#blayskook | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blayskook · 1 day ago

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Shape of a Voice - J.JK

pairing = 1950s!jungkook + fem!reader

summary = She wasn’t looking for a voice from another time. He didn’t expect the future to answer back. But across some unspoken distance, they begin to speak. Strangers separated by years, and stitched together by sound.

genre = Time Distortion AU , Time Travel AU , Magical Realism AU

A/N = I've always wanted to back to the past so this was so interesting to write my own idea of it. if you enjoyed please check out my other works and interact.. 🙏 my account is lowkey flopping cause I've been focusing on my other one too much.

You arrived in early spring, the kind that carried a faint chill behind its sunlight. The kind of spring that never quite promised warmth, only teased at it with trembling fingers. A new city. A box of books. A kitchen that still smelled like the last tenant’s burnt toast. You stood at the window of the fourth-floor walk-up, palms pressed against the glass, and told yourself you were starting over. That this time, it would be different.

Below your apartment sat a small, crumbling bookstore called Hollow and Sons. The sign creaked in the breeze and hung just slightly crooked, as though the building itself had grown tired of perfect posture. The shop always looked closed. Curtains drawn. Lights dim. You only saw the owner once, a man in his seventies with white hair and a green scarf even on warm days, and he did not look up when you passed.

Your apartment sat just above it. Thin walls. High ceilings. Crooked crown molding. A floor that whined under every step. The hardwood was warped near the corners, where rain must have crept in long before you arrived. The radiator hissed in its sleep like an old cat, unpredictable and moody. There was a single bedroom, a tiny kitchen with an oven that clicked for twenty seconds before it lit, and a reading nook near the bay window that faced the alley behind the shop.

But what you noticed most was the quiet. Not the kind of quiet that comforts. The kind that rings. That stares. That waits for you to fill it.

You were not used to being alone. Not like this. It had been years since you had lived in a space that did not echo with someone else’s voice. College roommates. A boyfriend with too many coffee mugs and not enough tenderness. Your mother’s home, where grief hung from the ceiling fans like dust. Here, there was only you.

You unpacked slowly. First the books. Then the chipped blue mugs. Then the record player you found in a thrift shop on the drive in, the one that made your palms tingle when you touched it. You placed it on the windowsill, next to a small potted plant already leaning toward the light, and told yourself this was your sanctuary.

The noise came on the third night.

You had been reading. The kind of book that asked more questions than it answered. Outside, the rain was steady, drumming against the glass like someone pacing without purpose. You were curled beneath a blanket, bare feet tucked into the warmth, when you heard it.

A melody. Soft. Warbled. Pressed into the air like a sigh.

You set the book aside. Held your breath.

There it was again. The low hum of a vinyl record, playing through the floorboards. Piano at first. Then a voice. Male. Old-fashioned. Faint but rich. Singing of moonlight and midnight kisses, of dances in quiet halls, of a world before yours.

You moved to the center of the room, crouched low, and pressed your ear to the floor. The wood was cool against your skin. The music swam upward, notes trembling like the wings of a moth. You could not make out the words. But you felt them.

You stood, unsure whether to be afraid or intrigued. The landlord had said the unit below was empty. Vacant since last December. He had given you the keys with a shrug and told you not to expect any company.

But someone was down there.

You slept with the light on that night. Not because you felt threatened. But because something about the music felt too delicate to disturb. Like if you closed your eyes for too long, it might disappear.

The next day, the record was gone. Silence returned. But the memory of that song lingered, lodged somewhere behind your ribs, caught like a breath you had not yet released.

The bookstore smelled like old paper and cedarwood. You stepped inside that afternoon without meaning to, led by curiosity more than intent. Bells chimed faintly above the door. The light inside was golden, the kind that spilled slowly from the fixtures instead of glaring. Rows of books stretched toward the back, spines faded, some with fraying covers, most without price tags.

You wandered without speaking. Touched nothing at first. Just inhaled the scent of memory. Of paper that had passed through too many hands. Of forgotten stories. Of people who had once wanted to be more than they were.

The owner sat behind the counter, sipping tea from a cracked ceramic mug. He nodded once when he saw you but said nothing. His presence was so still, so thoroughly part of the room, that you almost wondered if he had been sitting there since the store opened in 1950.

You hesitated before speaking.

“Do you know if someone’s living in the unit below mine?”

He looked up slowly. Eyes pale, almost translucent. Then shook his head.

“No one’s rented that space in years.”

You waited.

“I heard music,” you said. “Coming from the floorboards.”

The man smiled faintly, eyes crinkling.

“This building has a long memory,” he said, voice rough with age. “Sometimes it plays it back.”

You blinked.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a single record in a white sleeve. He did not offer it to you. Just held it, looking down at the label like it was something precious.

“Sometimes, music doesn’t stop when people do,” he said. “It lingers. Finds the cracks. Lives where time forgets to look.”

You left without saying anything else.

That night, the music returned. Louder this time. Same voice. Same longing. A trumpet joining in now, low and smoky. You listened until your eyes grew heavy, your breath synced with the rhythm, and the world beyond your apartment thinned.

In the morning, the floor was cold again. Still. Empty.

But you could not shake the feeling that someone was waiting.

That afternoon, you found a small space in your bookshelf where the wood had splintered. It faced the floor, low to the ground, just beneath the baseboard. You ran your fingers along the edge and felt a draft, light and strangely warm.

You folded a piece of paper. Wrote nothing on it. Just a blank square. Slipped it into the crack.

Then you waited.

That night, the music played again. You stayed awake, heart full of something you could not name. A kind of ache. A kind of hope. When morning broke, you crouched low and reached for the empty paper.

Only it was not empty.

Someone had written back.

In looping cursive, old-fashioned and clean.

Hello. I hear you too.

The floor had always creaked in that corner.

You thought nothing of it when you moved in. Old buildings carried their ghosts in different ways. Some in the walls, some in the windows, and some in the floorboards that sighed when the heat shifted. You had grown used to it. The sound was familiar, almost comforting, like the distant murmur of someone pacing in thought.

But then the note appeared.

You found it one morning just before breakfast, tucked beneath the lowest shelf of the living room wall. Folded precisely in half, aged paper the color of cream, the edges softened as though touched by time itself. You held it delicately, your fingers brushing against a warmth you could not explain.

Inside were five words. Written in slanted cursive, the ink slightly faded.

Hello. I hear you too.

You stared at it for so long the light shifted across the floor. At first you told yourself it was a prank. A trick of the neighbors. Something logical. You even laughed, quiet and breathless, as though mocking the shiver crawling down your spine would make it leave.

But it did not feel like a joke.

There was something honest about the handwriting. Something careful. It looked like it belonged to someone who spoke softly and chose their words the way a musician selects each note in a slow jazz solo. Not to fill silence. To respect it.

You did not eat breakfast that day.

Instead, you wrote back.

Are you really there?

You placed your reply exactly where his had been. You waited. Not for a sound, but for a feeling. And when it came, it was quiet. A hum beneath your feet. The kind of stillness that carries weight.

By evening, a new note had appeared.

Yes. I live in the flat beneath you. But I do not believe we are living in the same year.

The words pressed a cold palm to your spine. You read them again. Then again.

The quiet of the apartment seemed to expand like the walls were holding their breath.

You did not tell anyone.

You did not even reach for your phone.

Instead, you folded yourself onto the floor with a blanket wrapped around your legs and lit the small candle you kept by the window. The flame flickered. So did something inside you.

Your next letter was shorter.

What year is it for you?

You signed your name this time. Only your first name. The letters looked vulnerable in your handwriting, like they were not used to being alone on the page.

You slept beside the wall that night, your hand resting just beside the shelf. You dreamt of warm voices and brass music drifting through floorboards.

By morning, he had answered.

It is the spring of 1951. - Jungkook

That was when everything changed.

You walked around your apartment differently that day. Slower. Like someone else was watching. Or remembering. You opened the window just enough to let the air stir your curtain. Sat by the sill and watched the street. Counted the potted plants across the alley. Imagined what the buildings looked like when they were still new.

It didn't feel real. But it didn't feel wrong either.

Later that afternoon, you wrote again. Carefully. Thoughtfully.

Tell me something only someone from 1951 would know.

The reply came folded with precision. He had beautiful penmanship. The kind you did not see anymore. Not even in signatures.

My neighbor wears a felt hat even in the rain. My shirts are pressed with starch and hung to dry in the hallway. I listen to Art Tatum on vinyl and write with a Waterman fountain pen. There is no television in this apartment. I have never touched one. I read by lamplight. Sometimes by candle. My mother writes letters from Kentucky. I keep them all in a shoebox under the bed.

You did not realize you were crying until the paper blurred. Not from sadness. From something else.

