I Miss Him Already!!!!!! HES SUCH A GOOD PERFORMER One Day I Hope To See Him And The Boys Live. Fingers

i miss him already!!!!!! HE’S SUCH A GOOD PERFORMER one day i hope to see him and the boys live. fingers crossed 🤞🏼

478: drabble

the first april 23 after their reconciliation :(

[ 478 masterlist ]

The noise of your week all dulls down to this day.

It didn’t even hit you when April rolled around the corner because it’s every other month to you. It didn’t hit you in the first week when Jungkook had become extremely chatty and clingy, even more than his switch-up since your break ended.

It didn’t hit you in the second week either when Jungkook was so focused on the ongoing construction for your new house that every little thing had set him off, something like the contractor’s tiny mistake of texting him the link for the wrong set of lighting fixtures making your husband almost flip his lid.

It didn’t hit you in the third when he was barely home because for the whole week, he would drop by unannounced to your parents’ shop and develop film for them from opening until closing.

No, it only hits you now — now when you wake up too early into the morning out of muscle memory to see that your alarm wasn’t turned on in the first place. You briefly think that your mind’s playing tricks on you but when you look at your calendar and see your schedule for April 23 vacant, accompanied with a note from Jimin that told you to take it easy — you finally realize what today was.

Jungkook and Sora’s anniversary.

It only dawns on you now that you noticed your alarm (or lack thereof) even before your husband because when you look to his side of the bed, it’s unoccupied. Jungkook had gotten into bed with you last night and you remember it because he picked you up instead of waiting for you at home. He tucked you in, kissed you good night, and embraced you tighter than he usually did — and he’s nowhere to be found now.

Miso’s sleeping by your feet and although she usually jumps at the opportunity of sleeping in Jungkook’s spot, she didn’t even bother loafing at his warmth on the bed when she heard him wake up and leave hours ago.

You think it’s nothing, but nothing’s ever nothing with Jungkook.

You trudge out of bed carrying nothing but yourself and the lingering weight on your chest that the day brings, your eyes darting around every corner of your apartment until they land on a lump by the baby blue floor couch.

He lays in it curled up on himself, shivering despite the thermostat hovering just above him. He holds himself with trembling arms despite the crocheted blanket you keep to the couch folded near him. He’s not sleeping, not at all — his eyes are only closed just so that he doesn’t get to face his shame in the mirror near the couch.

On the day that Jungkook had almost lost you for good, he punishes himself.

“Go back to bed, Jungkook.”

Your husband heard you the moment you stirred awake but he remains rooted still, eyes screwed shut as if you were the personification of his nightmare — except that you actually are. A living, breathing, fleshed-out version of his wife that’s too good for him and everyone else; one who threatened to walk out him a year ago.

This day one year ago, Jungkook didn’t even need to sleep to relive his nightmare over and over again. Didn’t even need to shut his eyes because in his nightmare, you look the most broken and distant that you’ve ever been and it’s all because of him.

In Jungkook’s one and only nightmare (with only one sole difference in it compared to the dream that he’s living now), you give up on him.

“No,” he answers, unwilling to even open his eyes and make the trip back to the bedroom with you.

“Just go to sleep. Go back to bed,” you grumble, the anger and annoyance that you’ve reserved for this day alone slowly starting to bubble up with Jungkook’s stubbornness. “I don’t have work today, Jungkook. Just go back.”

He clenches his jaw because here you are again, being better than what he deserves and it gnaws him from the inside. He feels like rotting at the remembrance that you will forever be more that what he deserves in this lifetime and the next.

“I swear to god I’ll sleep on the floor if you don’t go back to bed, Y/N.”

“Go ahead. See if I care,” you snap out of spite, crossing your arms.

Jungkook finally opens his eyes, wide and glassy. He only spares one glance at you before he actually moves. He has no problem with sleeping on the floor at all. In fact, he’s kicking himself for not thinking of this sooner.

Your husband’s eager insistence to actually make-do on his threat annoys you to no end, making you close the gap to try and lift him up back to couch but he won’t budge. “For fuck’s sake, Jungkook. Just go back to our room where you belong.”

“Do I?” he asks. “Do I really belong there?”

It’s not about Jungkook sneaking out of his own hold on you to go and be alone in the living room. It’s not about the bed anymore. It’s not even about the room.

