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diaryofmess · 2 months ago

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my heart oh my gosh

umbrella || jjk

⤷ summary: when rain pours more into your life instead of washing things away

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 2k+

⟶ genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, established relationship au

⟶ content: boyfriend!jk, college au, kook is a flirty tease, mainly just a fluffy couple in love with a barely there argument because of a protective jk

⟶ warnings: explicit language

↬ a/n: so this is a very old piece I polished up a bit. it was inspired by a narration in a scene from the drama ‘goblin’, so that tells you how old it is haha. hope you enjoy & let me know what you think! angel xoxo

masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

on this rainy night, what is your umbrella?

You stood under the awning outside the building, which you were supposed to be far from as of 2 o’clock. Your other classmates were long gone, having made their way off campus through the rain by running to their cars with the protection of a coat or umbrella. None of the things you have because you continue not to be an adult and watch the news, missing the weather report that everyone else was aware of. Watching the heavy raindrops smack against the pavement, you contemplate how you’re getting home.

Should you make a run for it? A run for 30 minutes? Yeah, that’s not happening. You could call a taxi. But you’re not going to pay for that so no.

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot,” you say quietly to yourself, or so you thought.

“Jeez, that’s a little harsh don’t you think,” a beautiful deep voice says.

Startled you turn your head quickly to be met with what you could have sworn was a literal angel in disguise as a twenty-something-year-old boy. The tall boy looks away from the rain and towards you. He gives you a quick look over and sees your empty hands and smiles.

“Ah! You don’t have an umbrella. You didn’t watch the news?” he asks. You shake your head to answer him.

He smirks and nods his head while looking back out at the downpour.

“Maybe you are an idiot,” he says all too casually while shrugging, clearly teasing you.

“Hey!” you scoff out with a laugh, finally speaking.

“I mean, today is one of the worst days we are supposed to get this year! How can you not have an umbrella or at least a hood?” he laughs out loud, gesturing his hand at you from head to toe.

His laugh and your current predicament both cause you to join in. Once you both settle down the dark-haired boy looks at you with round eyes still slightly crinkled from laughter although nothing but kindness is present in them.

“How far do you live from here?” he asks with a melodic voice and an endearing head tilt to match it.

Upon first look, he may seem like someone with an edge to them; dark-coloured clothes, piercings and some tattoos. But it is ever present that there is an apparent softness to him, one that accompanied by his calm demeanour is pouring a level of comfort over you that you can not explain.

“30 minutes that way,” you point out the way to your home, “Pretty close to Bam's House Cafe.”

“Hmm, I’m headed the same way, so it looks like you're a lucky idiot,” he says shooting you a wink while opening his umbrella held in his tattooed hand.

“Gee thanks, but I’d feel more lucky if you’d stop rubbing my idiocy in my face,” you chuckle.

“I would call you by name if you told me it,” he says with a slight, dare you say flirtatious smirk that causes your breath to get stuck in your throat.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Well Y/N, I’m Jungkook. The handsome, well-prepared gentleman escorting you through this storm today,” he sends you a beaming smile that almost sends you to your grave.

He holds out the clear vinyl plastic for you to stand under it. You do just that and as you step close to him, arms brushing you’re hit with his clean fresh scent.

“Thank you again, Jungkook," you reply looking down to hide your sudden blush.

"Shall we get going?” he asks flicking his head out to the direction you earlier pointed out, and with a nod of your head, you both step out starting on the journey to your home. And so much more.

the voice that responds when you call.

The ringing in your ears finally stops when you hear the voice on the other end of the phone say, “Hello?”

But it is no surprise to you, knowing he would answer because Jungkook always did. You knew once he saw your name flash across his screen he would not hesitate to slide to answer.

“Hey,” your voice is small when you reply.

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately concerned, because just like how Jungkook always answers, he always knows. He knows you.

“I just miss you, I wanted to hear your voice.”

“I know I miss you too. But I’ll be back in two days.”

“Ugh! That’s going to feel like forever,” a whiny sadness to your tone.

“Hey, I told you you could come with me. My mom is still upset I didn’t bring you,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, I know but taking a trip to Busan is not an option with work right now,” you sigh.

You hear him sigh as well and there is a long pause between you two.

“Then quit your job,” he states in an all too serious tone.

“What? Jungkook have you lost your mind? You know I can’t qu-“

“Sure you can! I’ll quit my own too! Then we can move out here and buy a house. We can live by the water and have a bunch of kids, it will be perfect,” his tone gets more excited as he hears your giggles pleased with your happiness.

“So what do you say, babe? Sounds good right?” he asks still joking.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply with a content smile.

And just like that you were no longer sad because Jungkook knew how to make you happy. Jungkook always knew.

the memories of seeing the same thing at the same time.

It was Monday, and although you were not as fond of it as any other person towards that day of the week, you had one thing to look forward to on Mondays. That was the one day of the week Jungkook would meet you at work and you would walk home together.

So here the two of you are walking through the park, which was a shortcut to your shared home. Your hand in his, fingers interlocked this being the beckon of light at the end of your work day. You feel him rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand and you glance at him to see him just looking off into the distance. Your usually chatty boyfriend is now just quietly at your side. You use your free hand and pull him by the elbow holding him close to your side, gaining his attention eyebrows raised in question.

“Rough day?” you ask looking up at him.

He breathes out an airy laugh through his nose.

“Yeah you know, just one of those days,” he glances back at you with a small shrug then continues.

“It was one of those days I wished I was just with you at home, just had you beside me,” he squeezes your hand, “Only me and you, the rest of the world blocked out.”

He looks down at you and softly smiles that eye smile you could never fall out of love with.

“I wish for that every day,” you reply returning the squeeze to his hand while smiling up at him.

While you share this moment you notice small white flakes landing on his raven-coloured hair. He must have taken notice too as you both look up.

You are met with flurries quickly floating down all around you two making their way to the ground.

“The first snowfall,” he states almost in a whisper.

