⪠đđĽđŽđŤđ; after getting hired to work in the Jeon household, you slowly find yourself adjusting to the quiet routines of a life that was never meant to include you.
⪠đŠđđ˘đŤđ˘đ§đ : Jungkook x reader
⪠đ đđ§đŤđ: rich husband au, nanny au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, domestic tension
⪠đ°đđŤđ§đ˘đ§đ đŹ: explicit language, married jungkook
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Morning in the Jeon household always began in motion before it ever felt like it had properly started.
Doors opening and closing softly in the background. The faint sound of water running somewhere deeper inside the house. The smell of breakfast already prepared long before anyone had fully gathered around it.
You were kneeling beside Yuna in her room, helping her into her cardigan while she still looked half lost between sleep and wakefulness, her small hands occasionally resisting just enough to turn something simple into a longer process than it needed to be.
âArms up,â you said, holding the fabric open.
She complied after a short pause, more out of habit than agreement. The cardigan slipped on properly this time. âBetter,â you murmured, adjusting the sleeve. Yuna leaned slightly to one side as if testing whether she was properly dressed or just temporarily contained in layers of fabric.
âDone,â she declared.
âAlmost,â you corrected, fixing a small fold near her shoulder.
She sighed but didnât argue further.
Outside the room, the house was already awake in its own way. You could hear distant footsteps. A chair being moved. The soft clink of dishes somewhere downstairs. Everything organized. Everything familiar.
When Yuna finally seemed satisfied with her appearance, she reached for your hand without thinking, and you let her guide you out of the room the same way she always did, as if that was simply the order of things here.
The garden outside was already prepared for breakfast by the time you walked downstairs with her.
Summer mornings carried a certain stillness before the heat fully settled into the day, and the Jeon residence seemed to hold onto that hour carefully, preserving it beneath shaded terraces, quiet fountains, and the soft rustling of trees that bordered the property far enough away to feel decorative rather than wild.
The breakfast table had been arranged beneath the covered part of the patio. White plates. Fresh fruit. Coffee already poured.
Mrs. Jeon was already seated, speaking softly with one of the staff who was finishing the final arrangement of cutlery.
Mr. Jeon was there as well, seated slightly apart from the conversation happening around him, one hand resting near his phone while the other turned a coffee cup slowly without really drinking from it.
Yuna let go of your hand the moment she saw the table and moved quickly toward her chair, climbing up with practiced familiarity. You followed at a slower pace, stopping just behind her as she settled in. And immediately, Mr. Jeonâs attention shifted.
It happened so fast it almost startled you.
One second his focus remained on whatever conversation existed inside the phone screen, and the next it disappeared entirely the moment his daughter climbed into the chair beside him.
âThereâs my girl,â he murmured quietly. His phone lowered onto the table without another glance. Then, with an ease that suggested repetition more than thought, he reached over and gently caught her cheek between two fingers, squeezing lightly.
Yuna giggled in embarrassment.
A quiet smile touched his mouth briefly. Not fully. Just enough to exist. âYouâre awake early.â
âShe woke me up,â Yuna complained immediately, pointing toward you. Your gaze lifted automatically at that. For the first time since arriving downstairs, Mr. Jeon looked at you directly. âThank you,â he said calmly. You nodded once in return.
And because there was nothing else to say after that, you instinctively stepped back slightly, already preparing to leave the space and return once breakfast was finished like you usually did.
But before you could move furtherâ
âWhy isnât noona eating with us?â
Yunaâs voice cut through the morning air so suddenly that the silence afterward felt strangely visible.
Mrs. Jeon looked up first.
The little girl frowned lightly, looking between both of her parents with genuine confusion written across her face, as if the idea itself genuinely made no sense to her.
âSheâs here too,â she continued softly.
For a second, nobody answered.
You felt heat crawl faintly into your face almost instantly.
âItâs okay,â you started quietly. âI canââ
âShe probably already ate earlier Sweetheart ,â Mr. Jeon interrupted gently before the sentence could finish, his tone calm in the way adults used whenever they tried redirecting children away from something inconvenient without making it obvious.
