothers, and how they all gave him encouraging nods.
“No, you are the most important thing”
You were silent for a few seconds. “Okay, I’ll send you the address"
“Stay where you are, I’m on my way”
He didn’t want to hang up, if he could he would’ve climbed through his phone and out to you on the other side, unfortunately that wasn’t happening. So instead he hung up, pulled his members into a group hug with the promise that he would be back before the concert started.
Then he turned on his heel and sprinted towards the exit.
You were sitting in the lobby at your work, silently bouncing your leg as you felt your heart almost beat out of your chest. In record time you had managed to shower, and make yourself presentable.
It wasn’t that you had been a complete lost cause, but you wanted him to find you captivating and beautiful. Luckily the women around you had come to your aid, and now your eyes were fixated on the door.
Like you, Namjoon was completely unable to sit still in the car that was taking him to you. He was constantly fiddling with his clothes, his hair, his phone. All the while his eyes were fixated on the world that passed by around him.
When he finally arrived at his destination, he took a deep breath before opening the door. His mask was on, no need to give the entire world the possibility of watching this. It was something he wanted to be as private as possible.
He saw you before you had noticed him. The way you kept twisting your rings, the way your legs bounced, the nerves and excitement that roamed through you.
It made him lose his breath.
The second he felt that need, that bond almost snapping into place, the second he felt love run through himself, he saw your eyes snap up from your hands.
He walked through the doors as you slowly stood up from the chair.
The two of you were going slow, almost as if you were afraid that the other one would disappear if you walked too fast.
He towered over you as you stood in front of him. The photos you had seen of him didn’t do him justice. He was huge. Both in hide and in width.
He slowly peeled off his mask and revealed that dimpled smile of his, as his eyes almost disappeared.
You had no idea why, but that was all it took for you to throw yourself into his arms. You didn’t know if it was the sheer strength of him, or if he had been able to predict your move, but he didn’t even sway.
Instead he just flung his arms around you, gently picking you up off the ground as he buried his head in the crook of your neck.
When he finally set you down on the ground again, your hands came to caress his cheeks, gently poking those dimples with your thumbs, earning you a laugh.
“Hello there” you said, as you gently brushed away his tears, all the while you did your best to not let your own fall.
He leaned down and rested his forehead against yours, all the while his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
The two of you just stood there like that for a few minutes, before he finally pulled himself together, flung an arm around your shoulders, grabbed your bag and slowly walked out of the lobby with you by his side.
It was this quiet dominance, authority that made your entire spine shiver in anticipation of what else he would be able to do. Especially when the two of you were alone.
Namjoon laughed. “Baby, pull your head out of the gutter or I will devour you on the backseat of my car”
You pulled away from him and looked at him with shocked eyes. He just chuckled in response. “I can literally feel your emotions” he bend down and whispered, “that includes lust”
The blood rushed to your cheeks as you blushed, turning both your cheeks and ears as red as a tomato.
“Oh my god, I didn’t even think of that” you responded as you hid your face in his shirt.
“Trust me, I don’t mind it at all, but how about we wait with that part until we’re alone”
You felt it then, the need and lust he too felt. You pushed him gently. “Stop that”
He chuckled once more before kissing the top of your head. “Anything for you baby”
You had arrived at the concert, and he had introduced you to his six brothers all while beaming as if he was the sun itself.
They had all welcomed you with hugs, questions and overall excitement. Excitement that was so contagious you soon were bussing with it.
Namjoon made sure to always have your hand in his, an arm flung around your shoulders, or having you leaning against his chest as he gently rested his chin on the top of your head.
And despite the chaos of dancers, stylists and mua’s, he managed to make it all feel like the safest place you had ever been.
He had made sure you got a seat where you could see him at all time, and he had made sure his front was towards you every second.
It was nerve wrecking for him to be on stage. He so hoped that you would feel pride and awe in what he did, in what he loved. Luckily it was only that and deep love and respect he felt through your shared bond the entire concert.
All those feelings made him give it a little extra, an effort that was definitely appreciated by army as well as you.
The ride from the venue and back to his hotel wasn’t the longest, and the feeling of having him close was even more amazing than anything you had ever dreamt of.
The two of you were quiet, not really wanting to speak before you were alone, there was so much that needed to be said, so much he needed to apologize for.