“It's so pretty,” you say fascinated and fully entranced with the beauty of Mother Nature.

You feel his gaze on your face and turn to make eye contact. He has the most delicate look, eyes filled with adoration.

“I may not have had you by my side all day, but I’m glad I have you here right now,” he says lovingly.

And at that moment, witnessing the beginning of a new season with your love and sharing this memory, you could have sworn the rest of the world was blocked out and it was just you two.

the first time you matched each other’s pace.

Angry.

No, that’s not even the right word, enraged. Yes, enraged that is what you are feeling right now. And why were you so mad? Your boyfriend seemed to think that a guy having a friendly conversation with you, albeit a drunken one on his part but innocent, was the perfect reason to cause a huge scene in the middle of a party with all your friends and more to see.

So now here you are walking home furious with one another because you think he overreacted while he thinks you underreacted. Not only are you annoyed with him for how he acted but now you’re annoyed with yourself for wearing heels knowing you would have to walk home after a whole night in them.

Your pace starts to get slower because your feet start killing you and it suddenly feels like Jungkook is running a marathon instead of walking home. You glance up and see the distance between his back and you getting bigger and bigger. You focus on trying to ignore the pain soaring through your feet and as you continue walking with your head down staring at the shoes you have come to despise you suddenly bump into a shoulder.

You look up to your side and notice the man that was ahead of you seconds ago now right beside you.

“If you can’t keep up just say so,” he grumbles, the first words you hear from him since leaving the party.

You notice how he starts walking slower for you and does not move an inch further from your side. You continue your struggle to walk, feet pulsing more with every step.

“Ah fuck it,” you mumble to yourself as you take off your heels.

Jungkook halts and turns towards you once he notices you stopped walking. Once you start to continue you feel your heels being ripped out of your hands, as you’re about to ask what he’s doing he kneels in front of you, wordlessly telling me to get on his back.

“Kook, you don’t-“

“Get on,” he quietly demands.

You don’t argue because your feet yell at you not to. You get on his back, arms around his neck and he tucks his hands under your knees immediately standing up with ease and continues the journey home.

“I told you not to wear those damn shoes,” he says after a couple of minutes.

For some reason that comment brings a slight smile to you, as you realize that your anger has disappeared without you even being aware.

“Thank you,” you say into his neck as you tighten your arms and lock your ankles around his torso hugging him closer to you.

He adjusts his hands to your thighs as you pull your bodies closer together.

“For what?” he questions taking a peek at you.

“For trying to take care of me before and still taking care of me now,” you answer giving his neck a peck.

“You know I’ll always do that, it’s my job too. A little fight won’t stop that, taking care of you comes naturally to me now.”

“I mean it kind of has to look at our situation right now,” he continues with a breathy laugh as he squeezes your thighs to emphasize his statement.

You giggle at his response knowing the truth behind it. Jungkook has always taken care of you. You have always looked out for each other. You have always matched ourselves to each other.

did someone come to mind?

You hear the lock of the front door opening and the jingling of keys, followed by some rustling around, most likely the removal of outerwear. A few seconds later you see the handsome tattooed man you call your boyfriend walking into the living room. He smiles as he sits beside you on the couch wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head. You look up at him head on his shoulder and begin to stare unconsciously as thoughts run around your mind.

“What?” he asks you with a confused chuckle.

You smile at him, “I love you.”

He gives you that butterfly-inducing eye smile and kisses you on the lips.

“I love you too.”

yes, that’s the person.

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diaryofmess · 2 months ago

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cutieful

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diaryofmess · 2 months ago

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i love🫰

★⋆｡𖦹 FLOWER BOY + jeon jungkook

jungkook visits your flower shop one day, expecting you to be mean but you caught his eye. your softness and colorful aura, it felt like something shifted inside of him— finding himself coming back.

word count : 3.9k

genre : FLUFFFF ALL AROUND

warnings : edgy(?)jk, cussing, emotional vulnerability? MILDDD ROMANTIC TENSION!! literally so fluffy omg like it makes my stomach have butterflies help, reader is a florist, namjoon makes a guest appearance!😉, kissing, reader is the word soft girl in form, THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD!

a/n : i like this oneee! and i didn’t write the title this time because i hated the way it looked whenever i wrote it😭😭I HAD SMM FUN IN HAWAII! okay anyway, enjoy this☀️💐

masterlist

the first time you met jungkook, you were kind of nervous.

it was raining the first time he walked into your flower shop. the doorbell jingled, and you looked up from your little notebook, expecting the usual: a sweet old lady needing tulips, or a rushed boyfriend begging for a last-minute bouquet.

instead, you were met with the sound of heavy boots and the scent of rain-soaked leather. jungkook stood just inside the door, black hoodie under a worn-out leather jacket, wet hair dripping into his eyes. he looked like he belonged in a music video, not in your pastel-colored little shop with flower-printed wallpaper and gentle acoustic music playing in the background.

you blinked, “hi there… can i help you?” he stared at you for a second, like he wasn’t expecting to be greeted so gently. then he cleared his throat, “uh. yeah. i guess. i need… a flower.”

you smiled politely, “any kind in mind?” he glanced around, clearly overwhelmed by the color explosion in the room. his eyes landed on a small vase of daisies by the window.

“those,” he said, nodding. “the white ones.”

“daises?” you asked, grabbing your scissors. “good choice. they mean purity and new beginnings.”

“cool,” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “didn’t ask, but okay.” you giggled — not offended, just amused. “i like telling people the meanings. sorry.”

he watched you for a moment while you carefully wrapped the flower in brown paper, tying it with a soft yellow ribbon. “you do this for everyone?” he asked quietly.

“mhm,” you hummed. “i like making people feel cared for.” he went quiet again.

you handed him the wrapped daisy, and your fingers brushed. his were rough and warm — calloused, probably from guitar strings or fights he didn’t want to talk about.

“that’s on the house,” you said softly. “you look like you had a rough day.” jungkook stared at you like you’d just handed him something more valuable than a daisy. “why would you do that?”

you shrugged. “sometimes people just need something kind.” he looked down at the flower, then back at you. something shifted in his expression — just a flicker, something small.

