#jjeong | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iputastickeronmycarrier · 4 years

Text

『𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕐𝕠𝕦』:| chapter 1: 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘈𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 |

Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

From busking on the streets to serenades in bars, Y/N has watched them all. A journalist by trade, she spends her most recent nights writing in her journal in the glow of neon signs in hidden places as she scours the city for upcoming artists for her new editorial. The hunt for local artists leads her to the dimmed lighting of a bar where she meets Jeon Jungkook, an alluring singer with a voice that drips with equals amounts of anguish and innocent wonder. In the hushed corners of busy rooms and under cascading gradients of moonlight, Y/N comes back every Tuesday and Friday to see him perform where she discover there may be a more important story unfolding between them that's worth following.

-continuing series-

Follow me on Wattpad

xoxo, Gossip Girl

The moon looks lonely Like it's crying in the bright night sky Even though I always know the morning will come I want to stay in your sky like a star

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t come here every Tuesday and Friday to hear him. There was something ethereal about him. Shrouded in the darkness of the bar, he sits on the stool with a dusty light reflecting off his dark tresses. With eyes closed and hands pressed against his chest as if to contain himself in his body he breathes out a melody, he stares into the audience, demanding their attention.

“Still with you,” you hum along to his vocals as he hits the last note. He leans back away from the mic, and sighs.

“Thank you, Thank you so much for being here,” he says while bowing his head.

His posture still reads as defeated even amidst the clapping. You wonder what pain he traps inside so fervently that he has to wrap his arms around himself, less his emotions flood over like water with a cracking dam. Your phone buzzes. Breaking your line of sight, you look down.

*Namjoon: Are you still there? [9:32pm]*

*You: What if I am? [9:33pm]*

*Namjoon: It depends; will you finally say something this time? [9:35pm]*

Your fingers linger on the screen, unable to reply. You sigh, and lock your phone without responding. Namjoon could wait. You pick your pencil back up and scrawl your last remarks in your notebook. Thumbing through the pages, you see name after name of singers. You’ve been writing a huge editorial promoting local artists for your publishing company. Up until a few weeks ago, you sat in on dozens of performances, introducing yourself and inquiring about interviews. But since finding your way into the booth of your most commonly frequented bar, you had only pages of him.

Jungkook, up and coming artist can’t be found on stages...yet. This underground singer came onto the scene last year by…

And that was as far as you got. You would think after three weeks of what some would call stalking, you still failed to say something: An interview? Absolutely not. Introducing yourself? Simply unreasonable. Standing within ten feet of him? You might as well be asking yourself to catapult into the sun to be lost in outer space.

On the pages of your notebook, you professed the intimate thoughts you bore witness to:

Jungkook, mysterious boy with eyes that make want to fall into their depths with no desire to resurface. Jungkook, wistful singer with a voice dripping in anguish. Jungkook, beautiful boy who draws in enrapt audiences with a somber smile.

Pages overflow with praises and then devolve into your musings:

He looks tired today and his eyes are red rimmed. Has he been crying? He is smiling today and his laugh is like a song I never want to stop listening to. I think he looked at me today. I ducked down into my notebook. When he cradles himself, what is he trying to keep locked inside? What would his lips feel like against mine?

“I’ve seen you around here before,” a voice says. There are no questions as to who is talking to you. You would be able to hear that voice from miles away with perfect clarity. Quickly using deft precision, you shut your notebook and force yourself to meet his dark gaze. Inky dark curls frame his face with lips forming into a curious and sheepish smile.

You want a quirky quip to respond but the words are stuck in your throat. You barely choke out, “I’m a writer” too loudly. More than one person turns their head to assess the exchange unfolding between you two, only to turn back to their own conversations. You fumble for your closed notebook and hold it out, hoping to mollify the rising embarrassment in your body. “For my publishing company” you continue to struggle, “It’s an editorial on local artists.” You silently give thanks to the shaded room that hides your rose cheeks.

His eyes widen, revealing the deep pools you desperately wish to look into to try to peer at what's inside them. With a shy look, his eyes crescent with happiness as his lips curl into a bashful smile. “Do you mean me? Are you here to see me?” He emphasizes as if in disbelief. You nod, still flailing inside your head. “Wow...How wonderful,” he murmurs, still smiling. You make note of the small freckle under his lip, a perfect addition to his face. “Can I, uh...answer any questions for you?” he nervously asks. Your mind reels.

What keeps you awake at night? Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets? Is your heart as heavy as it looks? What would it be like to wake up next to you?

“Um, sure,” you cautiously respond as you retrieve your notebook you quickly shoved under the safety of your thighs when he made his presence known. “Please,” you offer as you gesture to the other side of the booth, “sit!” He slides into the seating across from you as you become very aware that you are well within the ten feet you swore you couldn’t be in.

“But I haven’t catapulted into the sun, yet,” you whisper to yourself with astonishment.

Instead, you take in his whole persona: body enwrapped with black everything. A simple t-shirt snuggly clings to his torso and toned upper arms. Jeans worn with holes in the knees expose the smooth appearance of his skin underneath. Sturdy, but well loved boots lace up just past his ankles with his jeans tucked inside.

A pause encircles your booth, distant from the rest of the bar as if you are the only people in the room. He breaks the silence.

“Well,” he starts, “I’m Jungkook, but uh,” he chuckles as one hand rises to the nape of his neck as if to self soothe his nerves. “I guess you might know that?”

His nerves match your own anxiety as heat continues to pool in your cheeks. Your notebook is open to a blank page, but you have no writing utensil in hand as your gaze is locked with his. He is so close that you can smell his gentle scent, warm vanilla. Another pause snaps you back to reality.