A feeling you could not name. Like nostalgia for a life you never lived.

You touched the note to your chest. Closed your eyes.

You did not write back right away. Instead, you let the stillness speak. You moved slowly through your day, as if walking beside someone invisible. You made tea in silence. You turned off every light but one. That evening, you sat on the rug and wrote.

The world is much louder now. Brighter. Busier. I am not sure you would like it. But I think I would have liked yours.

You paused before signing it.

Then, like a secret, you added:

Do you ever feel lonely down there?

His next letter was shorter.

Yes. But it feels less heavy now.

You placed the note beneath your pillow that night. Slept with your fingers curled around it like it might disappear. In the morning, you did not check your phone. You opened the window and let the air in.

Something in your chest had begun to open. Like a book you forgot you had written.

The next few letters passed like that.

You told him about your bookshelf, the crooked lamp in the corner, the ivy that refused to grow. You told him you did not really like phones. That your favorite coat had too many pockets. That you kept dried flowers in the pages of old books because you were afraid to throw beauty away.

He sent a note with one pressed into the paper. A dried violet. You did not ask how it traveled through time. You only held it. Quietly. Reverently.

You began to think about him when you made tea. Wondered if he drank his the same way. If he ever imagined your hands. Your voice. The way you sat when you read.

You didn't know what he looked like. But you began to see him anyway.

Maybe not his face. But the shape of his presence.

You imagined him in the room below. Jacket hung neatly on a chair. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled up just so. A jazz record humming low as he leaned over a worn desk with ink on his fingertips. Maybe a warm drink beside him. Maybe a candle flickering in the corner.

Maybe he smiled when he wrote to you. Even if he did not mean to.

You never heard his footsteps. But sometimes, when the room was still, you swore you could feel him leaning against the wall. The same way you were. You imagined him pressing his hand to the floor, mirroring yours.

Neither of you said the word impossible.

You did not need to. You both knew what it was.

But still, the notes kept coming. Gentle. Careful. Unfolding slowly like the petals of something unspoken.

You did not write questions anymore. You wrote stories. Half-finished ones. Moods. Descriptions of your window at three a.m. The way the light bent through a chipped glass. How it felt when it rained in the summer. The hush of snowfall on old rooftops.

He never answered directly. But in his letters, you could feel that he was listening.

And somehow, that was enough.

You sat by the window, the city lights flickering outside like tiny stars scattered across the dark streets. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint smell of rain and smoke. You held a warm cup of tea in your hands, your fingers wrapped tightly around the mug to keep the cold away.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft music drifting in from a distant jazz club. A slow saxophone tune that seemed to curl around the walls and fill the empty spaces with something bittersweet.

You unfolded the letter you had just received. The handwriting was familiar now, delicate and careful, as if each word had been chosen with great thought.

I wish I could be there with you the letter read. To see the way the moonlight falls on your face. To hear your voice when you are near. But for now, I am here in the silence between moments.

You sighed softly and whispered to the empty room, “If only time would let us meet.”

Then, unexpectedly, a voice spoke soft and warm, coming from somewhere close but invisible.

“I think time is listening.”

Your heart jumped, and you looked around the room, searching for the source. You saw nothing but shadows and empty air.

“Who’s there?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It is I,1” the voice replied gently. “I have been here all along, just beyond your sight.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled nervously. “I wasn’t sure if you were real or just a dream.”

“I am real enough to want to speak with you,” the voice said, filled with quiet longing.

You hesitated then asked "What is it like, where you are?”

The voice answered, as if carrying the sound across some great distance.

“It is quieter than this place. Slower. There is jazz in the air and the streets are alive with the sound of footsteps and laughter. People wear suits and carry canes. They speak softly but with meaning.”

You felt a strange warmth spread in your chest. “It sounds beautiful.”

“Is your world different?” the voice asked.

You nodded to yourself, though you knew it would not be seen. “Busy and bright. People rush everywhere. There are lights that never go out and music that changes every day. But sometimes, it feels lonely, like I am waiting for something I cannot see.”

There was a pause, then the voice said, “Maybe we are both waiting.”

Your eyes closed as you pictured the presence beside you, invisible but close.

“Do you think we can find a way to cross the time between us?” you whispered.

The voice answered softly "I want to believe that if we keep speaking, the distance will grow smaller. That one day, we will share the same moment even if we cannot see each other yet.”

You reached out with a trembling hand, hoping to touch something, but your fingers passed through empty air.

“Until then, I will keep talking to you,” you said.

“And I will keep listening,” the voice promised.

The music from the jazz club drifted in again, wrapping around the room like a gentle embrace. Outside, the city continued its endless dance of light and shadow. Inside, two souls separated by time found comfort in the sound of each other’s voices.

You leaned your head against the cool glass of the window and whispered, “Goodnight.”

The voice replied softly, “Goodnight. Until tomorrow.”

The night held its breath, waiting for the next conversation.

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blayskook · 27 days ago

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TANGLED IN YOU

Pairing = lovingbf!jungkook + shy!reader

Summary = After a warm, quiet shower together, Jungkook carries her to bed with soft kisses and sleepy giggles. Wrapped in blankets and each other, they cuddle close, whisper sweet nothings, and fall asleep tangled up in love. It’s pure, gentle, and full of that soft kind of affection you never forget.

A/N = hii this is my first work for jungkook, if you're interested in more please interact!!! I'm super new here and I'd appreciate your feedbacks so much:)

The bathroom was still warm and foggy, but you’d both finished showering. A quiet, pure moment filled with little giggles and soft “sorry”s when you bumped into each other in the tight space. Now you were sitting on the closed toilet lid, bathrobe wrapped around you, and Jungkook came in front of you, towel low on his hips, still dripping.

"Here you go, pretty" he lends you the matching pjs, before turning around to wear his own.

Once your both fully dressed, looking like the best couple out there in matching pjs, he sat you down on the toilet lid again, patting your hair dry with the softest little frown of focus.

“You’re not doing it right,” you laughed, leaning away a little.

“Yes, I am,” he whined, scooting closer on his knees, tugging you gently back toward him. “Stay still, I’m helping.”

“You’re messing my hair up baby.” You whine, gently holding onto his arms. "Fine fine.." he puts the towel behind you, his head now resting on your thigh.

His arms circled your waist a second later, cheek pressing softly against your belly. He mumbles a soft “You’re warm.”

You laughed, carding your fingers through his damp hair. “You’re clingy.”

“I know,” he said, voice muffled in your skin. “Let me.”

He stayed like that for a moment, hugging you like it grounded him, like if he let go you’d vanish. Then he stood up slowly, pulling you by the hands.

“C’mere,” he whispered.

He helped you up, then carefully lifted you onto the counter like it was a routine he never wanted to end. His hands never left your sides, thumbs brushing your waist through your soft pink shirt. He was looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Why are you staring?” you whispered, shy all over again.

“Because you’re so pretty like this,” he said softly. “All soft and sleepy and warm.”

You covered your face, trying not to let your giggles get too loud.

But he just leaned in anyway, resting his forehead against yours, completely content being chest-to-chest like this. “Don’t hide,” he whispered. “You’re the cutest when you’re like this. I love you like this.”

His lips ghosted across your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck. Not rushed. Just needy. Not desperate. Just close. His arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you closer like he couldn’t stand even a few inches of space.

You felt his voice rumble softly against your skin. “I just wanna stay here. Like this. All night.”

You giggled again, heart pounding in your chest. “You’re so clingy.”

He nodded cutely. “I don’t care. I missed you all day.”

And when you looked at him, wide-eyed and breathless, he smiled. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just so in love he couldn’t hide it anymore.

“Can I hold you closer?” he whispered.

You didn’t answer with words, just wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in like you wanted the same thing.

He leaned in and slowly kissed you. Not deep, not rushed, just soft and slow. His hands stayed gentle on your waist, fingertips warm against you, as if he didn’t want to ruin the moment by moving too fast.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His nose brushed yours. “Wanna get in bed?”

You nodded, too shy to say anything, heart fluttering all the way up your throat.

He didn’t wait. Just smiled to himself — that sleepy, sweet smile — and dipped his arms under your knees and back in one smooth motion, picking you up like you weighed nothing at all.

“Jungkook-!” you giggled into his neck, clinging to his shoulders. “You don’t have to carry me.”

“I want to.” he said simply, and you felt his voice rumble against your cheek. “You feel nice.”

The room was dim now, the lights soft and golden. He walked slowly toward the bed, like he didn’t want to drop even a second of this. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the damp strands of his hair brushing against your temple. He smelled like clean soap and something uniquely him. Comforting, sweet, like home.

When he finally set you down on the bed, it was gentle. Careful. Like placing something fragile. He climbed in right after you, pulling the covers over both of you, then immediately tugging you close again like he couldn’t bear the distance.