You could feel the nerves and the guilt eating away at him, but you also knew that just because you were able to know exactly what he was feeling, didn’t mean that he was ready to talk to you about it yet, so instead you waited.
“It’s cozy” you said as you entered his room, looked around on his exploded suitcase and all the little things that were scattered throughout the room.
You sat down on the bed and sent a smile his way, hoping it would make him open up.
He sighed once before leaning his head back, looking into the ceiling. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
You perked up at that, sitting a little straighter than you had a second ago.
He ran his hands through his hair before finally looking at you. “I’m so sorry I didn’t feel you before, I’m so sorry it took me this long to notice you were out there. I’m sorry that I’ve put you through so much anxiety, so many nights spent alone thinking I would never come”
You saw how the tears welled in his eyes, how they threatened to fall any second.
Instead of saying anything you just reached out for him, and he followed instantly, sitting down on his knees before you on the floor. His arms flung around your waist as you gently ran your hands through his hair as he cried, gently scratching his scalp with your nails.
You sat like that for a few minutes, until his breathing steadied. The you pulled him away from your chest and rested your hands on his cheeks, once again caressing those dimple of his.
“It takes two people to share a bond, and I didn’t notice you either, sure you might’ve been busier, but I should’ve been there for you as well, as support on stressful days, as a cheerleader in the back of your head, always cheering you on. We have a lot of catching up to do, both of us, but we also have a life to make it right”
He smiled, and you returned it before pulling him closer, gently rubbing your nose against his.
His eyes changed them, from loving and adoring to dominant and almost dragon-like, they got dark and the need he felt for you flushed over you was like a tidal wave.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, teasing you by drawing circles into your hips with his thumbs.
You swallowed once before you nodded. He didn’t hesitate, not even a second. Instead he quickly closed the distance between the two.
His lips was soft, gentle as if he was savoring something sweet, slowly taking his time to feel every emotion, feeling and taste.
The emotions were overwhelming, so much that the two of you needed to take a break. He slowly climbed over you, gently helping you scoot back onto the bed. He gave you a small peck as he smiled.
“I love that I can actually feel how I make you feel” He said as he gently nippled on your bottom lip.
The lust slowly crept over him, he pulled away once more with a raised brow. “Oh? You like that huh?”
“You could do anything to me Namjoon, and I would love it”
He closed his eyes and hid his head in the crook of your neck. “Say my name again” he almost whispered.
The kind command made you smile and a giggle threatened to spill past your lips but you held it back as you whispered his name into his ear.
“Fuck, you’ll be the death of me” he said as you saw how his pupils had completely taken over his eyes, somehow making them even more deadly than they already were.
He gently let one of his hands from your ankle up to your thigh, before he flung it around his own waist, the sheer weight of it pulled him closer to you.
“The question now is baby” he kissed right below your ear. “If-” a kiss a little lower down your neck, and he kept that going with every word he said. “- you’ll. Let. Me. Devour. You?”
He felt your need and your want for him, before you pulled him away from your neck and kissed him passionately, slowly letting go, letting yourself indulge in this with him.
The two of you had been rolling around in the sheets for hours upon hours, only taking small breaks to catch your breaths before starting once again.
You were curled around his side, your head resting on his giant chest.
“I think this is my new favorite pillow” he laughed loudly before kissing your somewhat sweaty brow.
“Good, because I would definitely want you to sleep in my arms as often as possible”
You turned to look at him, he gently started running a hand up and down your spine, gently caressing the skin beneath his fingertips.
“It feels like a dream, being here with you”
You saw how his eyes shone with both sadness and adoration. He sat up and kissed you tenderly. “I promise you it’s not. I promise that I’m here, that I’ll always be here. I promise that I’ll never leave”
One of his hands rested against your cheek and you leaned into it.
“Let’s make a deal, every now and then I’ll give you a small pinch, to remind you that this is real, that we are real?”
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As always, please like, reblog, comment and follow if you like the story, and the taglist for this is open so just make a comment if you want me to add you to it
Pairing: BF!Jungkook x GF!reader
Genre: crack fic, established relationship, domestic fluff, Romantic Comedy
Warnings: nothing much, just kissing, Jungkook being adorably chaotic boyfriend in his first ever relationship
Word Count: ~1.7k
[MASTERLIST]
Jungkook had been in exactly one relationship in his entire life.
