FOREVER VALENTINE
summary 𓂃⋆.˚ You’ve never believed in Valentine’s Day. But Park Jimin proves that love is less about the holiday and more about showing up — until one February night changes everything.
pairing 𓂃⋆.˚ park jimin x fem!reader (established relationship)
word count 𓂃⋆.˚ 2.5k
tags 𓂃⋆.˚ PURE FLUFF, established relationship, military enlistment, long distance, valentine’s day, soft jimin, romantic gestures, flowers as symbolism, proposal, engagement, slight emotional comfort, mutual devotion, happy ending
notes 𓂃⋆.˚ hi 🫶 this is my first ever post on this account and my first time writing in months, so i’m a little nervous sharing it. i’ve missed writing so much and tumblr felt like the right place to start again. i thought writing a fluffy jimin one-shot might help ease me back into the writing mindset + there is a criminally low amount of jimin fics on the app! anyway thank you for reading and being here ♡
You were never the type to circle Valentine’s Day on a calendar.
The holiday always felt performative to you. One designated day to celebrate love, as if affection were a limited-time offer. If you loved someone, you showed it constantly. On random Tuesdays or busy Thursdays. In words and actions, even in silence.
But this year, despite your long-standing cynicism, something was fluttering in your chest. A quiet anticipation you tried to ignore and failed.
You and Park Jimin had been together for four years now. Four years of stolen weekends between his packed schedules. Four years of private moments behind closed doors, hands intertwined beneath restaurant tables, dancing in your dim kitchen past midnight.
Eighteen months of those four years, however, had been spent apart.
Jimin’s enlistment had carved distance between you, but it hadn’t hollowed you out. If anything, it forced you both to become more deliberate. More intentional. Love had become something you practiced carefully instead of something you could reach for whenever you wanted.
Jimin called whenever he could, even if it was only for a few minutes. Sometimes you would catch yourself watching the clock, counting down to the small window when he might have access to his phone.
He told you about the exhaustion, the ache in his muscles, the strange quiet of military life. You told him about your job, about the café across from your building finally fixing its espresso machine, about how empty the apartment felt at night.
Before enlistment, Valentine’s Day had always been understated. Jimin knew you weren’t fond of grand gestures, so he never forced the day into something it wasn’t. A bouquet of red carnations waiting on the kitchen counter. A kiss pressed to your cheek while you tugged on your coat. A soft, “I love you,” murmured into your hair before you rushed out the door.
It had been simple.
It had been enough.
The first Valentine’s Day without him was 2024, only two months into his enlistment.
You’d thought the worst of the ache had passed. January had been heavy, yes, but survivable. You convinced yourself February 14th would feel like any other weekday.
It didn’t.
You woke up with the kind of longing that sat directly on your sternum. Not sharp enough to break you, but constant. Like a weight you carried from room to room. The city seemed louder that day. Every storefront window was flooded with red and pink. Couples walked too close together. Even the air felt syrupy with affection that wasn’t yours.
By the time you reached home that evening, your shoulders were tight from holding yourself together.
And then you saw it.
A bouquet resting against your door.
For a moment, you just stared, heart thudding.
Inside the flowers was a small folded note. Not his handwriting, but definitely his words.
“I know you think it’s just another day, but being away from you makes every day feel heavier. So let me have this one. I love you more than you know.”
You pressed the bouquet to your face and inhaled.
Red carnations.
As you stepped inside your apartment, closing the door gently behind you, your eyes stayed on the note. Your thumb traced the edge of the paper. Something in your chest shifted. It wasn’t just sadness anymore. It wasn’t just missing him.
It was being chosen.
Even from far away.
Valentine’s Day 2025 was more of the same.
And yet, not.
You woke up that morning already aware of the date before you even opened your eyes. The space beside you was still empty. The sheets were cool. The apartment was quiet in a way you had grown used to, but never quite befriended.
You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling.
It’s just a Friday, you told yourself. Go to work. Come home. Eat. Sleep.
But there it was. That buzz. That faint, electric hum beneath your ribs.
Hope.
You frowned at yourself.
Why are you like this?
You had always claimed Valentine’s Day was trivial. You had rolled your eyes at couples posting elaborate surprises online. You had teased Jimin during your first year together when he nervously showed up with flowers.
And yet, all day, your mind wandered.
Did he remember?
Of course he remembers. He always remembers.
But maybe this year he’s too busy. Maybe training is heavier. Maybe he can’t arrange anything.