You ended up half on his chest, one leg tangled over his, your face tucked beneath his chin. His arm was under your head, cradling you like a pillow, while his other hand found your lower back and rested there — warm, steady, and completely wrapped around you.

Neither of you spoke for a second.

He was so close, you could hear his heartbeat.

“Are you comfy?” he asked quietly, voice already dipped in sleep.

“Mmhm” you whispered. “You’re warm.”

He smiled into your hair. “You��re perfect.”

You giggled, hiding your face in his collarbone. “Stop…”

But he didn’t. He kissed your forehead next, then your temple, then your cheek, one after another like he couldn’t stop. “I just love you,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin between every word. “I really, really love you.”

You laughed softly, nose wrinkling as he kissed the tip of it.

“I love you too. You're my favourite human ever” you whispered back, your voice sleepy and warm.

He hummed happily, then pulled you impossibly closer, like he was scared the night might steal you away. His hand rubbed soft circles into your back beneath the blanket, his breath slow and even near your ear.

"I wish I could keep you here forever" he looked down at you, placing a kiss on your nose. "I am staying here forever, I don't know what you're talking about" you giggle and move your face close enough to peck his lips.

"You're being so adorable on purpose right..?" He squints his eyes, leaning in for a kiss again, while you giggle at his teasing tone.

Then everything felt quiet. Safe. Like the world had faded out and it was just you two in this tiny universe of soft skin, tangled legs, and whispered love.

Then, right before sleep claimed him, he pressed one more kiss into your hair and whispered, “Goodnight, baby.”

You smiled against his chest, heart full to the brim.

“Goodnight, Koo.”

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blayskook · 13 days ago

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STRAWBERRIES AND CIGARETTES

pairing = loving!caring!jungkook + bubbly!shy!fem!reader

summary = A picnic where the world fades until it’s just soft kisses while you're wrapped in his arms. Every touch is gentle, every kiss lingers, and the love between you blooms in every quiet moment. It’s tender, dreamy, and full of a forever that feels already written. And of course full of strawberries!

A/N = I hope you enjoy! This is my second work, please comment and reblog if you enjoyed, this account is super new and it'd help me a lot if you interacted :))

The early sunlight filtered softly through the thin curtains, casting warm, golden stripes across the room. You stirred awake, eyes fluttering open to the sight of Jungkook lying beside you. His dark hair tousled in that effortless way you loved, and his breath slow and steady, a gentle rhythm that always calmed your racing heart.

You blinked, then smiled as you felt a warm hand brush against your bare arm, fingers curling tenderly around yours. You looked down to see his hand still holding yours, his thumb gently stroking the back of your palm, a quiet promise that he was right there with you.

The strawberry hair clips you had pinned in your hair yesterday were still nestled perfectly in place, tiny red blossoms that matched your soft smile.

Jungkook’s eyes cracked open, and when he saw you watching him, his sleepy smile bloomed wide and genuine. “Good morning, strawberry.”

Your heart skipped at the nickname, and you giggled softly. “Good morning, my love.”

He shifted closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you snug against him. The warmth of his body pressed into yours was the safest place you could imagine.

“Did you sleep well?” he whispered, his voice still thick with sleep but full of tenderness.

“Better than ever,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair, careful to keep the strawberry clips from slipping. “Waking up next to you is the best.”

Jungkook’s smile deepened, and he tucked a loose strand behind your ear, his fingers lingering to caress your cheek. “I’m the luckiest guy alive.”

You snuggled into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as the morning light wrapped you both in a soft glow. The world outside could wait right now, it was just you, him, and this perfect, quiet moment.

His arm tightened around you as your cheek pressed against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you. The scent of his skin being clean, warm, just a bit like the soft cotton of the sheets made you sink even deeper into the morning haze.

“I want you to take your time today,” Jungkook murmured into your hair, his voice raspier now, soft like velvet dragging over skin. “We’re not rushing. Dress however you want, baby.”

You smiled sleepily, nose brushing against the line of his collarbone. “Mmm… even if I wear my strawberry clips again?”

“I’ll cry if you don’t,” he teased gently, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead. His lips lingered there, pressed warmly against your skin like he could pour his love straight into your veins. “Actually… wear a cute little skirt for me too, yeah?”

You looked up, wide eyed and shy, cheeks warming as you blinked at him. “For you?”

His smile went soft, almost bashful but full of certainty. “Yeah, baby. Just for me.”

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest. “You’re so dramatic in the mornings.”

He laughed low, adoring, almost amazed. “I’m dramatic because I’m in love with the sweetest girl in the world, what else do you want me to do?”

You nuzzled into him, letting yourself sink a little deeper into his warmth, before finally sighing out, “Okay… give me twenty minutes.”

“I’ll give you forever,” he murmured, another kiss dropped onto your temple.

⸻⸻

By the time you emerged from your room, he was sitting on the edge of the couch, arms draped lazily across the top as he scrolled through something on his phone. But the moment he saw you bare legs peeking out beneath a red ruffled skirt, oversized cardigan slipping off your shoulder, and those bright little strawberry clips perched in your hair. He froze.

And then broke into the softest smile.

“Baby…” he stood slowly, letting his gaze sweep from your hair all the way down, then back up, as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory. “You look like you came out of a dream I didn’t even know I had.”

You ducked your head, a breathy little laugh escaping. “You’re so cheesy-"

He was in front of you in two strides, cupping your cheeks gently in his big, warm hands, his thumbs brushing along the soft apple of each. “And you love it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Another to the tip of your nose. And then one to each of your cheeks.

“I really do,” you admitted softly, heart pounding.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured again, like he couldn’t stop saying it, fingers playing lightly with your cardigan sleeve. “My pretty baby.”

You hid your face against his chest with a soft little groan, shy but glowing under his praise.

He grinned. “I’ll stop now. For like… five minutes.”

⸻———

The morning unfolded in the warmest rhythm. Sunlight filtered into the hallway as you both moved around each other in that soft, easy way you always did. He refilled the little cooler bag while you grabbed the last of the fruit bowls from the fridge. You packed everything into the oversized picnic tote, talking through each item with animated excitement, while Jungkook followed behind, dutifully zipping and folding and carrying whatever you handed him.

But then outside, in the driveway, you suddenly paused next to the car, arms full of bags, eyes going a little wide.

“Oh my God.” you said, “I think I overpacked.”

Jungkook tilted his head, amused, leaning back against the open trunk. “Yeah?”

“I just… I didn’t want to forget anything,” you said, your voice quickening slightly as you peeked into the tote again. “I brought the chocolate truffles we like, the hazelnut ones? And the mango gummies. And the little fruit cups, the ones with the jelly? And your protein bars. And that drink you like with the chia seeds. And the strawberry yogurt with the granola because I know you always want something cold. And that big jar of Nutella, my favourite jellos, that rice pudding you always eat and then I added the peanut butter cookies I made yesterday. And then some sandwiches, like three different ones because I didn’t know what we'd be in the mood for. And… okay, I also brought the popcorn just in case we wanted something crunchy. And the apple slices. And the cheese crisps because, well duh they're the best. And…”

You trailed off, looking up at him with wide, guilty eyes.

Jungkook looked completely in love. His smile melted into something deeper, eyes shining as he pushed off the car and stepped toward you. “You're seriously gonna look me in the eye and tell me that’s overpacking?”

You blinked. “…A little?”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him so gently, so effortlessly. “Baby,” he said, brushing a kiss to your forehead, “you’re just trying to feed me. You packed all my favorite things. That’s not overpacking, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You blinked up at him, heart thudding.

“And." he continued, cupping your face now in both hands, “you’re perfect for doing it.”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled up. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I swear I’m not,” he grinned, brushing your hair behind your ear, thumb tracing just beneath your jaw. “You just… you care so much. You always do. That’s why I love you so much.”

You blinked fast, your chest tightening in that way it always did when he got all soft and serious like that. Your voice was quieter now. “You really love me that much?”

Jungkook didn’t even hesitate. “More than anything. You know that, right?”

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead again. Soft, firm, full of something unspoken but deeply felt.

“I love you.” you whispered back.

He rested his forehead against yours. You were still tucked against his chest, your cheek pressed right over his heart, when Jungkook leaned down and mumbled into your hair, “You smell like strawberries.”

You laughed into his shirt. “That’s because of the clips, obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, pulling back to tilt your chin up. “No. I think you just smell like that naturally. Like soft, sweet, perfect baby girl.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Stop,” you whispered, burying your burning face in his collar.

Jungkook laughed, his hands trailing down your sides before wrapping around your waist again. “Never. You get all shy but then you’re the one who packed a five course gourmet picnic and wore the cutest skirt I’ve ever seen. You’re asking for it.”