“…thanks.”

a week later. the rain had stopped but jungkook didn’t. he showed up again in a hoodie and his hair neater like he actually looked in the mirror.

you looked up from restocking some roses and smiled, “back so soon?” you tease. he nodded, “yeah… i need another flower.”

you tilted your head, “another daisy?” he hesitated, “uh… yeah sure i guess.”

you walked over to the daises with your hand on your hips and a smile, “you’re not buying these for anybody, huh?” you asked. he froze, “what?”

hou stepped closer, playful. “you don’t have anyone to give these to, do you?” he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “maybe i just like flowers.”

“you don’t even know what daises mean,” you grabbed one and wrap it up just like before. jungkook mumbled, “they mean like purity.. and new stuff or somethin…”

you laughed, and something about the sound made his heart twist weirdly in his chest.

you didn’t press him further. you just wrapped the daisy again, ribbon matching the blush that threatened to rise in his cheeks. he watched you as you worked— how careful you were with the petals, how your lips moved as you hummed something under your breath.

she’s soft, he thought. and not just in the way she dresses or talks — she is soft. kind in a way he didn’t know people still were. and it kind of messed him up.

you handed him the flower again, fingertips brushing like last time. “still on the house.”

he looked at the daisy, then at you, and said— like he couldn’t stop himself, “what if i wanna bring you something next time?” you blinked, “me?”

“yeah,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the paper-wrapped stem. “you keep giving stuff away. thought maybe you should get something back.”

you smiled, that soft, sunshine smile that made something in his chest ache. “i’d like that.”

this time, he stood outside the flower shop for a full ten minutes before going in.

his hand clenched around the small object in his pocket — warm from his palm, a little stupid, but it felt right. he hadn’t told anyone he was coming here again. not his friends, not his brother, not even himself, really.

but when he walked in and saw you behind the counter, arranging a vase of wildflowers with your hair pulled back and a little smudge of dirt on your cheek, he forgot why he was nervous in the first place.

you looked up and lit up like always. “hey, jungkook. you need another daisy?” he shook his head, stepping toward the counter. “not today.”

you raised a brow, teasing. “so you do have someone to give flowers to now?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny keychain — a small plastic bear holding a daisy, clearly won from some old claw machine. the thing was kinda ugly. definitely not your usual style. but he’d seen it the day before and thought of you instantly.

“this is for you.” your smile faltered in surprise, eyes widening. “what?”

“it’s dumb,” he said quickly. “i saw it and… i don’t know. it just reminded me of you. the flower. the bear. i don’t know,” he repeated, rubbing the back of his neck. “you don’t have to keep it.”

you stared at it like it was a diamond ring, “i love it.”

jungkook looked up, caught off guard. “really?” you nodded, clutching the keychain like it was something precious. “it’s perfect.”

he couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at his mouth, even if he tried. “yeah, well… i’m not good at, like, actual gifts. but maybe i could bring you something better next time.”

“you already brought me something perfect,” you said, setting it gently beside the register. “now it can keep me company while i work.”

he just stood there for a moment, watching you like you’d done something to him he couldn’t undo. like you’d carved your name into something he didn’t know had space for softness.

jungkook slouched on the cracked steps outside the convenience store, a bottle of soda dangling from his fingers as namjoon leaned against the wall beside him, munching on a bag of chips.

“she liked it,” jungkook muttered suddenly. namjoon raised a brow. “huh?”

“the keychain,” jungkook said, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk. “the dumb little bear with the flower.” namjoon blinked, “you gave that to someone?”

“yeah.”

“you gave a girl a keychain?” jungkook rolled his eyes. “don’t say it like that.” namjoon grinned. “no, i’m just impressed. last week you said feelings were ‘a government trap.’”

“she’s different,” jungkook said, quieter now. “she runs this flower shop. always has dirt on her hands and plays love songs that make you wanna die, but like, in a good way.”

namjoon’s grin softened. “damn. you’re gone.” jungkook ran a hand through his hair, biting the inside of his cheek. “she didn’t laugh. i gave her the thing, told her it was dumb, and she said she loved it. like… actually meant it.”

“she probably did,” namjoon said simply. “sweet girls don’t fake that stuff.” jungkook didn’t respond right away. he just sat there, swirling the soda bottle between his fingers.

“i don’t get it,” he finally muttered. “i give her this dumb plastic bear and she looks at me like i handed her the moon.”

“that’s what love looks like, man,” namjoon said, nudging him with his foot. “you just haven’t seen it like that before.”

jungkook exhaled slowly, “i think i’m in trouble.”

“good,” namjoon said with a grin. “means you’re doing it right.”

it was a quiet afternoon at the shop. the light outside was golden and soft, filtering through the windows as you rearranged a bouquet of lilacs and baby’s breath.

the bell over the door jingled, and you looked up, expecting jungkook like usual— but instead, it was someone taller, broader, with dimples and round glasses.

“hey,” he said with a smile. “you must be the florist.”

“i am,” you replied, wiping your hands on your apron. “can i help you?”

“i’m namjoon,” he said, stepping closer to the counter. “jungkook’s friend.”

you blinked, surprised. “oh— hi. nice to meet you.”

he glanced around the shop, clearly taking it all in, the soft colors, the soft music, the scent of lavender and fresh petals in the air. then he looked back at you with a small grin.

“he wasn’t kidding.” you tilted your head. “about what?”

namjoon chuckled, “you.”

you stared, “me?”

“yeah. the way he talks about you, i was expecting someone like… i don’t know. a disney character. but you’re real.” you laughed softly, heat rising to your cheeks. “he talks about me?”

namjoon gave you a look. “he told me about the keychain. about the way you smile. said you make the world feel… less heavy.” you chest tightened, the air suddenly sweeter. “he said that?”