Three months.
And somehow, he had already decided that every romantic Instagram reel was a guidebook for boyfriends worldwide.
So when he came across that reel at 2 a.m., his eyes widened like he’d found the hidden treasure.
The comments were pure chaos:
"NEED THIS IN MY LIFE 😭"
"WHERE DO I FIND A MAN LIKE THIS???"
"GOD I SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING FOR OTHERS 😭"
"SCREAMING... CRYING... THROWING UP..."
Jungkook sat up straight in bed, heart racing with determination.
“Ah,” he whispered to himself, nodding seriously. “This is it. Peak romance. The move and then kiss.”
Fast forward to the next afternoon.
You were humming happily in the kitchen, wiping down the counter after lunch. It was lazy Sunday, your favourite kind when Jungkook was around.
Three months into this beautiful, chaotic relationship, and he still made your heart do flutter every single time he looked at you like you personally hung the stars.
He was a total newbie at the boyfriend thing.
You had already caught him secretly googling “how to be a romantic boyfriend” or “tips to make your girlfriend happy” at least four times, which only made you adore him more.
Suddenly, a firm hand grabbed your wrist.
Before you could even turn around, Jungkook spun you with dramatic flair and pinned you gently but decisively against the nearby kitchen wall. His eyes were sparkling with pure mission-mode energy.
In his free hand?
A chocolate bar he’d clearly just snatched from the fridge.
He broke off a piece and popped it straight into your mouth like he’d rehearsed it fifty times in his head.
“Mmmph—!” Your eyes widened in surprise, but the sweetness hit instantly.
You chewed happily, completely unaware of his grand plan. “Thanks, babe! I was seriously craving something sweet after lunch. How did you know?” You grinned up at him, fond and licking a little chocolate around the lips.
Jungkook froze mid-lean, lips few inches away from yours.
His entire body went stiff.
“...You were supposed to—” He blinked rapidly. “Never mind. Glad you liked it.”
He pulled back, cheeks already turning pink.
You tilted your head, sensing something was off but not quite connecting the dots. “You okay? You look like you’re trying to solve a math equation with your face.”
“I’m fine! Totally cool,” he mumbled, already reaching for the chocolate bar again like a man on a mission.
Round Two...
This time he moved faster, grabbing your wrist with a little “Hah!” like he was in an action movie.
Wrist grab... then wall pin...
Chocolate piece shoved between your lips with dramatic precision.
You chewed it just as quickly, eyes crinkling in delight. “Wow, two pieces? You’re spoiling me today. Aren't these the ones you brought me last week? I totally forgot to try it. They’re so good—”
Jungkook’s lean was quicker this time, but you still happily chomped the whole thing down before his lips could reach. He pulled back with a soft, betrayed little huff, nose scrunching adorably.
This time you were starting to catch on.
The way he kept leaning in... the intense eye contact... the dramatic wrist grab.
Oh. Ohhh.
But teasing him was way too fun. You decided to be evil.
Third attempt.
Jungkook was now in full mission mode.
He didn’t even warn you—just snatched your wrist, pressed you against the wall... a little more firmly this time, his body warm and solid against yours, and practically jammed the third piece into your mouth with pure determination.
You let it sit on your tongue for half a second... then grinned mischievously and crunched the entire thing in one go.
“Delicious,” you said sweetly, licking a bit of chocolate off your lip.
Jungkook’s jaw dropped.
Jungkook blinked. “...”
You blinked too. “...”
“...Where did it go?” he asked, stunned.
“My stomach?” you replied innocently.
Jungkook blinked again. “...”
“Was that the wrong answer?”
The man looked genuinely offended, eyes wide with betrayal like you’d just kicked his puppy.
His mouth opened and closed a few times, completely speechless. “Y-you... You are doing that on purpose.”
You couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You burst out laughing, covering your mouth with both hands. “I suspected on the second one what you were upto! You were leaning in like you were about to devour me. It was cute. Extremely cute. But also very funny.”
He stared at you for a beat, betrayed chocolate bar still in his hand.
Then, with the most adorable pout you’d ever seen on a grown man... bottom lip jutting out, eyebrows furrowed like an angry baby bunny, he tossed the entire remaining chocolate bar into your hands.
“Yaahhh! Here! Eat all of it then!” He spun on his heel and stomped—actually stomped—toward the living room couch, flopping down dramatically and crossing his arms.