“Write. You should definitely be writing. At least feign productivity. Literally do anything other than what you are doing right now,” Your inner voice demands.

Fumbling around in your backpack, you procure a pen and start writing.

“Yes,” you laugh, “I do know that. I’m y/n.”

“Alright, y’n, shoot. What questions do you have?”

How do you like your eggs? What thread count are your sheets Do you sleep with the fan on or off? Are you single?

“Where are you from?”

“Busan. It’s a coastal port city in South Korea. It really has everything; trees, the ocean, temples.” he explains. “It also has my family, who I miss very much,” he says with a sigh. In that moment, you see a facet of the weight that bears down on his heart.

“How did you get into music? And why here?”

“Several of my friends live here in the city and they encouraged me to come out here. I’ve always loved singing. I flew over, started busking, and now I’m here in places like,” he widely opens his arms, referring to the bar, “this.”

“Well aren’t we lucky?” you muse. With laughter that bubbles from his chest, he looks away; but not before you see the fracture of pain you once saw wither away, leaving a warmth flowing from his heart to yours. It’s overwhelming, the sensation that pours over you and you shake yourself free with a shudder of your frame. As you bask in the final moments of his energy, your phone buzzes, and buzzes, and buzzes more.

*Namjoon: ??? [11:41pm]*

*Namjoon: Hello? Y/n? [11:41pm]*

*Namjoon: At what point do I send out the search squad? [11:41pm]*

You roll your eyes internally. “I’m so sorry,” you say with your voice tinged with guilt. “It’s my roommate. He’s worried,” you groan. It’s not until you receive his texts that you realize how late it’s been. You’ve been here for over two hours.

“Do you need to leave?” he inquires. “I definitely don’t want to hold you up. I have things to do at home, anyway that I’ve been pushing off. Who wants to go home when there is a mountain of laundry waiting on your bed?” he says in an amused tone.

You know you should be getting back home. Namjoon gets fussy if you're not home before midnight. It interrupts catching up on your shows you watch together on Netflix.

“I should be going,” you resign yourself to leaving as you slide your notebook underneath your arm and tuck your pen behind your ear. Jungkooks shoulders rise and fall quickly in a silent chuckle. “What?” you ask, a cautious smile taking over your features.

“Nothing! Well,” he takes a moment, “nothing bad.” Relief washes over you. “It’s just the pen behind your ear,” he points out. “It’s cute; very “writer-esque” of you,” he concludes in a snooty tone as he gently pokes fun at you. You roll your eyes.

“Well good thing I’m leaving then! I don’t need to tolerate this bullying behavior,” you fire back in a fake, huffy tone. In that moment, the ice breaks between you two. A trickle of electricity sparks between you both in the distance of your bodies. You’re both smiling. He motions his head towards the door.

“Let’s get out of here, then! I’m clearly waiting on you,” he dramatically declares as he ushers you to walk in front of him. Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you shuffle in front of him and you both leave the bar.

It’s sticky outside with summer heat. The clear sky sits above you both, moon beaming like a spotlight where you two stand. You both stand in front of the bar, holding each other's gaze to linger in the moment for the last few seconds you have.

“I’m happy you showed up at my performance. Or, ya know, performances,” he enunciates on “performances” with a grin.

“I’m happy I walked in on your performance. Or, ya know, performances,” you lightly mock. Expecting a retort from him, he instead looks away for a brief moment before looking back at you.

“I really am, though,” he whispers.

His honesty takes you over like a riptide with you flailing in the undertow as you realize how close you both are. Moonlight captures his features, reflecting a soft gleam that flows from him onto you. It envelops you and you close your eyes, wanting to sit in this moment; soaked in warmth and vanilla. He abruptly steps back. “Do you need help getting home? Or are you close by?”

“Close by, just a few blocks,” you reply, disengaging yourself as your closeness dissolves by losing proximity. The tender exchange you both share weaves in and out of each other’s lives, permanently solidifies, and blips out of the physical realm; here for a moment, gone just the same, but irrevocably existing in your timelines. “It’s a short walk, I’ll get home easily.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?”

“Yes, God please,” you internally yell into the void.

“No, that’s okay!” you answer in an overly chipper tone, shoving your desire under mounds of pride. It takes him off guard.

“Oh, well, uh, that’s good! Yeah, that’s great. Um,” he begins, voice strained with being unsure, “I’m going to be here again next Tuesday, if you have more questions.”

“Oh, right; my job. The job I get paid for that I should be doing. Great job, y/n,” you chastise to yourself.

You’re neutral, stifling the excitement. “Yeah! That’d be cool. I’d like that,” you say trying way too hard to downplay the response. You start taking steps back, still facing him. “I’ll be there,” you say coyly as a genuine smile takes over your face. Jungkook matches your grin and your heart swoons. You wouldn’t be mad if you go to see that smile again.

“Next Tuesday, then?” he questions.

“Next Tuesday,” you answer. Spinning on your heels, you start your walk home. You make it a block before you subtly peek over your shoulder. Jungkook is watching. He yells.

“Just waiting for you to get home! Don’t make it weird!”

“You’re making it weird by telling me to not make it weird!” you yell back. Before you turn the corner you spin 180 degrees to give a final wave. He mirrors your gesture and the kindness takes you over. Quickly finding the stoop of your apartment, you perch yourself as you fish out a pen and flip to the last page you wrote on. It only reads:

Jungkook

You stare at the page. All that talking and nothing to show for it. In the midst of the quiet summer heat, you complete the sentence:

Jungkook-- it turns out that existing in your universe within ten feet isn’t the worst thing in the world.

#BTS #btsimagines #jeonjungkook #jk #bangtan sonyeondan #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #fanfiction #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jjeong #bts scenarios #bangtan scenarios

1 note · View note