“didn’t say it like that,” namjoon admitted with a smirk. “but i know how to translate jungkook.” you smiled, heart fluttering wildly. “he’s really soft under all that leather, huh?”

namjoon grinned. “don’t tell him i said this, but yeah. especially with you.”

just then, the door opened again and this time it was him, hoodie half-zipped, hair messy like he’d been running. he paused when he saw namjoon, eyes narrowing. “what’d you say?”

namjoon just laughed and gave you a wink on the way out. “see you around, flower girl.” jungkook frowned as the door closed behind him. “what did he say to you?”

you were still smiling, barely able to hide it. “nothing.” “did he tell you i—?” he stopped, cheeks pinking slightly. “forget it.”

“i like that you talk about me,” you whispered.

jungkook let out a breath, his voice soft against your hair. “yeah, well… you’re the only thing i want to talk about.”

the shop was closed. you’d stayed late to finish inventory, and jungkook had shown up uninvited like he always did now, claiming he was “just bored,” but refusing to leave until you did.

he was sitting on the floor behind the counter, head leaned back against the wall, knees bent. you were beside him, cross-legged, your phone playing soft music as you both picked petals off a bouquet that hadn’t sold.

“this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” he mumbled, watching a petal fall into his lap. you smiled, “but you’re still here.”

“i know,” he looked over at you, and something about his gaze made the air feel heavier. “i don’t wanna leave.” you blinked, “then don’t.”

he didn’t. he just leaned his head against the wall again, staring at you like you were something delicate— something he was scared to touch too fast in case it vanished.

“i don’t get you,” he said quietly. you turned to him, “why?”

“you’re just… so good. and i’m—” he shook his head, brows furrowed like he was trying to find the right words. “i’m not used to people like you. not used to feeling like this.”

“like what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. he met your eyes. “like i could break and you’d still hold me.”

the silence between you thickened— heavy, warm, safe. you leaned in first, barely an inch, almost afraid to spook him. he didn’t move.

then, slowly, jungkook tilted his head forward, so close your noses brushed. his breath was shaky, and you could feel it fan across your lips as his voice dropped to a murmur.

“i’ve been wanting to do this since the first daisy.”

and then he kissed you.

soft. careful. like he wasn’t sure he was allowed but couldn’t stop himself. his hand came up to your cheek, rings cool against your skin, the other bracing on the floor like if he didn’t hold still, he might fall right through it. you kissed him back.

and then, you two pull away. you laughed softly and he exhaled, “you’re dangerous,” he whispered. you smiled, brushing your thumb against his jaw, “you’re soft.”

“don’t tell anybody.”

“promise."

your first date went exactly how you imagined it would. he pulled up at exactly seven in a black mercedes that gleamed under the streetlights, windows tinted, bass low and smooth in the background. he leaned against the car door, arms crossed.

you stepped out of the shop wearing a soft little sundress, and he straight-up forgot how to breathe. “you look…” he trailed off, exhaling. “like i should be paying to stand next to you.”

you laughed, slipping your hand into his. “too bad. you’re stuck with me.”

he drove you to the botanical gardens— not something you’d ever expect from someone who looked like he belonged in the back of a club, not the middle of a greenhouse.

but he knew. he remembered every flower you’d ever mentioned. and when you stepped into the garden and saw rows of daisies blooming in the golden hour light, your breath caught.

you turned to him, stunned. “you remembered.”

jungkook shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly shy. “of course. first flower you ever gave me.”

when he dropped you off that night, the mercedes idled quietly at the curb, windows down just enough to let in the spring air.

he didn’t kiss you right away. just looked at you like he wanted to remember this version of you forever. “was this okay?” he asked. “for a first real date?”

you leaned closer, your voice soft. “it was perfect.”

and then you kissed him — slow, sweet, lingering — under the glow of the streetlight, the car behind you humming like it knew something magical had just happened.

he kissed you back with both hands on your waist like he didn’t ever want to let go.

a few weeks later, you stuff was everywhere.

not in a messy, overwhelming way— just in little pieces, scattered like petals across jungkook’s dark, quiet world.

his black leather mercedes still looked sleek, still smelled like his cologne and fading vanilla— but now, a flower chain you made dangled from the rearview mirror, bouncing gently with every turn. you’d tied it there without asking, just smiled at him while your fingers looped the stems.

and on his dash, a polaroid of you was out there like a trophy. sitting on the curb outside his apartment, chin in your hand, eyes squinted from laughing too hard. you looked soft, out of place in a car built for speeding and power— but somehow, you lit the space up like it had been waiting for you all along.

his apartment had changed too. it used to be all sharp corners, concrete floors, black shelves, cool-toned lighting. rhe kind of place that echoed when it was too quiet.

now? the couch had a floral cover, one you brought over “just for spring,” even though he rolled his eyes and said it didn’t match his vibe. he sat on it every day.

there were lego flowers on his shelves, between his whiskey bottles and a half-burnt candle. you brought them over one night, dropped the box in his lap with a grin, and said, “help me build these.”

he didn’t even hesitate. he built them carefully. gently. like each piece meant something. like your presence had softened the way his hands moved.

one had a tiny sticker on the stem— “this one’s yours”— in your handwriting. he stared at it more than he liked to admit.

your hoodie hung on the hook by his front door. always. like it belonged there. like you did.

sometimes, when you weren’t around, he sat on that flower-covered couch, stared at your hoodie, and thought: this is what love looks like.

bright petals in a black car. lego flowers where there used to be dust. a soft girl who didn’t just walk into his world— she bloomed in it.

and now everything smelled like you and he wouldn’t change a single thing.

he also did the same thing to you. it wasn’t obvious at first.

you’d had him over a dozen times by now— late night takeout, quiet sunday mornings, sleepy kisses on your couch. he always left with the same soft grin, hoodie tugged back on, keys twirling between his fingers, the door clicking shut behind him like a whisper.

but this time, something was different.

you didn’t notice it until hours later. you were tidying the throw pillows— the ones he always teased you for having too many of— when your fingers brushed something draped over the arm of the couch.