It’s about him being ridden with guilt to the point that even being around you makes him want to commit penance.

“Do I deserve to belong to you?”

Jungkook’s voice lilts and you know he’s painfully close to crying, making the lump on your throat appear almost instantly.

“You do.”

“Why?” your husband asks breathily, almost offended. “You deserve someone better than me,” Jungkook says with conviction, his eyebrows furrowed. “And god, the bar is really, really low so everyone else lining up for you is better than me.”

“What is it do you want, Jungkook? What do you want me to do today?” you finally burst, your own tears springing out of frustration and overwhelm. “Do you want me to tell how I’ve already forgiven you? That even if we’re already okay, I shut off whenever your anniversary comes around? What do you want me to say?”

Jungkook hears you raise your voice on him and yet he doesn’t even flinch.

“Tell me that you hate me,” he croaks, bottom lip trembling as his cheeks warm up. “Tell me that I’m a piece of shit and I shouldn’t be your husband.”

Jungkook wholeheartedly believes what he’s saying (even if you don’t indulge him by repeating his words) but you can’t even stomach the desire of him wanting you to do so.

“No.”

“Y/N, please,” he pleads, the first sob wracking throughout his entire body. He almost bends over the floor just from how powerful it is, his chest caving in on him that it makes him kneel.

“I’m not saying any of that, Jungkook! Get a grip,” you grit through your teeth, hauling him up to the couch where he tries to escape so he can go on his knees again. “Stop punishing yourself.”

“But I deserve it.”

Jungkook cries hysterically and because he still thinks he doesn’t deserve you, he only cries to his hands. He cries so loud that it makes his head hurt and your own hear drop, making you shove his face to your shirt where he embraces around your middle tightly.

“Today’s rough for both of us, I get it — but we’re alright. I’m here. I came back, remember?” you whisper, running your hair through his hands. He’s unresponsive, too preoccupied from crying and stewing in his own thoughts that he’s hiccuping. “Remember, Jungkook? Tell me you remember that I came back.”

“Y-you came b-back.”

The noise in Jungkook’s brain only goes louder but you’re there at the middle of it, the tiny blank spot who’s trying earnestly to radiate some kind of light that he’s losing at the moment.

“And I’m here with you now, right? Tell me I’m right, Kook,” you say more urgently this time, rocking him in your hold to try and ground him.

It takes minutes for you to even decrease your husband’s crying but Jungkook, even with his heart heavy and his hands trembling, tries to do what you want him to; tries to be whatever you want him to be.

“Y-you’re here,” he whispers, wiping his tears with his palms. “You’re here with me.”

aaaaaa this sounds interesting and it makes me excited!! i will definitely be looking out for the next parts of this 🥹

YET TO COME | (Prologue - JJK)

Summary: As an agent of the future, you’ve always known you were destined to end up with Jungkook one day. The only problem? He can’t seem to let go of the past, and you’re beginning to lose sight of the way forward…

pairing: jungkook x reader (f) word count: 1.4k rating: 18+ warnings: none (i think??) beyond mention of past bullying genre: fantasy!au, angst, humor, eventual smut, f2l... links: AO3, Masterlist, Ko-Fi navigation: chapter 1 (under edits; coming soon)

A/N: OhohoHohoHOOOO! Welcome, besties, to the prologue!

This is just a lil short and sweet sneaky-peaky because the rest of the story is... har dee har har... yet to come.

I'll see myself out 😮‍💨✌️

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

It begins, as all the best love stories do, with an interrogative adverb.

But first:

It’s musical chairs day at school, and you’re determined to show these dorks why they call you Ol’ Swift Ass—the swiftest sitter this side of the Han River.

Music’s on, and you’re feeling good. Really good. There’s one player left to beat, but your opponent, Namjoon, has undergone a recent growth spurt—the kind that leaves you about as graceful and in control of your faculties as an inflatable tube man in a wind storm—and it shows.

Here’s the thing: you’re new in town, so you have to make a name for yourself before an unsavory one gets made for you. Not only are you short for a nine-year-old—a tease-worthy offense, in some circles—but you’re “unburdened by an oversupply of modesty,” too, as your current therapist (affectionate) likes to say.