“I didn’t mean to pack that much…” you muttered, and turned to open the tote again, but Jungkook snatched it before you could.

“Nope,” he said, slinging it into the trunk like it weighed nothing. “Too late. You packed it, I’m eating all of it.”

You gave a dramatic sigh and turned to grab the smaller basket with the drinks and cold stuff. “We’ll probably have to roll each other back home.”

Jungkook was already at your side, pulling the cooler from your hands and placing it in the trunk with exaggerated care. “Good thing I work out. I’ll just carry you instead.”

You gave him a playful side-eye. “Oh? Like bridal style?”

“Exactly like bridal style,” he said proudly. “Even if you pack fourteen gallons of strawberry juice.”

“Not that much,” you snorted. “Just two bottles. And sparkling water.”

He turned and leaned one arm on the edge of the trunk, head tilted as he looked you over. “What else is in there, baby? Cause it looks like you didn't finish your list. The whole car is gonna be filled with bags.”

You scrunched your nose, counting on your fingers. “Okay, so. Chocolate truffles, mango gummies, sour belts, those mini cheese wheels we like, crackers, two types of bread, grape jam, those triangle rice things, cut watermelon, strawberries, kiwi-because you like kiwi-three sandwiches like I said, plastic cups and plates, extra napkins, a bag for our trash of course! Wet wipes, a portable speaker, my sketchbook, a rubix cube for aesthetics and…”

Jungkook blinked. “…And?”

“And some mini forks.”

He blinked again. “Mini…?”

“For the fruit.”

His lips twitched. “God, you’re so cute.”

You beamed. “Prepared!”

“Obsessed with feeding me.”

You grinned and walked past him toward the car. “Feeding my man is romantic.”

He followed you, grabbing your waist from behind and pulling you to his chest with ease. “It’s the sexiest thing you do,” he murmured, right against your ear.

Your whole body went warm, breath catching in your throat. "Sexiest..?"

“And you get so shy when I say things like that,” he teased, swaying you side to side in his arms.

“I do not,” you said weakly.

“You’re turning pink again, baby,” he said, pressing a kiss just behind your ear. “I love it.”

You elbowed him lightly, your voice a mix of flustered and fond. “You’re such a menace.”

“Only for you,” he grinned, spinning you gently in his arms so you were facing him again. “Okay. Did we forget anything?”

You bit your lip and ticked through the mental list. “Blanket, snacks, drinks, sketchbook and cube, sunscreen, napkins…”

He brushed your hair behind your ear, then tapped the strawberry clip. “You.”

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, soft smile spreading. “I’ve got everything I need. As long as I’ve got you, baby.”

You groaned and smacked his chest playfully, but you were smiling too hard to hide it. He caught your hand before it fell, kissing your knuckles with a little smirk.

“Okay, get in,” he said, opening the passenger door for you. “Let’s go before you start packing more.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you warned, wiggling your brows as you slid into the seat.

He leaned in and buckled you himself, brushing a kiss to your forehead right after, then one more to the tip of your nose. “You’re so freaking cute,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you all day.”

“Feed me,” you said sweetly.

He shut the door with a grin. “Gladly.”

The car rolled smoothly down the quiet road, the early sun painting the sky with hazy streaks of orange and gold. The world was just starting to wake up, but inside the car, everything felt like a slow, sweet dream.

Your skirt fanned softly around your legs as you settled into the passenger seat, the seatbelt tucked snugly across your body. The wind tugged playfully at your cardigan through the slightly-cracked window, and the warm breeze carried the distant scent of trees and sunlight and summer.

Jungkook drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting securely on your bare thigh. His thumb rubbed gentle, lazy circles just above your knee, completely natural, like it belonged there. Like he couldn’t not touch you.

You were chewing on a piece of strawberry gummy, the little bag of snacks opened across your lap. “So,” you said, popping another into your mouth, “this isn’t technically breakfast… but I think it counts.”

He glanced over at you with a grin, eyes flicking down to your hands and then your face. “It’s you feeding me strawberry gummies at 9AM. That’s breakfast of champions.”

You giggled, grabbing another piece and holding it up near his mouth. “Open.”

Jungkook leaned over, eyes fixed on yours, lips parting obediently. You slipped the gummy past his lips and he bit down slowly, his expression smug and pleased all at once.

“Mmm,” he said with a nod, chewing. “Tastes better when you feed it to me.”

You rolled your eyes but you were already reaching for another, your heart fluttering when his fingers tightened ever so slightly on your thigh.

“You’re so dramatic,” you whispered, voice a little softer now.

“I’m just in love.” he replied easily, without missing a beat.

You paused, the next gummy halfway to your mouth. Your eyes flicked to his profile, his jawline catching the light, that little smile still tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your cheeks went warm again.

“You can’t just say things like that while I’m chewing,” you mumbled, covering your mouth.

He laughed, eyes still on the road. “Sorry, baby. I’ll warn you next time.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You won’t. You like watching me get all flustered.”

He reached over and gave your thigh a little squeeze. “I really do.”

You swatted at him playfully, but he caught your hand mid air and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

The silence between you settled in again, not empty, but full. Of the hum of the engine, the wind slipping through the cracked window, the buzz of your heart whenever he touched you like this, so casually loving.

You picked up a chocolate truffle next, unwrapped it and took a tiny bite. You held the rest out for him, and he leaned over again, eyes soft, mouth open.

You giggled. “You’re such a good boy.”

He raised an eyebrow as he chewed. “Don’t say that unless you want me to crash this car.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Jungkook!”

He grinned wide, one hand still firmly on your thigh. “I’m just saying.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you, yeah.”

Your cheeks flushed again. “Stoppp.”

He reached over, lifting your hand again to kiss the inside of your wrist. “I can’t help it, baby. You’re feeding me chocolate and wearing those strawberry clips like you’re trying to kill me.”

You bit your lip, heart racing. “Do you really like them that much?”

“I think about them more than I think about food,” he said without hesitation.

“Liar.”

He turned briefly toward you, gaze soft and devastating. “I’m not.”

Your eyes fluttered down to his hand on your leg, and then up again to his face.

“I love you." you said quietly.

His smile curved slow, sweet. “I know.” he whispered. “And I love you more.”

The music played low from the car speakers as the road stretched endlessly ahead, winding through golden grass fields and sleepy trees, the sky bright and pale above you. The wind from the half cracked windows tugged softly at your hair, rustling the hem of your skirt as you rested one hand over Jungkook’s on your thigh, your fingers tangled lazily with his.

You were humming under your breath without realizing it, until the song shifted and your eyes lit up.

“Wait-"you gasped, turning toward him. “It’s this one.”

Jungkook grinned, already reaching for the volume knob. “I know.”

“Strawberries and Cigarettes?” you asked, already bouncing a little in your seat.

He nodded, eyes flicking toward you, completely in love with the way your whole face lit up. “Playin’ the classics.”

You leaned in, hand dramatically placed over your chest as the chorus started.

“Long nights… daydreams… sugar and smoke rings…” you sang, voice soft but full of feeling, “I’ve been a fool… but strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you.”

Jungkook laughed as you swayed slightly in your seat, your hands waving dramatically in the air, like you were serenading the empty road.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, giggling.

“Taste like you!” you added, pointing at him.

He sang the next line right back, laughing through it. “Headlights on me… racing to 60…” He looked at the speedometer. “…Just kidding, baby, I’m only going 50.”

You broke into full-on laughter, clutching your stomach.

He looked over at you like nothing in the world had ever been funnier. Or cuter. Or more his.

And then… it was quiet for a beat.

The song played on in the background, soft and dreamy, and your laughter faded into a quiet smile as your eyes met. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze.

“Remember when you played this in my car nearly six years ago?” he said suddenly, voice a little quieter.

Your breath caught, and you blinked, smile tugging deeper. “You mean the first time I got in your car?”

“Mhm,” he said. “You were wearing those big round sunglasses and chewing that ridiculous strawberry gum.”

Your eyes sparkled. “And you were pretending not to stare at me every time I looked out the window.”

He snorted. “Baby, I was staring. I’ve never stopped.”

You turned toward the window now, but your smile was too big to hide.

A soft silence fell between you again, and in it, the memory unfurled like an old film reel…

⸻⸻

Five years earlier, the car was smaller, the air a little cooler. You had only just started seeing each other, not even official, just “talking." though the butterflies in your chest already told you it was different this time.

You had slid into the passenger seat, laughing nervously, your strawberry gum popping softly as you blew a bubble and quickly chewed it back down.

“You good?” Jungkook had asked, his hair shorter then, his voice even softer.

“Yeah,” you’d replied, glancing over at him. “You?”