his gray zip-up. the one he wore almost every night. worn soft from age, sleeves just a little too long, the faintest smell of cologne and smoke clinging to the fabric.

you stared at it, heart stuttering. he never left things behind. never.

upu held it to your chest, curling your fingers into the sleeves, smiling like a fool alone in your apartment.

he didn’t forget it. you knew him too well for that. he left it on purpose.

later that night, your phone buzzed.

kookiee: left something at yours

you stared at the message. smiled. then typed back:

you: yeah. you did.

there was a pause. then another message.

kookiee: look under your pillow.

your brows lifted. you padded back to your room, pulled the blanket aside— and there it was. a bracelet.

black leather cord. woven and simple. one of his. you’d seen him fidget with it a hundred times. wrapped around the cord was a tiny silver charm shaped like a flower.

your breath caught. you slipped it onto your wrist, heart warm and aching in the best way.

he hadn’t said “i’m yours.” he didn’t need to. he’d left it where he knew you’d find it. quiet. certain. soft.

just like how he loved you.

bonus:

it was your birthday, and you told jungkook you didn’t want anything big. just him, maybe a cupcake, and a quiet night.

he acted like he forgot.

didn’t text you all morning. didn’t show up at your shop. by the time you closed for the day, you were trying really hard not to feel a little crushed.

but when you got home, your apartment was glowing. literally glowing— with soft fairy lights strung clumsily across your ceiling, as if someone had no clue what they were doing but tried anyway.

there were daisies on the table. a small cake with uneven frosting. and jungkook, standing awkwardly in the middle of it all with pink icing on his cheek and a nervous smile on his lips.

“happy birthday,” he said, voice a little raspy. “sorry it’s not perfect. i don’t really do… this.” you dropped your bag and ran into his arms.

he held you tight, mumbling into your hair, “i watched, like, three youtube videos on how to bake a cake for you. i almost set your oven on fire.”

you leaned back, grinning. “you made this yourself?”

“yeah,” he muttered, cheeks pink. “it tastes like shit, probably. but it’s yours.” you kissed him for that. for the lights, the cake, the flowers, and most of all— the way his tough exterior melted every time he looked at you.

he tasted like sugar and punk rock.

and he was yours.

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diaryofmess · 2 months ago

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bts @ photobooth

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diaryofmess · 2 months ago

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A Gentle Kind of Forever

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: ceo au, strangers to lovers, soft yandere

summary: there was always something different about the way he loved you. gentle, patient, like he was studying a language only he could understand. even when you’d parted, he carried you quietly in the soft folds of memory, never once questioning whether you’d return. and when you finally do… he knows. this time, he won’t let you go.

he touches you like you’re made of glass, speaks to you like every word has been rehearsed for years. there’s comfort in his arms, safety in his silence. but behind the calm is a devotion that doesn’t waver, doesn’t yield. It waits, it watches, it binds. you think you’ve come back to something familiar. but you’re stepping into a love that never left. one that’s willing to reshape the world just to keep you close.

warnings: yandere yoongi, obsessive love, possessive behavior, gentle dom, emotional manipulation, surprise pregnancy, breeding kink, voyeurism (hidden cams), soft horror, unsettling intimacy, dubious consent, power imbalance, bittersweet ending, psychological tension, it’s romantic until it isn’t, mind games disguised as devotion, love that holds you too tight..woo 😮‍💨 that was a lot. i like to think i’m getting better at my warnings

word count: 4,336

Like It Was Always Meant to Be

The first time you see him, he’s alone.

Sitting in a faded green armchair by the window in the hotel lobby, legs crossed, cup of espresso cradled in his hands like it’s something holy. His gaze is cast toward the rain slick street outside, but his mind is clearly elsewhere—lost, maybe, or just tired. You notice the scuff marks on his boots before you notice anything else.

He doesn’t look up when you sit a few seats away. Doesn’t move when you unzip your coat or sigh from the ache in your legs after walking all morning through Florence. He’s still, like a painting. One that hums quietly with emotion but asks for nothing in return.

You steal glances, not because he’s beautiful, though he is, but because there’s a softness in him that feels out of place in a city made of marble and gold.

Then, as if sensing your attention, he turns.

His voice is low, rough from disuse. “Rain like this makes the city quieter, doesn’t it?”

You nod, caught off guard. “It’s like everything slows down.”

He smiles—just a twitch of the lips, but it changes his whole face. “Sometimes slow is good.”

******

You exchange names at a corner café two hours later.

Yoongi.

He stirs his coffee three times clockwise, once counter. You try not to assign meaning to it, but your brain’s already making poetry from his hands, the way he brushes his thumb over the cup’s rim like he’s coaxing a memory to the surface.

He tells you he’s here for the quiet. You tell him you’re here to feel something again.

You don’t elaborate. He doesn’t ask.

There’s comfort in that.

******

You run into him again two days later—accidentally, you think, until he confesses he’s been visiting the same bookstore every morning, hoping to spot you.

You laugh behind your scarf, flushed from the cold and the attention. He looks sheepish, but not sorry.

“You’re easy to be around,” he says with a shrug, “and I’m not easy around many people.”

You believe him.

You let him walk with you that day. He holds your umbrella when the rain returns. When you slip on the wet cobblestones, he catches your elbow, his grip firm and careful.

You start calling him your ghost. He calls you trouble.

You like how it sounds in his voice.

******

That night, in your hotel room, you kiss.

It happens slow. He looks at you like he’s giving you time to back out. You don’t.

His lips are warm and unhurried, coaxing yours to part. When his tongue slides against yours, something in your chest caves in. The kiss deepens. You tug him closer by his coat.

He doesn’t rush to undress you. He lays you down on the bed and maps your skin with his mouth—your collarbone, the curve of your hip, the inside of your knee. He peels off your clothes like he’s opening a gift he’s waited too long to touch.

“Okay?” he murmurs against your ribs.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, Yoongi.”

His name tastes good when you say it like that.