Put less politely, you’re a know-it-all. What’s more, the affliction is terminal. You’ve made peace with your fate, but the facts are the facts: this is the third elementary school you’ve transferred to in as many years, and you’re tired of moving. With any luck, you’ll earn an early reputation for something positive this time.

Of course, luck’s never been on your side before. 

All the same, deep down you know that winning this round is a foregone conclusion—and indeed, a half-second before the music stops, you begin launching yourself down onto the sole remaining seat. You win the first round, and when it’s time to go again, you win the second round, too.

By the third round, your peers are watching you closely—including, you notice, a doe-eyed boy who’s been knocked out of the game early on every single time.

It’s strange. You’ve been at this new school for a week, so you know the kid’s athletic; coordinated, too, if all the amateur b-boying he and his friends do at lunchtime is anything to go by. Sure, he seems given to zoning out at times, and weirdly resistant to milk that hasn’t been fortified with banana flavoring, but you can’t all be purists. The point is, you’re surprised he’s so bad at this game.

Clearly, he is too.

“Aish!” He throws up his hands in frustration when, once again, the music stops and he’s left alone without a chair. You watch him stomp to the corner of the gym out of the corner of your eye, feeling the back of your neck heat when he immediately begins staring at you—and doesn’t stop. His eyes track you for the rest of the period, like some sort of raptor homing in on its prey. 

You continue circling the chairs as a wary sort of apprehension settles over you, heavy like a too-restrictive overcoat. It’s the most peculiar feeling, as though you’re trying to remember something important that has yet to occur.

Unsettled, you try to concentrate on real, tangible memories. Things that you know. 

What you know is that in the past, your peers didn’t study you out of admiration; they studied you out of spite. Is that what’s happening? Is this guy really that sore of a loser? Does he want to make an example of you—like so many peers have before—for daring to best him in something as innocuous as a children’s game?

Well, tough tatas for banana boy, then. If that’s what kind of person he is, dimming your light won’t change his mind—it’ll only serve to make you more miserable. So, with your head held high, you win the third, fourth, and fifth round, and are crowned the undisputed champion of musical chairs.

You walk back to class with your shoulders squared, feeling like a winner.

Then the boy puts his hand on your shoulder, and your stomach drops.

“How?” he asks.

That’s it. That’s all you’re worth to him—an interrogative adverb, and not even one of the more celebrated W-ones Dionne Warwick was always going on about in her song. You take a shaky breath, still facing away from him, because you know what he’s really asking.

How are you such a know-it-all?

How were you able to predict the music was going to stop?

How did you do that, you freak?

Resigned, you turn to face him, though you’ve not yet mustered the courage to meet his eyes—instead, you find yourself staring at his big, chunky boots.

“How what?” You hate how defensive you sound, but it’s never happened this fast before. Usually, you have a few months before someone confronts you for your… abilities; before you and your parents are bid to pack up and start over somewhere else, in the hopes of finding a community of people who will finally accept you as you are.

“How come I don’t know your name yet?” he asks, and there’s no malice in his tone—in fact, if you had to hazard a guess, you’d almost say he sounds excited. Like he’s… interested in getting to know you. Or impressed by your swift-sitting prowess.

Surprised, you look up to meet his eyes—and that’s when it happens. There’s a familiar flash of bright, purple light, and then—

Well, then you’re ballin’.

No, like, you’re literally balling—as in, transported to the Oculus, the name for the realm where all the possible pathways one’s life might take both explode into existence and die. The realm is experienced differently by everyone who visits; for you, it appears in the form of a giant crystal ball.

“Seriously?” Your ex-therapist (derogatory) failed to withhold his scoff the first time you told him. “A crystal ball? Isn’t that sort of… you know.”

You didn’t.

“Derivative?”

“Your mom’s derivative,” you’d said, unabashed. You’d only been three the first time you visited the Oculus, after all—what did he expect a toddler charged with conceiving of a many-dimensioned and multifaceted macrocosm in which one could gaze upon one’s own fickle fate to come up with?

Idiot.

As an agent of the future, you’ve always had a sort of preternatural knack for certain things—knowing when the music would stop during musical chairs, for example, or opening the door just before the delivery person knocked with your pizza. In the Oculus, however, you’re able to glimpse, quite literally, into the different paths your life might take, depending.