“I’m sitting next to the cutest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said, then immediately panicked. “I mean-not to make it weird. Sorry. I just-uh…”

You had laughed, high and flustered. “You’re cute.”

He looked stunned.

Then you played a song. Strawberries and Cigarettes. You had been obsessed with it at the time.

As it played, he didn’t say anything but when the chorus hit, he mumbled the lyrics under his breath. You caught it. You turned toward him, eyebrows raised.

“You know this?”

He gave you a shy, crooked smile.

“…Yeah.”

That moment stayed locked in your brain forever.

⸻⸻

Back in the present, the song faded into the next track, and you glanced over at Jungkook, your heart impossibly full.

“You were so shy back then." you said, reaching over to smooth his hair gently.

He grinned. “So were you. Except when it came to that gum.”

You laughed. “That gum was a personality trait.”

“Now you’ve upgraded to strawberry clips,” he teased, stealing another kiss to your forehead.

“I think I’ll always smell like strawberries around you.”

He glanced sideways, smile tugging lazily at the corner of his lips. “You’ll always taste like them, too.”

You gasped and smacked his shoulder, laughing. “Jungkook!”

“What?” he said, innocent. “I’m being nostalgic.”

“Mmhm.”

He reached over and took your hand in his again, threading your fingers together as he drove on.

“Five years.” he said softly. “And I still get butterflies when you laugh.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. “Me too.”

⸻⸻

The picnic blanket spread across the soft grass like a watercolor painting, a pale checkered cream, kissed by sunlight and scattered with petals that had fallen from the tree above. The lake just beyond shimmered quietly, as if holding its breath for the two of you.

Jungkook dropped the cooler down beside the blanket with a soft grunt and stretched his arms overhead. The sun caught on his silver rings, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and that little sliver of tattoo along his forearm made your heart trip.

He looked down at you with the softest grin, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. “How’s this spot, baby?”

You twirled once on the grass, holding the basket in both hands. “Perfect. This tree has prime shade real estate.”

He chuckled. “Only the best for you.”

You beamed and dropped to your knees on the blanket, instantly unzipping bags and laying things out. “Okay, okay we’re gonna start with the fruit. Wait no, actually- should I set up the sweet snacks first or the savory? I didn’t organize them by mood, that was dumb of me. Jungkook, should we-?"

He flopped down beside you, pulling you right into his lap before you could finish your sentence.

You squeaked in surprise, arms full of plastic containers. “Hey!”

“I missed you,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder.

“We’ve been together literally all morning.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, lips brushing the curve of your neck, “but I still missed you. Your cute little voice. Your hair clips. Your everything.”

You hid your flustered smile against his collar. “You’re too much.”

“You love it.”

“…A little.”

He grinned, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Come on, baby, let me help. You don’t have to do it all.”

“I like doing it all,” you said, wriggling out of his lap and scooting back to the basket. “It’s satisfying. Lemme set it up just right, and then we can be lazy and romantic and do nothing except stuff our faces.”

He plopped backward onto the blanket with a dramatic sigh. “You’re so bossy.”

You gave him a pointed look. “You like it.”

“…A little.”

You smirked and got to work, your fingers moving quickly as you arranged the strawberries in one bowl, the chocolates in another. You placed cookies on a little wooden board beside mochi in pastel colors. Next went the mini pancakes stacked like golden buttons and finally, the spicy ramen cups tucked neatly off to the side, just in case.

Jungkook peeked up at you from where he lay sprawled out, arms behind his head. “God, look at you.”

You turned, blinking. “What?”

“You’re literally glowing,” he said, smile softening into awe. “I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

You stared at him for a second, your heartbeat skipping.

Then, quieter: “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

He sat up instantly and opened his arms. “Come here, baby.”

You crawled into his lap, laughing through your watery eyes. “I’m too emotional for this picnic.”

“You’re just soft.” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “And I love it. I love you.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hand cupping your cheek like you were something fragile, something sacred. You melted into him, hands bunching the fabric of his shirt, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he said softly when you pulled back.

“You better be!” you whispered, eyes gleaming.

He grinned. “You ready to eat, baby?”

“I was born ready.”

⸻⸻

You were barely reaching for the strawberries again when Jungkook grabbed your waist and pulled you back into his lap, legs crossed behind you, his chest pressed against your back.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, voice low and playful against your ear. “You don’t get to feed me from over there, baby. I need you right here.”

You giggled, head falling back slightly against his shoulder. “You’re clingy today.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, I’m clingy every day.”

“…True.”

He hooked his chin over your shoulder and tightened his arms around your waist, like he was trying to merge the two of you into one person. “Now feed me, woman. I’ve suffered enough.”

You snorted. “You’ve been lounging like a spoiled prince all day so far.”

“I am a spoiled prince,” he said proudly. “Thanks to my perfect, snack overpacking, strawberry haired princess.”

Your cheeks flamed. “Shut up.”

“Nope.” He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then pressed a loud mwah to your temple. “I’m just warming up.”

You picked up a chocolate covered strawberry and held it to his lips. “Open.”

His lashes fluttered like he was playing it dramatic, and he bit into it with a little hum, chewing slowly. “Mm. Perfect. You really did pack the good ones.”

You popped a bite of one into your own mouth, chewing happily. “Told you!”

He licked his lips, then grinned mischievously. “One more.”

“Greedy, we still have the sandwiches and kiwis." you muttered, but you were already picking up another one.

Just as you held it to his mouth, he caught your fingers gently with his lips, biting into the strawberry without taking his eyes off you. His lips lingered on your fingers a second longer than necessary, soft and slow and teasing.

Your breath hitched. “Jungkook…”

“Hm?” he said, clearly playing dumb.

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m always blushing around you.”

“Exactly.”

You couldn’t help the way your laughter bubbled up, half flustered and half dizzy with joy. You turned a little in his lap so you could look at him more directly, knees tucked over his thigh, and cupped his face between your hands.

His smile softened instantly.

You traced your thumb over the little scar on his cheekbone. “You look like summer.”

“You look like my entire world,” he whispered.

That shut you up for a second. Your mouth parted. The smile faded into something more delicate, raw and real and reverent.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you more.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not. I’ve done the math.”

You laughed again, smacking his chest lightly, and he caught your hand mid swing, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles.

“You know what I was thinking about earlier?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

He brushed your hair back behind your ear, fingers soft. “Our first picnic. The one where I forgot the utensils, and we ate pasta with chopsticks and your ring pop stick.”

You cracked up, hiding your face in his hoodie. “Oh my god, I completely forgot about that.”

“You were so mad but trying so hard to stay sweet.”

“I was trying to impress you! We’d only been dating like… what, a month?”

“Four weeks and six days." he said instantly.

You froze. Pulled back a little to stare at him. “You remembered?”

“Of course I remembered. That’s the day I knew.”

You blinked. “Knew what?”

“That I was gonna fall in love with you.”

Your throat caught. He said it so casually, so gently, but it felt like he’d handed you the sun.

You stared at him, soft and stunned. “Koo…”

He just shrugged, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “It was you. It’s always been you.”

And you launched forward, kissing him so hard and fast you nearly knocked him backward onto the blanket. His laughter vibrated against your mouth as he steadied you, hands cradling your waist.

You kissed him again, and again, small and breathless and messy, and he kept kissing you back with that same wild softness like you were made of candy and magic and he could never get enough.

⸻⸻

The breeze carried the smell of grass and sugar and lake water, and the quiet hush of nature wrapped around you like a warm hug.

You were tucked right between Jungkook’s thighs now, his back leaned lazily against the pillow that was pressed against the tree trunk, and your back resting snugly against his chest. The blanket was slightly rumpled beneath you both, one of his arms wrapped tight around your waist, the other hand resting in your lap lazily, absently, fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

Your fingers idly played with his rings while your head rested on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded from the food and the sun and the feeling of being held like this.

Every few minutes, without warning, he’d press a soft kiss to your cheek, your temple, your shoulder, anywhere his lips could reach.

You leaned into each one without even thinking.

“Comfy?” he murmured into your hair.

“Mmmhmm." you hummed back, playing with the strands of his hair near his ear. “You’re the comfiest seat in the world.”

“Damn right,” he whispered, kissing behind your ear, making you squirm a little.

You giggled and tilted your head back a little. “You always do that when I get all relaxed.”

“I can’t help it." he said, voice deeper now, slower. “You get soft and sleepy and I just wanna kiss every inch of you.”

“You already do.”

“Still not enough.”

You blushed, laughing again, the sound soft and breathy as it floated into the warm air.

His fingers were lightly tugging the hem of your skirt now, folding the fabric, then smoothing it down. You could feel the pressure of his hand moving slowly over your thigh, just teasing but never too much like he just wanted to touch, not to start anything.