When he sinks inside you, you gasp—not just from the stretch, but from the way he looks at you, as if you’re both terrifying and necessary. His movements are slow, controlled, like he’s memorizing the shape of your body around him.

You come with your fingers tangled in his hair, gasping his name into the shell of his ear. He follows with a quiet groan, forehead pressed to yours, breath catching in his throat.

After, he holds you in the quiet.

No music. No TV. Just breath and skin and the sound of rain against the window.

******

Days melt together.

He sketches you while you sleep. You catch him once, and he pretends he wasn’t. But later, you find the paper tucked into your coat pocket, your face rendered in graphite with stunning accuracy. You stare at it longer than you mean to.

He watches you like he’s unsure what’s happening to him.

“I was alone for a long time before this,” he tells you, one night while your legs are tangled together under the duvet. “By choice, mostly. Then you showed up with your terrible Italian and your rain boots and I… forgot how quiet I used to be.”

You kiss him then, not because you know what to say, but because you don’t.

He moans into your mouth. Pulls you beneath him again.

******

The last night, you argue.

You’ve been dancing around it for days—the inevitable parting. Your return ticket. His extended stay.

“You’re leaving,” he says, like it’s a betrayal.

You sit on the edge of the bed, half dressed, hair still damp from the shower. “You knew I had a flight.”

“But it doesn’t have to end here.”

You hate the crack in his voice. Hate the way it mirrors the one in your chest.

“I don’t live here, Yoongi.”

“Then let me come with you.”

You laugh—a wet, sharp sound. “What are we, a story? We fucked and shared a few pastries and now you want to uproot your life?”

He doesn’t flinch. “You think this was just that?”

You bite your lip. His silence wounds more than his words.

“I think,” you whisper, “I was trying to find something here. And I did. But that doesn’t mean I get to keep it.”

His shoulders fall. His jaw tightens. He crosses the room, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you like a man clinging to the edge of a dream.

You kiss back like you’re already mourning him.

******

You don’t say goodbye at the airport.

You just turn one last time, hoping he followed you, hoping the ghost stayed true.

He doesn’t.

And maybe that hurts more than anything.

******

You return to the noise of your life.

Emails. Fluorescent lighting. A bed that’s too cold and dreams that echo with his hands. You find yourself cooking things you only learned how to make because of him. You walk into record stores, hoping to hear the soft rasp of his voice beside you.

You never do.

Until—

Six months later, you open your mailbox and find a small, thick envelope. Inside: a sketch. You, laughing in the hotel lobby. Wearing his jacket.

No return address. Just a note in familiar handwriting.

Still not easy around most people.

Still hoping.

– Y

~*~

Yoongi came to Florence to be alone.

Not in a bitter way—not at first—but in the quiet, intentional kind of solitude that only people who’ve lived too long with noise can crave. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. He booked the ticket after his third bottle of red wine and didn’t bother learning Italian beyond the essentials. He packed light. Brought only one notebook.

He didn’t expect to stay long.

He certainly didn’t expect you.

******

He noticed you before you noticed him.

That first day, when the rain made the city shine like something out of a postcard, he was already settled in the hotel’s lobby, watching water drip from the wrought iron railing outside the window. You walked in, cheeks flushed, nose red from the cold. You dropped your umbrella by the door, shook out your coat, and sighed in that tired, human way that made something in his chest ache unexpectedly.

You didn’t look at him.

He didn’t stop looking at you.

It was stupid, he thought, to feel anything at all. You were just someone passing through. Like he was. Like everyone here.

But then you sat two chairs down, close enough for him to smell the hint of vanilla on your scarf, and all his quiet suddenly felt full of tension.

He told himself not to speak.

Then you looked over at him—just once—and he broke.

“Rain like this makes the city quieter, doesn’t it?”

You smiled at him like it was the first thing anyone had said to you all day. And when you answered—“It’s like everything slows down”—he felt it, too.

The slowing. The shift.

Like something starting.

******

He tried not to get attached.

The coffee shop wasn’t a coincidence, not really. He’d seen you head that way after leaving the lobby and waited twenty minutes before trailing behind, pretending to stumble upon you like fate.

He told you his name. You told him yours.

He felt it land heavy in his chest.

He watched the way your fingers curled around your mug. The way your lips moved when you laughed. The way you avoided talking about where you came from, or where you were going. You were drifting, just like him, and that made him feel less alone.

When you left, you smiled again. That same soft, surprised thing.

He went back to his room and wrote your name at the top of a blank page.

******

He didn’t expect you to show up again.

But when he saw you in the bookstore—hair damp from the drizzle, eyes scanning the poetry section—he knew it was over for him.

He’d spent years building walls no one could see. People thought he was shy, but that wasn’t it. He was tired. Of pretending. Of performing. Of being something for everyone else.

And then there you were, talking to the old man at the counter in broken Italian, your accent a disaster, your smile bright with apology.

He watched you butcher a thank you and laughed out loud before he could stop himself.

You turned. Caught him watching. Raised a brow.

He offered to walk with you.

You said yes.

He didn’t go a day without seeing you after that.

******

He fell in love slowly.

With the way you tilted your face up to the sky when the rain hit. The way you danced around puddles like a kid. The way you made space for him, even when he didn’t ask for it.

You never pressured him to share more than he wanted.

He told you anyway.

He let you in inch by inch—quiet confessions at night, soft touches under blankets, shared silences that meant more than words. You never looked at him like he was too much or not enough. You looked at him like he was there.

Present.

Real.

You made him laugh again.

Made him want to stay.

******

The first time he kissed you, you tasted like lemon and sugar.

He remembered the shape of your lips under his. The way you sighed when he deepened it. The way your hands gripped his shoulders like you’d been waiting.

When he touched you, it was slow. Like prayer. He wanted to give you something that didn’t feel temporary. He wanted to memorize the weight of your body, the heat of your skin, the sound of your voice when you begged him not to stop.

He made you cum with his fingers first. Then his mouth. Then, finally, with his body inside you, moving deep and steady until you cried out his name like it was something fragile.