It’s not often you get forcibly transported from the human realm like this—only when something significant enough to alter the very fabric of your personal universe has occurred. Curious, you wander through the vast and fathomless wisps of white smoke—likely intended to represent the striking and mysterious ephemerality of life, or something equally as pretentious and annoying—until concrete shapes begin to take form in the distance.

Doors. Ten of them, to be specific, lined up like neat little ducks in a row (provided you could walk through the ducks and emerge in an entirely different room). Nine of them are wide open, and show you windows into slightly different versions of the same future.

It’s you. You and the boy—the one who’d just put his hand on your shoulder—standing together, maybe ten-to-twenty years older than you are now. And you’re… happy. Gazing at each other with a sort of earned fondness that, even as a child, you recognize as love—the kind of love that takes time and memories to develop (which is to say, the kind that is true).

He is your fate, you realize. Your destiny. And perhaps it should be a sobering thing, this sneak-peak into your future—these nine predetermined portraits—but all you feel is the slow spreading of warmth throughout your body, as though you’ve sunk into a pleasant bath at the end of a very hard day. There’s a fizzing underneath your skin—a sort of lightness that can’t be contained.

You spare a glance for the door on the far end. It’s not closed, exactly, but opens into a pitch black landscape. A dead end, you recognize—a gaping chasm instead of an egress. Probably you and the boy could have taken ten different paths to end up together, and at some point, one of those roads came to an early close.

Still. You stand for a long moment, gazing upon the nine different futures your life might take, and believe it then, deep in your bones.

It’s happening.

It’s inevitable.

You’re going to fall in love with the doe-eyed, banana milk boot boy.

A/N: Waheeeeyyyyy! Thanks for welcoming me back, beloveds!

Questions? Theories? Concerns? Just wanna (extreme Jimin/Taeyang voice) vibe 😎? I would love to hear what you think—please consider leaving feedback via a comment, reblog, or ask-box slideeeee (anonymously or not!), and I'll see you next time 💜

to elaborate on what i said about taehyung and seokjin being both similar and different from each other at the same time:

they're similar in the way how otherworldly handsome both of them are. both have voices perfect for ballad songs. both are december babies. both don't shy away from voicing their opinions when smth is wrong. both are kim. both are naturally built broad, and are of almost the same height. both are amazing actors. both have very delectable necks. both have strawberry farms in the family. both are "givers" by nature. both have posted their bare backs on the internet for us to see. both are exceptionally smart when it comes to cheating in run bts. both think outside the box.

and they're different in the way seokjin's falsetto goes higher than the clouds while taehyung has a voice deeper than the pacific ocean. seokjin hates the cold while taehyung thrives in winters. seokjin is the youngest of the family but oldest in bts while taehyung is the oldest among his siblings but one of the youngest in bts. seokjin is basically a chef but taehyung can't cook at all. seokjin is loud among close friends while taehyung is more of a listener. seokjin avoids social interactions while taehyung makes friends wherever he goes. seokjin is modest, taehyung is bold. everything we know about seokjin is a myth while taehyung openly shares tmi with us like it's nothing. seokjin hasn't aged a day in the last ten years while taehyung seems like he went through puberty thrice.

haegeum

i can’t believe i’m actually reading 478 baby drabbles ???? this couple has come so far 😭😭😭😭😭 AND OF COURSE HWAYOUNG IS THE CUTEST BABY EVERRRRRR she is so perfect! no baby compares! this makes me so happy! i love picturing these drabbles in my head and it’s so easy to do with how they are lovingly written <3

as a psych student learning something about human development, i wanna know how the couple will be all around the internet searching about shits in parenting. OR MAYBE one of them starts overanalyzing or over observing their baby bcoz they saw those articles abt childs development AND THEY WANT TO BE A GOOD PARENT

does that scream jungkook to me? yes, im picturing him in that position but it can be y/n too!! AM SO EXCITED FOR THE NEW ERA BABE!!

478: drabble

alternatively, a glimpse of hwayoung’s first 100 days <3

[ 478 masterlist ]

DAY 13

“Hi, pretty girl,” Jungkook hovers above Hwayoung as she lies on her back, much to her curiosity and much to your amusement.

“Heyyy-…” Jungkook drawls as he goes from the center of the foot of the bed all the way to the side, suddenly straightening up as he does a standing long jump all the way to the other, “….pretty girl!”