âI want noona to eat with us.â
The insistence in her voice remained soft, but stubborn enough that it immediately shifted something invisible at the table. And for the first time since you had begun working there, uncertainty entered the space. You saw it happen quietly across Mr. Jeonâs face. Not discomfort. Consideration.
His eyes flickered toward you first. Then briefly toward his wife. As if silently measuring whether this crossed some line none of you had spoken aloud before.
Then Mrs. Jeon smiled first, warm and effortless enough to smooth over the awkwardness before it fully formed.
âWell,â she said lightly, setting her cup down, âI suppose you can join us today. For our daughterâs sake.â
Your lips parted slightly.
âOh, no, itâs alright, reallyââ
âItâs fine,â she assured gently.
And beside her, Mr. Jeon gave a small nod after a moment, not adding anything further, but not disagreeing either. Which somehow made accepting feel even more difficult. Yuna, however, looked victorious immediately.
âThere,â she said proudly.
You hesitated only another second before finally lowering yourself into the empty chair near the end of the table. Carefully. As if sitting too comfortably might somehow become inappropriate. You hadnât planned on eating. Not really. Maybe coffee at most. Something small enough to justify your presence without fully participating in it.
The conversation around the table continued naturally after that, settling back into its earlier rhythm with the kind of ease people only developed after years of sharing the same spaces together.
You mostly stayed quiet. Not intentionally. There just wasnât much reason to interrupt conversations that clearly belonged to people more familiar with one another than you were with any part of this house yet.
Yuna had already become distracted again, pushing pieces of fruit around her plate while occasionally asking questions no one fully answered because children rarely seemed bothered by incomplete conversations anyway.
A soft breeze moved through the terrace, carrying the faint scent of cut grass and coffee across the table.
Mrs. Jeon lifted her cup carefully before looking toward her husband again.
âOh, I almost forgot,â she said. âWe got another invitation yesterday.â
Mr. Jeon glanced up briefly from his coffee.
âThe gallery event next Friday. The Choi family is hosting it.â
A quiet pause followed. Not awkward. More like recognition.
âThe one in Hannam?â She nodded once.
âMhm. Apparently half the city is going to be there again.â His expression barely changed. âThat already sounds exhausting.â A faint smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. âYou say that every time.â âBecause itâs true every time.â
Yuna looked up immediately.
âWhatâs exhausting?â
âTalking to too many people,â Jungkook answered. Yuna frowned. âThen no go.â Mrs. Jeon smiled softly. âWe have to, baby.â
âBecause itâs important.â
The little girl stared at her plate for a few seconds before mumbling quietly:
You lowered your gaze toward your cup quietly, listening without meaning to, the same way you always did around people whose lives felt slightly too polished to fully understand from the outside.
âThe chairman specifically mentioned you this time,â Mrs. Jeon continued, looking back toward him. âWhich means if we donât show up, people will start making assumptions again.â
âThey already do that regardless.â
âYes, but at least this way theyâll do it while looking at us directly.â That earned another small smile from him. Subtle. Brief. The kind that disappeared almost immediately after appearing.
You found yourself watching the exchange quietly, not because of him specifically, but because there was something strangely fascinating about witnessing married people who still spoke to each other so calmly. No tension. No irritation hidden beneath politeness. Just familiarity.
Mrs. Jeon rested her elbow lightly against the arm of her chair.
âThey also asked if Yuna would be coming.â
At that, Mr. Jeon looked toward his daughter automatically.
âShe hated the last one too.â
âI know,â she repeated patiently. âWhich is why she isnât going.â
Yuna, still busy with her breakfast, looked entirely uninterested in the conversation surrounding her social future.
Then Mrs. Jeonâs attention shifted slightly. Toward you.
âI was thinking,â she said gently, âif youâre available that evening, maybe you could stay with Yuna here.â
You blinked once, slightly caught off guard at suddenly being included directly in the conversation.
âOhâyes, of course.â
âSheâs already comfortable with you,â Mrs. Jeon added. âAnd it would probably make the evening easier for everyone.â
Yuna nodded immediately before anyone else could respond.
A small silence followed that.