You told yourself not to expect anything. Expectations were dangerous. They built fragile little ladders inside your chest that were too easy to kick away.
Still, every time your phone buzzed, your heart leapt.
By lunchtime, you caught yourself glancing toward the entrance of your office building as if a delivery driver might somehow appear there. You scoffed internally.
This is ridiculous. You’re acting like a teenager.
But the truth was, something had shifted in the last year.
Before enlistment, his flowers had been sweet. Thoughtful. Part of a rhythm you both understood.
After enlistment, they meant something else.
They were proof.
Proof that distance hadn’t diluted him. Proof that he was still reaching for you, even from a place you couldn’t follow.
By late afternoon, you had almost convinced yourself that nothing would be waiting for you. You walked home slower than usual, your breath visible in the cool air, your thoughts spiraling in quiet loops.
Don’t be disappointed. It’s fine if there’s nothing. He loves you. You know that.
You reached your apartment door.
Your hand hovered over the handle for half a second before your eyes drifted down.
And there they were.
Another bouquet.
Your breath caught so sharply it almost hurt.
Red carnations, deep and rich, wrapped neatly with a ribbon you recognized from the florist near your building. For a moment, you just stood there again, just like the year before, heart pounding so loudly it felt like the hallway might hear it.
He did it again.
Of course he did.
You crouched slightly to lift them, fingers brushing over the cool petals. Tucked carefully between the stems was another note.
This time the handwriting was unmistakably his. A little uneven, as if written quickly.
“I know you still think this day is overrated. But loving you isn’t. I can’t be there to hand these to you, so imagine I’m standing behind you right now, stealing a kiss before you even put your bag down. Thank you for waiting for me. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”
Your vision blurred instantly.
You let out a small, breathless laugh at yourself.
Why are you so emotional?
Because it wasn’t about the holiday.
It was about the effort. The constancy. The fact that even from inside barracks and rigid schedules, he was still finding ways to show up at your door.
You pressed the bouquet to your chest before unlocking the apartment, stepping inside with a softness you hadn’t felt all day.
The space didn’t feel as empty anymore.
For someone who claimed Valentine’s Day meant nothing, you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through you now.
Maybe it wasn’t the holiday you loved.
Maybe it was the way he refused to let you pretend you didn’t deserve to be celebrated.
The first few weeks after discharge felt almost unreal, like the universe had made a clerical error and returned something far too precious without asking for collateral. You had relearned the weight of him in the apartment. The sound of the shower running while you made coffee. The way he hummed absentmindedly when he was choosing what to wear.
As the months went by you thought the ache of Valentine’s Day would disappear once he was back.
It didn’t disappear.
It transformed.
When February 14th crept closer in 2026, that familiar flutter returned. Not the heavy, hollow longing of the enlistment times. Something brighter. Warmer. Anticipatory.
And then he said it.
“Clear your evening,” Jimin told you one night in early February, casual but not quite casual enough. “I made a reservation.”
You blinked at him from across the couch.
“A reservation?”
“For Valentine’s Day.”
You stared.
For four years, Valentine’s Day had been red carnations on the counter. Kisses at the door. Private softness. Even before enlistment, he had never insisted on going out. He had always met you where you were, matching your low-key cynicism with gentle compromise.
Dinner out was… new.
Your heart did that small, traitorous leap. All week, you tried to pretend it wasn’t affecting you.
It was ridiculous how aware you were of the date approaching. You caught yourself standing in front of your closet longer than usual the night before, debating dresses. You even googled the restaurant he had booked, then immediately closed the tab as if you’d been caught doing something embarrassing.
Why are you nervous? It’s just dinner.
But it wasn’t just dinner.
For years, your Valentine’s routine had been carved in stone. Carnations. Simplicity. Intimacy at home.
This felt like he was turning a page.
The evening of the 14th arrived with a quiet kind of electricity.
When Jimin stepped out of the bedroom, you forgot how to breathe for a second.
He was dressed in black, long tailored coat draped over sharp trousers, everything clean and intentional. His hair fell softly around his face, that slightly longer, brushed-back style that made him look both delicate and devastating at the same time. Polished boots. Rings glinting faintly under the light.
He looked refined. Composed.
And then he smiled at you, and it was still him.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“You look…” You swallowed. “Unfair.”
He laughed, crossing the room to you, fingers grazing your waist in a touch that was meant to be there.
“Look who’s talking.” he gave you a once over, before pulling you closer.
At the restaurant, the lighting was low and golden. Intimate. Perfect.