It felt safe. Intimate. Like something no one else in the world would ever see.

“You always wear the cutest things,” he murmured. “Every outfit’s like… you bottled sunshine and made it into a person.”

You flushed, reaching up to playfully swat his arm. “Stop.”

“No, I mean it,” he said, nudging your cheek with his nose. “This little skirt you wore for me and those strawberry clips? You’re killing me.”

“I always wore them for you,” you mumbled, suddenly shy.

He stilled for half a second.

Then: “You did?”

You nodded slowly, eyes still on the lake. “I thought you’d like them.”

He pulled you impossibly closer, his nose burying into the crook of your neck. “I love them. I love you. So much it actually messes with my brain sometimes.”

You let your hands drop over his, lacing your fingers together.

Everything slowed down again. The birds chirped in the distance. The sunlight flickered through the leaves. Your heart was calm, but full - full to the brim with all the things you felt for him.

He shifted just enough to kiss your temple again. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“You’d get tired of me.”

“Not possible,” he said instantly. “If I could relive this moment every day, I would. Over and over again.”

You tilted your head back a little to look at him, eyes big and shiny. “Even if I talk too much?”

“I like that you talk too much.”

“Even when I pack too many snacks?”

“You’re feeding my soul.”

“Even when I cling to you all day long?”

His hands squeezed yours. “Baby. Cling harder. Please.”

You couldn’t help it, you twisted around a little and kissed him, sweet and slow and golden. His hand cradled your jaw like he always did, and he kissed you back with that same reverence, like the world had narrowed down to only this.

When you pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I think I’ve been in love with you in every lifetime,” he whispered.

Your throat went tight.

“I think I’d find you no matter where we were." you whispered back.

He pressed a final kiss to your nose. “You’re it for me, baby.”

Few hours pass when all the sandwiches, half the fruits and half the sweets were gone. But you still had so much of the day ahead.

You were lying flat on your back now, his arms tucked loosely around you, both of you stretched out beneath the wide shade of the tree.

The picnic blanket was crumpled around your legs, a container of blueberries lazily perched on your stomach, and Jungkook’s hand was dipping in every few minutes to steal one.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d popped one into his mouth only to immediately press a kiss to your cheek right after. Like it was a rule or something.

You didn’t mind.

“You see that one?” you asked, pointing to a lazy cloud overhead. “That one looks like a bunny.”

He squinted. “That’s a snail.”

“What?! That’s clearly a bunny. With floppy ears.”

He popped another blueberry into his mouth. “Nah. Definitely a snail.”

You reached over, pinched his cheek. “You’re a snail.”

He caught your wrist and pressed a kiss to your fingers. “Okay but I’m your snail.”

You laughed, your whole body shaking against his. “God, I love you.”

“I know.” he whispered back.

That silence stretched a moment. Your head rested against his shoulder, your hand tracing shapes on his chest. His thumb grazed circles along your arm. Every now and then, the breeze would lift the ends of your skirt and he’d gently smooth it back down, like it was second nature to take care of you like that.

Then-

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked up at the clouds. “About what?”

“Our life,” he said softly. “Later. Like… seven years from now.”

Your heart skipped.

You didn’t look at him yet. Just took a soft breath and asked, “What do you see?”

He was quiet for a second, but not hesitant. Just thoughtful. Gentle.

“I see yo.” he said, like that part was obvious. “I see a place that smells like you, like vanilla and strawberry shampoo. I see a bed that’s always messy because we stay up too late talking. A kitchen with snacks stuffed into every cabinet ‘cause you can’t ever decide what mood you’ll be in.”

You started to laugh, but it caught in your throat when he added, even softer.

“I see a ring on your finger.”

Your whole body stilled.

You looked up at him now. He was already staring down at you, his expression quiet and open, like this wasn’t some dramatic proposal, just something he knew, deep in his chest.

You barely breathed. “Jungkook…”

He traced his finger down your arm. “Not today. Not tomorrow. I’m not saying we rush it. I just… I know. I knew a long time ago.”

You sat up a little, just enough to lean over and kiss him. It wasn’t rushed or heavy. Just slow and full of something so deeply felt that it made your chest ache.

When you pulled back, you touched your nose to his. “You really see all that?”

“I see everything with you.”

You laughed softly, eyes misty. “God, I want it too. All of it.”

He rolled onto his side a little, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see you better. “What else do you want? In that life?”

You closed your eyes. Let yourself picture it.

“I want a garden. Not a fancy one, just something we take care of together. I want a big cozy couch that we both fall asleep on halfway through movies. I want matching mugs even though you’ll always steal mine. And…” You blushed, cheeks warm. “I want a dog. Or two. One big, one small.”

Jungkook beamed, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “A house full of love. I want that too.”

You looked up at him, breath caught in your throat again.

“Marry me someday,” he whispered, thumb brushing your jaw. “You don’t have to say yes now. But just… hold that in your heart. ’Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, blinking fast. “You already have my heart.”

“I’ll take care of it forever.”

And just like that, he pulled you back into his arms again, your head resting over his heart while the lake shimmered in the distance and the clouds moved slowly overhead. Soft, quiet witnesses to everything unfolding beneath them.

⸻⸻

You were supposed to be cleaning up.

Supposed to be folding the blanket, tucking away the snack containers, brushing off the crumbs of crackers and chocolate and fruit from your clothes.

But somehow, five minutes into it, you looked over and saw Jungkook flat on his back in the sun, arms behind his head, hair tousled and glowing, smile lazy and smug.

“You’re not helping." you teased.

He cracked one eye open, grinned. “I’m supervising.”

“Liar." you laughed, nudging his side with your foot.

He grabbed your ankle gently, thumb grazing your skin. “Come here.”

“I’m busy!”

“Come here,” he said again, voice soft but commanding, tugging slightly.

You tried to play stubborn, crossing your arms. “What if I don’t?”

“I’ll die.”

You scoffed, giggling. “Dramatic.”

“I’m dead serious,” he said, still smiling. “You’re the air I breathe. Without you, I’ll just-" he flopped his arm off the blanket dramatically “-wither.”

You rolled your eyes but your heart fluttered.

So, of course, you gave in.

You dropped to your knees beside him, crawling up until you were straddling his waist, your hands resting against his chest.

He looked up at you like the sun had just stood still.

“Hi-" you whispered.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered back, hands coming up to rest on your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles.

For a second, you just sat there like that, smiling at each other like two people who already knew they were going to love each other forever.

Then his hands slid up, one to your waist, the other to your cheek and he pulled you down slowly, slowly, until your lips were brushing.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rushed. It was everything he didn’t have words for. Soft and sure, warm and steady. Like he was pouring his whole soul into your mouth.

You melted into it instantly, your hands curling in his shirt, his chest rising and falling beneath you. The world around you dimmed. The lake, the sun, the birds, everything quiet except your heart and his.

When you finally pulled back, cheeks flushed, he looked up at you like he was still a little dazed.

“How does a ride feel right now?." he murmured, his tone teasing, his hands getting touchy and lower.

"Absolutely not!" You giggle, gently smacking his chest with your hand.

He dramatically whines "Fine, I guess I can wait till we get home." Rolling his eyes and pulling you closer.

You buried your face into his neck, nuzzling there, and his arms wrapped tight around your back, holding you against him like a treasure he never wanted to let go of.

“You know something?” he whispered.

“Mmm?”

“You make me believe in forever.”

Your chest squeezed.

You lifted your head just enough to look at him again, and he smiled, a little lopsided, a little too in love.

“You’re my everything,” he said simply. “You’ll always be.”

You leaned down and kissed him again. Not like before. Slower. Sweeter. With a hand cupping his jaw, and your heart racing so hard it felt like the whole world was thudding in your chest.

And when you finally laid your head down on his chest again, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, you knew.

There would never be another person like this.

Never another moment that felt this whole.

This was love.

This was home.

A/N = If you're interested in my works please follow. And if you've enjoyed, I'd appreciate your feedback and support a lot :)

Please do not copy, or use this work without my permission. This story is my original creation and all rights are reserved. Thank you for reading!

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blayskook · 7 days ago

Text

ECHO CHAMBER - J.K

"Strangers In The Night."

pairing = young!idol!jungkook + gentle!nostalgic!reader

genre = strangers to friends to lovers , slowburn

summary = In a small town where time feels paused, two quiet souls cross paths. Both carry unspoken stories and guarded hearts. Slowly, they forge a delicate friendship filled with soft moments and whispered mysteries. As memories surface and secrets unfold, their world shifts. Inviting warmth, comfort, and the possibility of something quietly extraordinary.

A/N = first series? please show support and interact by not just liking! This account is super new and I'd really appreciate it:) also if you enjoyed check out my other works, lmk if I should continue this!!