Not uncomfortable. Just full enough to notice. You felt oddly aware of your position at the table again all of a sudden, of the untouched food near your plate, of the careful way you were sitting, of how naturally your presence had somehow entered discussions that clearly belonged to family routines rather than work schedules.
Then Mr. Jeon finally spoke again.
âThat should be fine,â he said simply.
His tone remained calm, casual even, but something about hearing confirmation directly from him made the arrangement feel strangely more official than it had a moment ago. Mrs. Jeon nodded once, satisfied.
âGood. Then Iâll let Minji know not to schedule anyone else that night.â
The conversation moved on after that. Back to dates. People you didnât know. Places you had never been. But every now and then, between the quiet sounds of dishes and passing conversation, Yuna would lean slightly closer against your arm as if your continued presence beside her had already become expected.
You were in the living room with Yuna, who had insisted on sitting on the floor instead of the sofa, surrounded by scattered colored pencils and a half-finished drawing she had already lost interest in once and then returned to twice. The sound of movement near the entrance pulled your attention slightly, though you didnât turn immediately. It was familiar nowâthe subtle shift in the air when people prepared to leave. Footsteps. Fabric adjusting. A door opening somewhere deeper in the hallway.
Then Yuna suddenly stood up.
âDaddy,â she said immediately.
You looked up just in time to see her run toward the entrance.
Mr. Jeon was already there, dressed the way he usually was when leaving the houseâclean lines, dark tones, everything carefully put together without ever feeling excessive. Beside him stood Mrs. Jeon, adjusting something near her bag while speaking softly to him about something you only caught fragments of.
You stayed where you were.
Not out of hesitation. Just habit.
Yuna reached him quickly and wrapped her arms tightly around his legs before he even fully turned. It wasnât a dramatic gesture. Just instinct. The kind of hug children gave when they didnât think about space or timing or anything other than presence.
Mr. Jeon paused immediately.
His hand came down gently over her back.
âOkay,â he said quietly, almost amused. âIâm not gone yet.â
But she didnât let go right away. Only after a few seconds did she loosen her grip enough to look up at him properly. Mrs. Jeon watched the moment with a calm expression, already used to it in the way only repetition could create.
You lowered your gaze slightly, pretending to focus on the scattered pencils on the floor again, though your attention naturally caught small details without meaning to.
The way Mr. Jeon adjusted Yunaâs hair before stepping back. The way Mrs. Jeon checked something in her bag twice even though it was clearly already in place. The quiet coordination between them, unspoken but practiced. Not performative. Just familiar.
When Yuna finally released her father, she turned immediately and ran back toward you without hesitation, as if the movement between people in the house was something she navigated without thinking.
Mrs. Jeon finished adjusting her coat before looking toward you.
âThank you again,â she said gently. You looked up immediately. âItâs no problem at all.â A small pause followed. Her expression remained composed, but there was something steady in the way she looked at youâless formal than before, slightly more certain.
âWe wonât be long,â she added. âJust a few hours.â
Mr. Jeon was already checking something on his phone again, but his attention didnât feel fully gone from the room.
Mrs. Jeon continued, her voice soft but clear enough to settle in the space.
âSheâs with you today, soâŚâ she paused briefly, then smiled faintly. âWe trust you with our daughter.â The sentence wasnât heavy. It was said simply, like a fact rather than a responsibility being handed over.
Still, it lingered for a moment longer than expected.
You nodded once, carefully.
âOf course. Iâll take care of her.â
Yuna, now sitting back down near you, immediately leaned slightly closer as if confirming the arrangement in her own way.
Mrs. Jeon gave a final small nod before stepping toward the door.
Mr. Jeon followed a second later.
But just before they left, he paused brieflyânot long enough to feel intentional, but enough for the moment to register. His gaze flicked toward the room once. Then he left with the same quiet ease he had entered with.
And when the door closed behind them, the house returned to silence againâonly this time, it didnât feel empty.
The sunlight shifted across the living room floor while you stayed seated with Yuna, who had long abandoned her drawing in favor of climbing onto the sofa cushions and declaring them mountains she needed to conquer at least three times before finally deciding they were actually just pillows again.
Her energy came in waves.