He whispered yours against your throat. Held you through the shivers.

Stayed until morning.

Then stayed again.

******

He was supposed to leave Florence after a week.

He extended his stay after the bookstore.

He extended it again after the first time you slept together.

And again.

He sketched you while you were sleeping. Drew the curve of your mouth, the line of your back, the way your fingers curled loosely toward him even when unconscious.

He didn’t show you the drawings. He wasn’t ready to admit what they meant.

But you caught him once. Smiled, even. He wanted to say, I’m keeping you in every way I can, but he only kissed you instead.

******

He knew you were leaving. You’d said so, gently. Mentioned your return flight like it wasn’t going to shatter him.

He tried to play it cool. Tried to pretend it was okay.

But then you started packing.

And he lost it.

“You’re leaving.”

You looked at him like he was being unreasonable. Like the ache in his chest wasn’t valid. “You knew I had a flight.”

He knew.

It didn’t make it easier.

“Then let me come with you.”

You laughed like he was ridiculous.

Like this wasn’t the most real thing either of you had felt in months, maybe years.

“We fucked and shared a few pastries and now you want to uproot your life?”

He didn’t even blink. “You think this was just that?”

He watched the fight drain out of you.

Watched the hurt settle in.

“I think… I was trying to find something here. And I did. But that doesn’t mean I get to keep it.”

He crossed the room.

Kissed you like it was the last time.

Because it was.

******

He didn’t go to the airport.

He couldn’t watch you leave.

Not when he still had your scent on his clothes and the shape of your mouth etched into his memory.

He stayed in Florence another week. Tried to sketch. Failed. Walked aimlessly through alleys that smelled like you.

He finally flew home. Buried himself in projects. Got used to the silence again.

But it didn’t feel like peace anymore.

It felt like a bruise he couldn’t stop touching.

******

He sent the sketch because he had to.

You, laughing in the hotel lobby. Wearing his trench coat.

He didn’t sign his full name. Didn’t include a return address. Just a few lines of honesty scrawled under the drawing:

Still not easy around most people.

Still hoping.

– Y

He didn’t expect a reply.

But part of him still waits for one.

******

He hadn’t been back to the temple in months.

Not since before Florence.

Not since you.

The stone stairs still creaked in the same places. The pines still whispered above the slope, tall and watchful like they remembered every soul that passed. He came for the stillness. For the absence of everything else.

Instead, he found you.

At first, you were just a shape.

A coat too light for the weather. Hair he thought he might’ve dreamed. But then you turned—just enough—and it was you. Blinking up at the shrine, camera forgotten in your hand, lips slightly parted like you were about to say something to the sky.

It hit him all at once. The weeks of silence. The bruising ache of missing you. The months he’d spent trying to forget the exact sound your laughter made.

He nearly stopped breathing.

But he didn’t call out.

Didn’t move.

Just… watched you.

Because some part of him had always known this would happen.

******

You didn’t see him until he was only a few steps away.

Your breath caught—loud in the quiet, like it startled you to realize he was real.

“Yoongi,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you, searching for proof you hadn’t been stitched together by grief and fantasy.

“I didn’t know if I’d find you,” you said.

His voice was low when it finally broke free. “You came looking.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

And just like that, he knew.

You’d run away. Like you always did, he’d learned. But not far enough.

And this time, you came back to him.

******

He brought you to his apartment—a quiet, high rise unit on the edge of the Han River. It wasn’t large, but it was spotless, uncluttered. Like nothing had been touched since the day he left for Florence. Since the day you walked out of his life without turning around.

You stood in the middle of his living room like you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

“Are you okay?” you asked after a while.

Yoongi tilted his head. “You came all this way to ask me that?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Why now?”

You swallowed, eyes flicking toward the window.

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you admitted.

And he believed you.

But that didn’t mean he trusted you not to leave again.

******

That night, he didn’t touch you.

Not at first.

He made you tea instead. Sat across from you on the floor with the lights low and your knees nearly brushing his.

You talked. Or rather, you did.

About what happened after Florence. About your job, the apartment you hated, the city that didn’t feel like home anymore.

You kept your voice soft, like a confession. Like you were afraid he might turn away if you said too much.

He didn’t.

He listened to every word, heart pounding like a war drum beneath his skin.

Because even if you didn’t know it yet, he did.

You belonged to him.

******

It happened in pieces.

Your fingertips brushing his wrist when you passed him the tea.

Your gaze lingering too long when he stepped out of the shower in only a towel.

The way your shoulders dropped in relief the first time he pulled you into bed beside him—even though neither of you slept.

By the third night, you were curled against his chest, your breath steady against his collarbone, and he knew.

You weren’t just visiting.

You were settling.

******

When he finally touched you again, it was with all the hunger he’d buried.

He kissed you like an addict who’d been promised one final hit. Like he had to memorize you with his mouth before you vanished again.

You melted.

Of course you did.

He knew your body better than he knew his own name.

Every kiss turned into something deeper. Every sigh pulled a little more of your self control away.

When he sank into you, there were no words.

Only you, clinging to him like you’d finally stopped running.

Only him, gripping your hips and staying deep—deep—until you moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist like you wanted to keep him there forever.

He didn’t stop to ask about protection.

Didn’t even pause.

He fucked you slow. Steady. Possessive.

And when he came, he buried himself inside you with a groan—low and shuddering, forehead pressed to yours.

You gasped.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t say no.

You just held him tighter.

******

Later, when your lashes fluttered and sleep dragged you under, Yoongi stayed awake and ran his palm over your stomach.

You had no idea.

None at all.

You didn’t know the things he’d done since you left.

Didn’t know he’d searched your name on every platform that existed. Hired someone to check your last known address. That he’d nearly flown to your city three separate times, just to watch you through a window.

You didn’t know he’d waited for you at this temple three times a month since returning to Seoul.

And yet here you were.

You came back to him.

Willing.

Warm.

Already full of him.

He kissed your shoulder.

“You’re never leaving again,” he whispered.