Jimin was attentive in a way that made your pulse hum. His hand found yours across the table. He watched you when you spoke, not distracted, not checking anything, just… present.
“Why do I feel like I’m being evaluated?” you joked halfway through dinner.
“I’m just looking at my girl,” he said simply.
The answer was too steady to be teasing.
Halfway through dessert, just as you were pretending not to notice how strangely composed he’d been all evening, he shifted in his seat.
You barely registered the movement at first.
Until he reached beneath the table.
When he came back up, he was holding them carefully, almost reverently.
Red carnations. Like always.
Not an extravagant bouquet. Not something dramatic. Just a small, elegant arrangement wrapped in cream paper and tied with ribbon.
He set them gently in the center of the table.
Your breath hitched.
“Jimin…” Your voice softened without your permission. “You didn’t have to.”
He followed your gaze down to the flowers, then back up to you. His expression was warm, steady. Certain.
“I always do.”
The words were simple. Not grand. Not theatrical.
But the way he said them made your throat tighten.
“But you got us this reservation,” you insisted quietly. “This is more than enough.”
A small smile curved his lips. Not teasing. Not smug. Just fond.
“Enough?” he repeated, like he was testing the word.
He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against the table, fingers brushing yours where they hovered near the dessert plate.
“I would do anything for you.”
Something in your chest pulled tight, almost painfully so. Because you knew he meant it. You could see it in his eyes, the way they twinkled in the soft restaurant light, watching you like you are his whole world.
“Don’t say that so easily,” you murmured, trying to lighten the weight of it.
He tilted his head slightly. “Why?”
“Because it makes me feel…” You exhaled softly, struggling for the word. “Small. Like I could never match that.”
His hand tightened around yours immediately.
“You don’t have to match it,” he said, voice firm in a way that stilled you. “You’ve already given me so much.”
You blinked at him.
“You waited,” he continued quietly. “You stayed. You loved me when it wasn’t easy.”
The restaurant around you faded into a blur of muted conversation and clinking glasses. It felt like the two of you were sitting inside a glass bubble, suspended.
“You don’t have to earn what I give you,” he added, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I give it because I want to. Because I love you.”
Your eyes burned.
You looked down at the flowers again. The same flowers. Every year. Even when he wasn’t there.
The tradition had started as something small.
Now it felt like a promise.
And somewhere beneath the tenderness of that moment, beneath the steady hum of the restaurant lights and the faint scent of the flowers between you, you felt it.
The shift.
Like the air itself was holding its breath.
After dinner, he suggested a short walk. The night air was cool but gentle, the city quieter than usual. He led you a few blocks away to a small terrace overlooking the river, lights shimmering against dark water.
You turned to say something.
He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked certain.
“Y/n,” he began, voice softer than the night around you, “I used to think Valentine’s Day was about proving your love to someone. Big gestures. Loud statements.”
You watched him carefully, heart beginning to race.
“But since I met you and these last two years… it wasn’t about the day. It was about you waiting. It was about you choosing me, even when I wasn’t here.”
Your throat tightened.
He stepped closer.
“Being away from you, y/n, made me realise I don’t want to spend another Valentine’s Day sending flowers to your door from somewhere else.” His hand slid into his coat pocket. “Hell, I don’t want to spend any other day without you either.”
Your pulse roared in your ears.
“I want to be there. Every year. Every day. By your side.”
When he dropped to one knee, the world didn’t explode. There were no fireworks. No sudden swell of music.
It felt quiet.
Sacred.
He opened the small box, and the ring caught the city lights like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
“You’ve been my home,” he said, voice unsteady for the first time that evening. “Even when I couldn’t come back to you. So, please, let me stay. Y/n, will you marry me?”
For a second, your mind emptied completely.
You thought of 2024, standing in a hallway with carnations in your arms. Of 2025, hoping and anticipating a handwritten note. Of the way your apartment felt different once he came back. Like safety. Like warmth. Like home.
You thought of how you had once called this holiday pointless.
And yet here you were, trembling.
“Yes,” you breathed.
Then louder, through tears you didn’t bother stopping, “Yes.”
The ring slid onto your finger perfectly.
He stood, cupping your face, forehead pressing to yours as both of you laughed in disbelief.
“Still think it’s just another day?” he murmured pulling your face closer to his, grazing his lips against yours.
You smiled, fingers tangling in the lapel of his coat.
“No,” you whispered. “I think you just ruined that argument forever.”
And then you kissed him under the city lights.