“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that reel. Stupid Instagram. Stupid chocolate. Stupid romantic gestures...”
You were laughing so hard you had to hold onto the counter for a second. “Jungkook-ah, wait—!”
He ignored you, sinking deeper into the cushions with the world’s most pitiful pout, mumbling, “I practiced the lean in the mirror and everything...”
God, he was precious.
Still giggling, you followed him, chocolate bar in hand.
His pout somehow got worse.
“You ruined it,” he mumbled, voice full of betrayal.
You sat beside him, still trying and failing to hold back your laughter. “What did I ruin?”
He refused to make eye contact, turning his head away like a total drama queen.
You nudged his shoulder gently. “Babe.”
Nothing...
“Jungkookie~”
Still nothing. He just huffed and sank deeper into the cushions.
“Baby.”
Absolute silence... The pout jutting out.
You leaned in closer, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. “My most handsome boyfriend in the world...”
He paused for a second, then muttered grudgingly, “...ok... continue.”
You snorted so hard you almost dropped the chocolate bar.
Without warning, you straddled his lap, settling comfortably with your knees on either side of his thighs. Jungkook’s eyes flew wide open, his pout freezing mid-sulk.
“Y-Yah! What are you— suddenly?!” His hands instinctively landed on your waist, like he couldn’t decide whether to push you away in protest or pull you closer.
You rested your arms on his shoulders, grinning down at his flushed face. “So... what exactly were you trying to do, Mr. Google Romantic? Hm? Spill it.”
He avoided your eyes, cheeks burning crimson.
“Nothing. It was supposed to be... cool. And sexy. The guy in the reel pinned her, gave her chocolate, and then they... you know.” He made a vague kissing motion with his hand. “But you kept swallowing it! Like a vacuum!”
You stared at him for a second, then your eyes widened in realization. “You were trying to recreate a reel... Oh my god.”
“…maybe.”
You laughed so hard you nearly fell off his lap, clutching his shoulders for balance. “I can’t believe you.”
“It looked romantic!” he protested, voice going higher in embarrassment.
“It looked ridiculous!”
“It had twelve million likes!” Jungkook argued, pouting harder.
You poked his chest repeatedly. “You trust Instagram comments?”
“THEY WERE VERY SUPPORTIVE COMMENTS, okay!”
You were still giggling uncontrollably. “So.”
“So…?”
“You were trying to feed me chocolate and kiss me.”
His ears turned bright pink. “No.”
“Jungkook.”
“Maybe.”
“Jungkook.”
“…yes,” he finally admitted, defeated.
You giggled again, softer this time, brushing his hair back.
He groaned and buried his face in your shoulder, hiding from your teasing gaze. “DON’T LAUGH.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, though your voice was shaking with laughter. “I really am.”
“YOU ATE ALL THREE PIECES,” he whined into your neck, the words muffled against your skin.
“I WAS HUNGRY!”
“WHO SWALLOWS CHOCOLATE THAT FAST?!”
“I DO,” you answered proudly, still straddling his lap. “It was really good chocolate, babe.”
He pulled back just enough to glare at you, though the effect was ruined by his adorable pout. “YOU DIDN’T EVEN LET ME FINISH THE ROMANCE.”
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his warm cheeks.
“Stop teasing me,” he whined, but his hands squeezed your waist tighter, betraying how much he actually loved having you there. “I was trying to flirt! Make your heart flutter or whatever the articles said.”
“Aww, and it did flutter. Just not the way you planned.”
You leaned in, brushing your nose against his. “You’re so adorable when you’re trying so hard. The wrist grab? That was Chef’s kiss. The way you pinned me to the wall? Ten on ten. The way you leaned dramatically... I almost died from cuteness overloaded.”
Jungkook’s pout softened into a shy little smile, but he still grumbled, “Then why did you eat the chocolate like a savage every time?”
“Because I didn’t know the script!” You giggled, pressing a tiny kiss to his forehead. “Next time, maybe try without props? Or at least warn me so I don’t accidentally ruin your romance moment with my sweet tooth.”
He finally laughed, that bright bunny smile breaking through as he wrapped his arms fully around you. “You’re mean. I’m never watching Instagram reels again.”
“Liar. You’ll be back on there tonight looking up ‘couple goals that actually work.’”