You heard the rain before it hit.

Not the usual soft sprinkle, not the kind that whispered across your roof and coaxed you to sleep—but the heavy kind. The kind that made the wind rattle under the eaves and carried the scent of wet earth through every crack in the window frame. You sat still in the listening room, hands cradling a half-warm mug of rosemary tea, letting the sound settle into the silence you’d spent all day building.

It was past 10 p.m.

The last reel of the day had stopped hours ago, the small amber light on the deck now a steady blink in a sea of dark wood and dust. You hadn’t turned it off. You hadn’t moved much at all. Just sat, sweater sleeves tugged over your fingers, legs folded beneath you on the wide old armchair. The air smelled like lavender from the oil burner and a little like static—the smell of sound caught in wire and wood.

It was peaceful. The kind of peace that took effort.

The kind you guarded.

And then, the knock.

Three sharp, uncertain taps on the front door. Not loud. Not rushed. Just… unsure. As if the person behind them didn’t know if they were even welcome to knock.

You froze.

This late? In Mureung? No one came to the Echo House after dark unless something had gone wrong.

You set your mug down and rose quietly, your oversized black jeans brushing the floor, your steps slow but certain as you crossed the small entry hall. Rain hammered the awning above the door. The air had turned sharp, laced with pine and mist. Through the warped glass pane, you could barely make out the shape of a figure—hooded, hunched, drenched.

You opened the door.

He stood beneath the crooked porch light, dripping and silent.

Soaked through to the skin, hood fallen back from wet, curling hair. A backpack clung to his shoulder like it was part of him. His face was flushed from cold, strands of rain plastered to his cheeks. He looked young. Unsteady.

But his eyes.

You recognized him instantly.

Jeon Jungkook.

Not the stage version. Not the polished public persona.

This was someone else entirely. Someone real. Fragile, almost.

He blinked once at the sight of you. Then again, as if recalibrating.

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. “I… I was looking for the guesthouse. I think I’m lost.”

You studied him for a beat. The way his fingers curled into the strap of his bag. The way his breathing was controlled—but shallow. Like someone trying not to panic.

“You are,” you said quietly. “By a few kilometers.”

He gave a short laugh through his nose. Not bitter. Just resigned. “Of course I am.”

You tilted your head slightly. Rain was dripping down his sleeves, forming tiny puddles at his feet. His lips were pale, the tip of his nose pink. You wondered how long he’d been walking.

“I think the trail washed out a few hours ago,” you murmured. “There’s no getting to the guesthouse tonight. Not unless you feel like swimming.”

His eyes flicked toward the dark path behind him. Then back to you.

“I don’t,” he admitted.

You stepped aside.

“There’s tea inside,” you said softly. “And a dry blanket. If you want it.”

He stared at you for a heartbeat too long. You didn’t say his name. You didn’t ask why he was here. You didn’t react—not like a fan would. And maybe that’s why, after a second, he nodded.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

⸻

The door clicked shut behind him. Rain still thundered outside, but here, inside the archive, it sounded distant—muted by the thick stone walls and heavy drapes.

He stood near the door like he didn’t know what to do with his body. He was dripping onto the floor, shifting from foot to foot, but still so quiet. Almost apologetic just for being here.

“You can leave your shoes there,” you said gently, gesturing to a rusted metal tray by the coat stand. “There’s a towel on the bench.”

He nodded again and began peeling off his soaked hoodie with slow, stiff fingers. His white T-shirt underneath clung to his frame, darkened from water, and he looked smaller somehow without the heavy fabric hanging from him.

You disappeared into the back room without another word, the hum of the electric kettle filling the air behind you. Lavender mingled with the scent of wet clothes and earth. You pulled two mismatched mugs from the shelf, dropped a sprig of dried rosemary in each, and poured the hot water slowly, carefully. Your hands didn’t shake—but you were aware of your pulse.

When you returned, he was sitting on the floor beside the wide armchair in the listening room, blanket around his shoulders. He’d toweled his hair a little, but it still dripped at the ends. His eyes were fixed on the reel-to-reel tape deck across the room—like it was some relic from a forgotten world.

“What is this place?” he asked, voice softer now. Curious. Cautious.

You handed him the mug.

“This is the Echo House.”

He glanced at you. Then back to the shelves, the cables, the faint hum of the speaker tubes still cooling. He took a sip of tea—winced, probably hotter than expected—then let it settle on his tongue.

“What kind of house is that?”

You sat cross-legged on the rug across from him, arms resting on your knees.

“A graveyard,” you said simply. “For lost sounds.”

His lips parted. But you smiled then, soft and open. “Also… a resurrection, if I’m lucky.”

He looked at you. Really looked. His eyes flicked to your left ear, where your hearing aid sat flush beneath your hairline, nearly hidden beneath a loose strand. He didn’t ask. He just nodded slowly.

“I like that,” he said eventually. “That’s… good.”

You didn’t answer. You just wrapped your hands around your own mug and looked toward the rain dancing against the windowpanes, the light casting long shadows across the floor.

A quiet moment passed between you.

Then: “You can stay here tonight. If you want.”

His head snapped toward you slightly, caught off guard.

“I don’t have anything to give you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t expect to… show up like this. I didn’t think anyone would even answer the door.”

You shrugged lightly. “You looked like you needed someone to.”

He swallowed. His fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

“I just needed to disappear,” he said finally. “And this town… it felt far enough.”

You watched him carefully.

“Sometimes,” you said, “far enough is exactly where you’re meant to land.”

He stared at the steam rising from his cup. His lashes were still wet. The clock on the wall ticked softly in the background.

He didn’t smile. But the tension in his jaw loosened. The air shifted—just slightly. You saw it in the way his shoulders dropped, the way he leaned back against the armchair cushion like his body had finally admitted it was tired.

You let the quiet settle.

And for once, it wasn’t empty.

⸻

That night, Jungkook fell asleep on the listening room couch, blanket tucked around him, half-empty tea mug resting on the floor. Rain still danced above the roof, soft and steady.

You stayed in the chair by the window, sweater pulled tight around you, legs curled up beneath you. You listened.

Not to the storm. Not to the ticking.

To his breath.

Steady.

Safe.

Present.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone in the quiet.

—–-

The morning came quietly.

No harsh light. No sudden noise. Just the steady, rhythmic hum of the kettle warming and the distant coo of birds from somewhere near the window. The wind had softened overnight. The rain had stopped just before dawn. Now the world outside seemed washed clean. Like something had been wrung out of the sky and replaced with soft light and stillness.

He opened his eyes slowly.

The couch beneath him was old and a little uneven, but it had held him through the night. A folded blanket still covered his chest. The scent of lavender lingered faintly in the fabric. His hand rested near an empty mug on the floor. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

It was warm here. Not just the room, but the feeling.

Safe.

He sat up carefully, eyes adjusting to the way sunlight spilled through the windows. It painted golden lines across the wood floor, the old tape equipment, the small speaker perched on the desk. Dust floated in the air. Nothing moved but the light.

Then he heard it.

The soft creak of a cabinet opening. Water being poured. A spoon clinking gently against ceramic.

She was already awake.

He stayed where he was. Still, quiet. Just… listening.

You were moving through the kitchen like the morning belonged to you. No rush. No sound louder than necessary. You wore the same soft brown sweater from the night before, your sleeves still tugged to your palms. Your hair was a little messy from sleep, but you didn’t seem to care. You hummed something under your breath as you stirred a mug of tea. Something sweet. Old. Like a lullaby he couldn’t name.

He watched you through the doorway without meaning to.

You opened the side door near the kitchen and stepped out barefoot into the little garden. The light followed you. Your sweater swayed at your sides as you crouched near a row of mint and wildflowers, fingers brushing over the petals. You watered them gently, not with a hose, but with a chipped porcelain jug.

You moved like someone who had nothing to prove to the world.

And for some reason, he didn’t want to look away.

You returned a few minutes later, arms tucked around your own waist, a few petals caught in the hem of your jeans. You set your mug down on the windowsill and reached for the small radio on the corner shelf.

A soft crackle. Then music.

Not the loud, bright kind.

It was a slow piano piece. Probably recorded decades ago. A little warbled with time. Warm and imperfect.

You swayed just slightly to the melody. Almost without thinking.

And that was the moment he coughed.

It was quiet, but it made you turn around.

You didn’t jump. You didn’t look surprised. Just met his eyes from across the space, your expression calm and open.

“You’re awake.”

Your voice was quiet, like everything else about you. No sharpness. No weight behind it. Just an observation. A gentle one.

He nodded.

You didn’t say anything more right away. Just turned and picked up another mug, pouring hot water into it, your hands steady. You added nothing to it. No sugar. No honey. Just a few small petals from a wooden bowl.