Short bursts of chaos followed by sudden calm, like she was constantly negotiating with herself about how serious the world was supposed to be at any given moment.
You were still laughing quietly when she suddenly stopped mid-movement.
âNoooâŚsticky,â she announced.
She nodded very seriously, holding up her hands as if they were evidence in a case. That was when you noticed the faint marks of juice and crumbs on her fingers. âOkay,â you said softly. âThen we clean you up.â
The bathroom was warmer than the rest of the house. Not emotionally. Just literally.You tested the water first before helping Yuna inside, guiding her carefully the way her mother had shown you earlier in small instructions that you had quietly memorized without realizing it.
She stood still only for a few seconds before immediately trying to play with the water stream.
âCareful,â you reminded gently.
âNo hot,â she said confidently.
You smiled slightly despite yourself.
Washing her hair took longer than it should have, mostly because she kept tilting her head back and asking unrelated questions in between moments of complete seriousness.
Eventually, when she was clean and wrapped in a soft towel, she looked much smaller than before.
Like the noise had been washed out of her.
âPajamas,â she said immediately.
âYes,â you nodded. âPajamas.â
She insisted on choosing them herself, which resulted in a very serious debate between two sets of soft cotton sleepwear before she finally declared one of them âwinner pajamasâ for reasons she did not explain.
You helped her into them carefully.
Afterwards, she stood still for a moment, looking down at herself as if checking whether she had become a different person. Then she looked up.
âDo my Hair!â You paused. âOh yeah?â She nodded. âLike princess.â
A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. âOkay.â
You sat her down in front of you, fingers gently working through her damp hair. âTwo braids,â she instructed. âTwo braids,â you repeated.
As you began sectioning her hair, she suddenly leaned her head slightly to the side. âWhy you here noona?â You blinked slightly, not immediately understanding. âIn the house?â
You hesitated for a moment, then continued carefully with the braid. âI work here.â
âNo,â she said immediately. âBefore.â That made you pause. Before. No one usually asked you that directly. You exhaled quietly, continuing the braid while choosing your words. âI lived with my family before.â
âNot here,â you said softly. She thought about that for a second. âAnd do you have siblings?â
âYes,â you smiled faintly. âI have a sister.â
âOlder,â you corrected gently.
âMean?â That made you laugh a little.
Yuna nodded like this was important information she needed to store somewhere.
âNoona you are going to school?â
âI finished school,â you said. âUniversity too.â
You paused for half a second. âI tried,â you answered honestly. She seemed satisfied with that answer.
Then, very casually, she added: âAre you gonna stay here forever noona?â Your hands slowed slightly in her hair. ââŚweâll see,â you said softly.
She didnât question it further. Children rarely did. They accepted answers the way they came.
When her hair was finally finished, she immediately stood up as if nothing important had just happened. âSnack,â she declared. âSnack,â you confirmed.
She grabbed your hand without hesitation again, pulling you toward the kitchen like she had decided that was simply where life was supposed to continue. You opened the snack cabinet with her carefully watching. It took her a full minute of serious inspection before she chose what she called âhappy sweets.â You didnât argue.
Back in the living room, you laid a blanket out across the sofa while she arranged herself under it with dramatic seriousness, patting the space next to her.
âYou here,â she said.
âIâm here,â you confirmed.
You prepared the snacks in small bowls, placing them on the table before settling beside her.
A Disney film began playing.
Something loud enough to fill the silence without breaking it.
Yuna leaned against your arm almost immediately.
Halfway through the first ten minutes, she was already less focused on the movie and more focused on being comfortable. At some point, she quietly said your name. You looked down. âYes?â She didnât respond right away. Just watched the screen for a few seconds before murmuring: âYou good.â You blinked slightly. Then smiled.
ââŚthank you.â And the movie continued.
Unimportant to anyone outside that room.
But somehow, exactly enough for the moment you were in.
The living room had gone quiet in a way that felt almost sealed off from the rest of the house.
The television was still on, but the sound had lowered itself into background noise long ago, turning into something closer to breathing than entertainment.
Mr. Jeon stepped inside first without making a sound.