“Probably,” he admitted, burying his face in your neck. “But seriously... was it that bad?”
“Not bad at all. It was hot for like three seconds before I ruined it by chewing,” you teased, running your fingers through his hair. “Here, let me show you how it’s done without the chocolate drama.”
You tilted his chin up gently and pecked his pouty lips. Once... Twice... Then a longer, softer kiss that made him melt underneath you, hands sliding up your back.
When you pulled away, his eyes were sparkling again. “...Can we try the wall thing again later? Without chocolate this time?”
You grinned, booping his nose. “Only if I get to pin you to the wall too. Fair’s fair, Jeon Jungkook.”
He groaned happily, pulling you down for another kiss. “Deal. But I’m eating the rest of that chocolate bar first. You owe me after all that emotional damage.”
You laughed into his mouth. “It’s yours, my dramatic sulky chocolate prince.”
The rest of the afternoon dissolved into more laughter at his more terrible flirting attempts. Being with Jungkook was never boring, especially when he was trying to be romantic.
girl who is so so scared all the time. girl who once passed as 'smart' but now finds it hard to think. girl who's always half lost because of memory issues and dissociation and trouble with inhabiting a physical space. girl who is a failure in a way that is neither interesting nor endearing.
there’s something about becoming older where everything feels finite. summer isn’t endless, love isn’t eternal. you move homes, your favorite boots fall apart, your dog dies. everything feels consuming and beautiful when it is believed to be eternal. now it is all precious. everything. and there is a melancholy that comes with it.
Cat coded Yoongi and his equally cat coded girlfriend.
Sleep is important to you both.
Affection is on your and his terms.
The urge to be alone is strong in you both, but also equally you never want to be parted.
The compromise is that you indulge in individual hobbies or activities separately but in the same space.
So you curl up on the couch in his home studio with your latest crafty project on your lap whilst he works on a song.
The opposite also true when Yoongi is drawn into your office when you’re grading assignments, finding comfort in your proximity and knowing that this is his happy place—you are his home.
a quiet escape to the mountains where love doesn’t need to be loud. far from seoul, they learn that understanding can exist in silence, and that staying can feel just as good as leaving.
pairing: jungkook x reader
genre: romance, fluff, slow burn, slice of life
warnings: kissing, emotional intimacy, soft tension, no explicit content, use of “y/n” pov
____________________________________________
the highway unraveled beneath the motorcycle like a ribbon of silver, carrying seoul farther and farther behind until apartment blocks dissolved into farmland, and farmland gave way to dense forests climbing the sides of distant mountains.
jungkook preferred roads like these.
not because they were empty, although they usually were, but because they seemed to slow the world down.
he could feel your arms around his waist through his jacket, your helmet resting lightly against his shoulder whenever the road straightened. every now and then, he’d tap your hand with two fingers—a silent check-in the two of you had invented years ago.
you answered with a gentle squeeze.
still here.
always.
by the time the cabin came into view, the sun was already dipping behind the peaks, painting everything in shades of amber and blue. the gravel crunched beneath the tires as jungkook parked the motorcycle, and for a moment neither of you rushed to get off.
the silence felt earned.
when you finally removed your helmet, you inhaled deeply.
the air smelled like pine needles and damp earth.
“no traffic,” you murmured.
“no traffic,” he echoed.
“no music from three different cafés competing with each other.”
“no strangers trying to start conversations.”
you smiled.
“this is perfect.”
he wasn’t surprised.
some people collected memories in crowded streets and late-night parties. you collected them in quiet places where the loudest thing was the wind.
inside, the cabin was simple. wooden floors that creaked under every step, shelves lined with forgotten paperbacks, oversized blankets folded over the couch. the windows overlooked a valley wrapped in mist.
you wandered straight to one of them.
jungkook watched without interrupting.
he knew that whenever you entered a new place, you liked to take it in before speaking, letting your eyes travel across every detail until it felt familiar.
he’d learned not to fill those moments with questions.
eventually, you turned back to him.
“i like it here.”
“i knew you would.”
“how?”