You didn’t stir.

And that was fine.

He didn’t need your permission.

******

In the mornings, he cooked for you.

Made your favorite drinks. Bought you books you mentioned in passing.

He took time off work. Canceled meetings. Declined invitations. He needed to be home. Needed to watch you.

There was always the possibility that you’d change your mind.

That some other version of you would wake up, remember the life you’d left behind, and walk out again.

But Yoongi was prepared this time.

Your passport was in a drawer only he could open. Your phone mysteriously stopped connecting to international numbers. He told you it was your service provider.

You believed him.

You trusted him.

And every day, he loved you harder.

Made you laugh until you forgot to feel uneasy.

Fucked you until you forgot you ever belonged to anyone else.

******

Weeks passed.

And when the nausea started—soft and slow at first, then unmistakable—Yoongi simply held you in the bathroom while you vomited into the sink.

“I think it’s food poisoning,” you whispered, shivering.

He kissed the crown of your head.

“Maybe.”

But he already knew.

He’d known since the first time.

It had to happen. The universe wouldn’t have brought you back to him if it wasn’t meant to be.

He tucked you into bed, brought you crackers, brushed your hair behind your ear with a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

You curled into him.

Safe.

Unaware.

Exactly where you were supposed to be.

******

The test sat on the edge of the sink like a verdict.

Positive.

Two pink lines, faint but unshakable.

You stared at it in silence. For minutes. Maybe hours. The world around you had stopped making noise, and your own reflection in the mirror felt like someone else’s. Pale. Wide-eyed. Frozen.

Behind you, Yoongi leaned against the doorframe. Watching.

He’d known.

Before you did.

Before your body caught up to the truth.

Now that it was real—now that you knew—it was time.

He stepped forward quietly, like you were a skittish thing that might bolt, and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You flinched at first, but didn’t pull away. Just leaned back into him like gravity had finally found you again.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered.

Yoongi kissed your temple. “You don’t have to do anything.”

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting his in the mirror. “You’re not… upset?”

His gaze darkened, but not with anger.

“I’ve never been happier in my life.”

******

He became impossibly gentler after that.

Touching your lower back when you stood too long. Waking up early to make you breakfast, even when your appetite was unpredictable. Googling symptoms, ordering prenatal vitamins, whispering to your belly when he thought you were asleep.

You caught him once—half laughing, half serious—telling your stomach, “Grow strong. I want her to feel you.”

You didn’t understand the weight of it then.

But he did.

He felt it every time he looked at you.

Your changing shape became his obsession. The curve of your belly. The softness of your steps. The way your body bloomed with a life that he had planted.

You were proof.

Of desire.

Of fate.

Of the fact that you belonged to him and no one else.

And now the world would know.

******

There were days you panicked. You’d sit on the edge of the bed and cry, asking if this was a mistake, if your life was over, if you were even ready.

Yoongi never faltered.

He’d kneel in front of you and lay his head gently against your stomach, as if it soothed him to feel how warm and alive you were.

“It’s not a mistake,” he said once, voice thick. “This was always going to happen.”

“Even if I hadn’t come back?”

“You would’ve. You were always going to come back.”

His conviction should have scared you.

But it didn’t.

Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe it was how safe he made everything feel. But somehow, his certainty steadied you.

Like he’d already seen the future, and all you had to do was follow him into it.

******

As you grew, he withdrew from the world completely.

Stopped returning calls. Let meetings pile up unread. His company functioned without him, but it didn’t matter. You were his purpose now.

He didn’t need anything else.

You were glowing—he told you that often—and when you rolled your eyes, embarrassed by the weight gain, the swelling, the unpredictability of your moods, he’d just kneel at your feet and kiss your thighs like they were scripture.

“I wish I could keep you like this forever,” he murmured once, tongue brushing slow against the underside of your belly.

You laughed, breathless. “Pregnant?”

He looked up at you with something fierce in his eyes.

“Yes.”

You thought it was a joke.

He knew it wasn’t.

******

The birth came early.

A summer storm had rolled over Seoul in the hours before your contractions started—heat lightning splitting the sky, thunder rolling low like some ancient call awakening the earth.

Yoongi never left your side.

Not for the screaming.

Not for the blood.

Not when your nails dug into his hand or when your tears soaked his shoulder.

He was there.

Even when the doctors pulled the baby from you and you collapsed into sleep, too exhausted to process what had just happened—he was there.

Holding her.

Your daughter.

His.

******

You woke hours later to the sound of lullabies in a soft loop.

Your body ached in places you didn’t know could ache. But when you blinked and adjusted to the dim light of the hospital suite, you saw him—

Yoongi—cradling your daughter against his chest, rocking her slowly in the chair by the window.

She was so tiny.

Wrapped in pale pink and sleeping against his heartbeat like it was the only one she’d ever need.

You said his name.

He looked up.

And he smiled.

Not the small smirk you remembered from Florence. Not the quiet, tight-lipped curve he used when he was trying not to feel too much.

This smile was full.

Free.

Undeniable.

He crossed to you in seconds and gently laid her in your arms.

“You did so well,” he whispered, brushing a curl from your forehead. “You’re incredible.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked down at her face and felt everything shift inside you.

“Her name?” you asked softly.

He kissed your forehead. “Anything you want. As long as it’s ours.”

******

He didn’t tell you about the cameras installed in your apartment back when you’d first moved in with him.

Didn’t mention the second nursery he had built in his private countryside estate—just in case.

Didn’t say he’d already filed the paperwork for sole guardianship under the table, with a judge who owed him favors.

None of it mattered anymore.

You wouldn’t leave.

Not now.

Not when your child looked like him.

Not when she cried and only settled when he held her.

Not when you were still sore and tired and soft, and he was there to carry you through it all.

You were his.

Entirely.

And if you ever forgot that—if some wild, traitorous thought of leaving flickered across your mind again—he’d just point to her.

To the proof.

To the gentle kind of forever he planted inside you.

And you’d stay.

Because where else could you go?

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