Your daughter doesn’t seem to be amused as you but she still watches her dad anyway, making you snort so hard that the grogginess you’ve had from the night before starts to dissipate.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s week two. I’m trying to see if Hwayoung can track things with her eyes; that’s supposed to be a milestone this week.”

“Where did you get that from?” you wonder out loud, trying to recall if you read that anywhere from the pamphlet that her pediatrician gave you.

Jungkook sounds almost offended that you’re asking him to cite his sources, making him scoff playfully. “My instincts.”

You try not to bring up Jungkook’s constant indecisiveness and his need for approval whenever it came to tending to Hwayoung, yet with just one look, he scoffs as he changes his answers.

“The pedia.”

Your glance is empty and you’re just about to believe it because sometimes, you have to talk Jungkook out of texting the doctor at godforsaken hours in the morning just because he has a question. 

He mistakes your glance for something more and instantly he relents, shoulders sagging as he huffs. “Fine, it’s the parenting subreddit.”

DAY 32

“Is it just me or is Hwayoung not starting to coo yet?” you mumble under your breath, startling Jungkook awake not because you suddenly spoke while he’s only shallowly sleeping, but because it’s the same thing on his mind.

“Not just you. I thought I was going crazy,” he sighs, pinching his eyes. Surely enough, your daughter knows how to cry and shriek, but she isn’t at that stage yet where she mimics the basic syllables that you echo to her. 

You sigh, rethinking the past few days with utter concentration just to see if you’ve missed a milestone. Jungkook thinks as hard as you, eyes fluttering to see Hwayoung awake in her crib but peacefully just looking up at the toys.

Jungkook stands up as you list off the things you’ve searched on your own, crouching down to get Hwayoung off her crib so the both of you can fawn over her more closely as you ponder over her (incoming) milestones. He’s less nervous now when it comes to picking her up because supporting her comes to him like second nature now, however no matter how secure she is in his hold, Jungkook overlooked the possibility of his entire head bumping against the overhead toys.

He hits his head so hard against the base of it that he hears a resounding slap against his skull, but apart from that, he hears something else — Hwayoung cooing.

You immediately squeal in celebration, clapping your hands that makes your daughter turn her eyes to you this time. Jungkook blinks once, twice before breaking out into a grin.

He settles Hwayoung on your lap, walks over to the crib again before crouching, and prepares an act.

DAY 65

When you walk out of the bathroom fresh from your shower, the first thing that greets you is the sight of two figures laying down on the mat; one delicate in her new onesie, and the other clearly overgrown for the playpen.

“It’s tummy time.”

Jungkook calls out to you even if you don’t beg for an explanation, craning his neck to look at you from behind him. His nose almost dives to the floor if not for you snickering at how you have to walk backwards just to catch him and Hwayoung in the same frame.

“How’s the neck?”

“Hmm, it’s a little sore. I fell asleep on the couch again,” Jungkook frowns, rolling out the tensions with his knuckles. He pleasantly hums at the pressure, eyes blinking until he realizes why you’ve never responded to him. He sheepishly chuckles, scratching his head. “Oh. You meant Hwayoung.”

DAY 100

Hwayoung can’t just seem to stop giggling.

Her laughter has no real agenda behind it but its common theme revolves around Jungkook fumbling for something one way or another, the current fit of laughter your daughter’s in now being your husband fumbling for the strings of Miso’s collar (that he crocheted himself) that goes with the party theme.

There’s a distinct warmth that spreads in your chest, less of recalling that Hwayoung’s milestones are on time and more of the realization that you have everything you’ve ever hoped for; your very own family getting ready in the dressing room where just outside, all of your closest family, friends, and colleagues wait to celebrate Hwayoung’s first 100 days.

“Jungkook?”

He hums at the mention of his name, brows furrowed in frustration because Miso won’t just stay still but he still gives you attention. He straightens up immediately at the way your eyes seem glassy, and normally, he’d race towards you at the very first sight of you being down.

Jungkook, however, doesn’t have to do anything because Hwayoung coos and giggles once again, reaching her hand out in such a smooth and controlled manner that her little fist hovers above your face, almost as if she’s willing for the happy tears to stay inside.

You burst into laughter at that, the tears still coming to show that you’re so overwhelmed and happy — it actually stings. Your eyes flicker between your husband and your daughter, a grin making its way to your lips.

“Love you.”