“you’ve been smiling since we left the city.”
that made you laugh quietly.
the sound lingered in the room.
it wasn’t that you disliked people. you just found it easier to hear yourself think when they weren’t around.
the mountains offered that without asking questions. the trails didn’t demand conversation, the trees didn’t expect eye contact, and the silence never felt awkward. it simply existed, wrapping itself around everything until even your thoughts slowed to match the rhythm of the wind through the pines.
jungkook had learned this long ago.
he didn’t ask for explanations.
he just stayed close enough to understand your rhythm.
after unpacking, you followed a narrow trail behind the cabin until it opened onto a clearing overlooking the mountains. wildflowers swayed in the breeze, and somewhere below, hidden by trees, a stream rushed over smooth stone.
you sat on an old wooden fence.
jungkook sat beside you.
for several minutes, neither of you spoke.
when your shoulder brushed against his, he reached over and linked his pinky with yours.
a tiny gesture.
enough.
“you know,” he said eventually, “people always think silence means something’s wrong.”
“it usually means i’m comfortable.”
“i know.”
and he really did.
he’d stopped expecting eye contact during serious conversations a long time ago. sometimes you watched the horizon instead, or fiddled absently with the edge of his sleeve while you spoke. the words were always honest. the direction of your gaze never mattered.
there was something quietly admirable about you.
not in spite of it.
because of it.
on the walk back, the first drops of rain began to fall.
by the time you reached the porch, it had become steady.
you paused just outside the door.
jungkook looked at you.
“you want to stay out here for a minute?”
you nodded.
the two of you leaned against the railing, listening to the rain wash over the forest.
the world felt far away here, like it had politely stepped back and given you space.
jungkook shifted closer, not sudden, not demanding, just close enough that your shoulders brushed again. you didn’t move away.
neither did he.
his hand found yours, fingers folding in with familiar ease.
“you’ve been quiet,” he said softly.
“i’m listening.”
“i know.”
a pause stretched between you, filled only with rain and the faint creak of wood beneath your weight.
he lifted your hand slightly, absently brushing his thumb over your knuckles like he was grounding himself in the contact.
then his voice dropped a little.
“i like this version of you.”
“what version?”
“the one that stops trying to fit into noise.”
you let out a small breath that almost became a laugh.
“it’s not a version. it’s just… easier out here.”
“then we should come more often.”
you finally turned your head just slightly—not fully, just enough that he could catch a glimpse of your expression before your gaze drifted away again.
it didn’t matter.
he didn’t ask for more.
his hand rose slowly to your face, not rushing, not claiming space—just offering it. his fingertips rested lightly against your cheek like he was waiting for permission even though he already knew you would give it.
you leaned in first.
the kiss started softly, unhurried, like a continuation of everything you hadn’t said out loud. it didn’t try to become anything more than what it was in that moment—just closeness, just warmth, just the quiet understanding between you.
it lasted, then paused.
not fully breaking.
just enough for a breath, for a faint smile that lingered at the corner of his mouth.
“you’re cold,” he murmured against your lips.
“i’m fine.”
“you’re not.”
before you could argue again, he shifted closer, pulling you gently into the space between his body and the railing, shielding you from the wind without making a show of it.
the next kiss came slower.
longer.
not rushed, not hesitant. just steady. like something that had already been decided long ago and was now simply happening.
your fingers curled into the front of his jacket, grounding yourself in the fabric as the rain softened into a steady rhythm around you.
every time you pulled back slightly, it wasn’t distance.
it was just breathing.
and every time you came back, it was easier than the last.
at some point, he rested his forehead against yours and let out a quiet laugh.
“what?”
“i just forgot what it feels like when everything is quiet enough to hear you properly.”
you didn’t answer with words.
you didn’t need to.
the next kiss lingered longer than the ones before, slower in its rhythm, interrupted only by soft pauses where neither of you fully pulled away. his hand stayed steady at your back, and yours remained tangled in his sleeve like you’d stopped noticing where you ended and he began.
the rain softened further, thinning into mist.
neither of you moved toward the door.
eventually, though, you did—still close, still lingering, still not quite ready to let go of the moment.
inside, the fire had already started catching, casting flickering light over the wooden walls. the cabin felt warmer now, as if it had been waiting for you to return.
you didn’t immediately speak.
neither did he.
the silence had followed you inside.
and it still felt like yours.
later, the rain softened to a whisper.
you rested your head against his shoulder.
neither of you needed more than that.
when you stepped outside again later that night, the storm had passed.
the sky was open, filled with stars scattered too widely for city light to erase.