You brought it over to him.

“Here.”

He looked down at the mug, then back at you. His fingers brushed yours for only a second as he took it.

He whispered, “Thank you.”

You nodded and walked past him, sitting on the floor near the armchair, the way you had the night before. Legs folded. Back relaxed. Your mug rested in your lap.

You looked at peace in your own silence.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure if he should sit, unsure if he was still a guest or something else. Eventually, he lowered himself to the floor across from you, knees bent, mug between his palms.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

It wasn’t uncomfortable.

It felt like… space.

Space to breathe.

He took a sip of the tea. It was floral. A little earthy. Something about it felt like a memory.

He glanced at you.

You weren’t watching him.

You were watching the sunlight move across the floor like it had its own rhythm.

After a few more minutes, he spoke again.

“This song. Do you know it?”

You looked up. Not startled. Just thoughtful.

You listened for a second. Then nodded.

“It’s from an old film,” you said softly. “French. Nineteen-sixties. I don’t remember the name.”

He nodded.

“I used to watch movies like that. Late at night.”

Your eyes softened. “Me too.”

He held the mug a little tighter.

You didn’t ask him anything. Not where he had come from. Not what he was doing here. You didn’t press. And maybe that’s why he kept looking at you.

Because you didn’t ask for anything back.

And yet somehow, he felt less empty than he had the day before.

—–-

A gentle stillness lingered between the two of you.

There was no need to fill the space. The kind of silence that settled wasn’t awkward. It was something softer. Something closer to the quiet hum of a memory.

Jungkook sat with his hands curled around the warm mug, his thumb tracing the rim like he was trying to feel the song that still drifted faintly through the room. The music from the old radio was slightly faded, like it had aged through layers of dust and time, but it filled the space like it belonged there.

He had not said much.

But you did not expect him to.

You simply sat, sipping your tea, curled up on the old rug as if it were the most natural thing in the world to start your day in silence beside someone you had just met.

After a few minutes, he quietly set the mug down. You caught the motion out of the corner of your eye and turned your head just a little.

“Would you like something to eat?” you asked gently.

He blinked. Then nodded once, slow and almost cautious.

“I can make some toast. Or porridge.”

He hesitated. “Toast’s good.”

You stood up, smoothing the sides of your sweater without thinking. Your bare feet padded softly across the floor as you moved into the kitchen space. You didn’t move fast. Everything you did had this calm rhythm to it, like the day would wait for you.

Jungkook watched from the floor.

He wasn’t sure why he kept looking.

You opened a narrow wooden cupboard, pulled out a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, and set it near the old toaster. The device sparked faintly when you plugged it in. Everything in this house seemed like it had a story. Like it had been alive for longer than either of you had.

You glanced back over your shoulder.

“You can look around if you want.”

His eyes lifted. A faint uncertainty passed over his face.

You offered a small smile. Not eager. Just… kind.

“There’s not much to see. Just shelves and tapes.”

He stood slowly, his movements quiet.

The room around him was filled with wooden shelves stacked unevenly with vinyl, reels, and black cassette boxes labeled in faded ink. Little tags hung from the sides. There were handwritten notes slipped between covers. Folders. A few broken headphones hung on hooks.

There was no sense of order. Not at first glance.

But to you, it made perfect sense.

He walked toward one of the nearest shelves, tilting his head to read the label.

It was scrawled in blue ink. Something about “Summer Recordings — Local Choir.”

He turned slightly. “You recorded these?”

You peeked up from the toaster. “Some of them.”

He nodded again, then leaned closer to another tape. His fingers hovered over the edge, not touching it.

“This place is yours?”

You nodded.

“It used to belong to someone else. He passed away last year. Left it to me.”

The toaster clicked.

You placed the toast on a small ceramic plate, then carried it over with a small dish of jam.

He took it with a quiet thanks.

The two of you settled back near the window. This time he sat cross-legged beside the chair, and you stayed on the rug.

You both ate quietly.

Outside, the wind stirred a few leaves across the stone path of your little garden. A cat padded past the window, its paws silent as mist. The music shifted to a new track. This one had no words. Just piano and soft static.

“Why did he leave it to you?” Jungkook asked suddenly.

You didn’t look at him.

Instead, you pressed the edge of your thumb to the toast before answering.

“I used to come here after school. He taught me how to splice tape. How to repair broken recordings. I think I reminded him of his daughter.”

Jungkook’s gaze lowered.

“Where is she now?”

“She died. Years ago.”

He looked at you, but you didn’t look back.

You didn’t sound sad. Not distant, either. Just… accepting.

You finished your toast quietly. Then reached for the old record sitting on the nearby table.

“I haven’t heard this one in a while.”

He watched as you gently placed the needle and adjusted the knobs with practiced hands.

A low crackle filled the room. Then music.

Jazz.

Slow. Scratchy. Something from another century.

You sat back down and leaned against the arm of the chair, your head tilted slightly as the notes drifted through the air.

Jungkook stared down at his half-finished toast, unsure of what he felt. Something in his chest ached. But it was not sadness.

It was something older. Like the memory of a room he had never been in before but somehow still missed.

You didn’t speak again.

Neither did he.

But the music played. And that was enough.

—–-

He had been standing near the window for a while now.

The sunlight touched his shoulders. Barely. Just enough to outline him like something pulled from a still frame.

You stayed seated where you were, fingers curled around the edge of a ceramic mug. The tea had gone cold. You had not noticed.

Jungkook glanced back at you. Then looked down again. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then finally stepped away from the window.

“I should head back.”

You looked up.

He didn’t say it like he was in a rush. But he also didn’t say it like he wanted to stay.

“To where?”

His hand dragged across the back of his neck.

“There’s a guest house past the ridge. Bit outside town. Cheap enough.”

You nodded slowly.

“That’s a long walk from here.”

He didn’t respond.

“And around there, most of the shops are closed or shut down. No pharmacy. No food places. Not even a proper corner store.”

He tilted his head slightly, like he already knew.

“I don’t mind,” he said.

You set your mug down gently on the table.

“I have another place,” you said.

His brows barely lifted. You could tell he was listening now. But still unsure. Still guarded.

“It’s empty. Just a few doors down. I used to stay there before moving upstairs.”

You watched the way he blinked once. He did not nod. He did not answer.

“There’s a bedroom. A small kitchen. A bathroom. Nothing fancy. But clean.”

You stood up then. Carefully. Slowly.

You didn’t move closer to him. Just stood near the edge of the room.

“I don’t rent it out anymore. No one really asks. And I don’t like strangers.”

That made him glance at you. Just for a second longer than before.

“But,” you added gently, “I don’t think you’re the kind I’d regret offering it to.”

Silence settled again.

He crossed his arms. Looked back at the window.

“If I say yes,” he said finally, “would you want something in return?”

His tone wasn’t suspicious. Just cautious.

You shook your head once.

“No rent,” you said. “But maybe… you could help with the archive. Just lifting boxes or sorting records. You don’t have to talk to anyone.”

Jungkook stared at the floor for a moment. Then let out a soft breath through his nose.

“That’s it?”

You nodded.

“That’s it.”

The stillness between you wasn’t cold. Just quiet. Like the space between two songs on a cassette tape. Like breath waiting to become sound.

“Alright thank you then.." he said.

Just that. Nothing more.

You didn’t smile. But your shoulders softened a little.

You picked up the keys from the hook near the door.

“I’ll show you where it is. You can decide after you see it.There was no need to grab your jacket, with the weather being lighter now.

He followed you this time with a little more ease.

You stepped outside. The street was bright but calm. Dust swirled in the light like drifting ash. A windchime clicked softly in the distance.

You walked without speaking. He kept his pace just behind yours. Not too close.

The building sat at the corner, tucked between a shuttered tailor’s shop and a boarded-up florist. A plant sat in the windowsill. Dry, but still alive.

You opened the door.

The space inside felt still. Airy. It had not been touched in a while but did not feel abandoned.

Jungkook stepped in behind you.

The floor creaked once under his boots.

The room opened into a modest living space. Light curtains. Wooden floor. A worn rug with faded colors. One low shelf with a few books. A single chair near the window.

He walked slowly through the space. Not rushing to inspect. Not speaking.

You didn’t follow.

“I’ll bring you blankets later. And maybe some food. The fridge works.”

He glanced over at you.

His face gave nothing away. But you noticed how he looked around like he was already imagining himself here. Like part of him had already sat down in the silence.

“Alright." he said again. Softer this time.

You stepped back toward the door.

“I live just across the street,” you said.

He nodded once.

Then, without turning around, he added,

“Thanks.” For the first time giving you at soft smile.

You closed the door behind you.

And left him there.

In the quiet.

In the stillness.

In something new.

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