Mrs. Jeon passed through the hallway almost immediately after, already speaking softly about something related to the house staff before disappearing upstairs without noticing the scene in the living room at all.
Not fully. Just enough. His gaze settled on the sofa. Yuna was asleep. Curled slightly inward. And beside her, you were leaned back in a position that looked uncomfortable if examined logically, but completely natural in sleepâone arm resting loosely near her, the other partly tucked under the blanket she had pulled over both of you. The TV glow moved across your face in soft intervals.
For a moment, he didnât move.
Not because he was unsure.
Because he was simply observing.
Then slowly, he stepped closer.
Yuna shifted slightly when he picked her up. Not waking. Just adjusting instinctively into warmth she recognized. âDaddyâŚâ she murmured without opening her eyes. âItâs me,â he answered quietly. He held her carefully, one arm supporting her small weight as he turned toward the hallway.
On the way upstairs, he passed his own bedroom door slightly open. Inside, faint light from the hallway fell across the bed. Mrs. Jeon was already there.
Fully dressed for the evening, resting back against the pillows with her phone in hand, reading something quietly before she glanced up for only a second.
No words passed between them.
Just a small, familiar acknowledgment.
Yuna didnât fully wake even as he carried her into her room. Her fingers clung weakly to his shirt for a moment before loosening again.
He adjusted the blanket, setting her down carefully, tucking her in with the kind of practiced motion that came from repetition rather than instruction. âSleep,â he said softly.
Her eyes fluttered once. Then closed again. He stayed for a second longer than necessary. And before leaving, he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to her forehead. Not performative. Just habitual. Then he left the room.
The house felt even quieter when he returned downstairs. The TV was still running. The blanket on the sofa had shifted slightly.
And you were still there.
Exactly as he had seen you before. He stopped again. This time closer. His eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than the situation required. Something mild passed through his expressionâsubtle enough that it didnât settle into anything obvious, not even to himself.
Then he exhaled softly. And stepped closer. âYou canât sleep here,â he said quietly. No reaction. He paused. Then slightly softer:
ââŚyouâll get cold.â
A faint shift in his mouthâalmost amusement, but restrained. He leaned forward slightly. âHey.â
His gaze lowered briefly. Then he reached out and tapped your shoulder once. Lightly. No response.
A little more deliberate this time. Still nothing. A third time. âHey.â
Only then did your eyes finally begin to open, slow and confused, adjusting to the light and the unfamiliar awareness of being watched.
The moment you realized where you were, you straightened almost immediately.
âOhâ Iâm sorryâ I didnât mean toââ
Your words came too fast, too careful, as you pushed yourself upright quickly, trying to erase the fact that you had fallen asleep there at all.
Mr. Jeon raised a hand slightly.
âItâs fine,â he said calmly.
But you were already standing. Straight posture. Awkwardly formal. Like sleep had never happened. He noticed that. Not in a critical way. Just quietly. âSit,â he added gently. You hesitated. Then slowly obeyed, sitting back down at the edge of the sofa. A brief pause. The house felt even quieter now that only the two of you were awake.
âYou donât have to leave tonight,â he said after a moment.
âI can goâ itâs not far, I donât want toââ
âItâs late,â he interrupted, still calm. âAnd youâre tired.â
A pause. Not pressure. Just certainty. You looked down briefly, conflicted in a way you didnât fully show. âIâm okay,â you said quietly. âNo,â he answered simply.
âStay here.â You hesitated longer this time. But the weight of the dayâof Yuna sleeping against you earlier, of the quiet house, of everything that felt strangely stable hereâmade the resistance weaker than it should have been.
ââŚokay,â you finally said. Mr. Jeon gave a small nod, as if that answer had been expected from the beginning. âGood.â
The guest room was already prepared when you arrived. He didnât speak much on the way there. Neither did you.
But before leaving you there, he stepped out briefly. When he returned, he placed something on the edge of the bed. Folded. Simple. Soft fabric. âPajamas,â he said.
âGot them from my Wife.â You looked at them for a moment before nodding slightly. âThank you, Mr. Jeon.â
He didnât respond immediately.
Just gave a short, almost absent nod.
And the door closed softly behind him.
