celiataysversion - Tumblr blog

celiataysversion · 10 days ago

Text

three minutes of us

pairing: military!jj maybank x kook!reader

summary: jj is thousands of miles away, but for three minutes, he’s in your room again, under your skin, tangled in every word they never said

warnings: fluff, long distance relationships, language, no use of y/n, english isn't my first language

word count: 4.3k

a/n: I hope I didn’t make any mistakes with references. I’m not too familiar with the us army, and I’ve realised my vocabulary around military themes is a bit limited. but I really did my best to keep everything as true-to-life and language-accurate as possible <з

prev. chapter // next chapter

A COOL BREEZE DRIFTED THROUGH THE HALF-OPEN BALCONY DOOR, gently stirring the curtains and carrying with it the scent of the sea. Somewhere in the distance, waves whispered against the shore, lulling you deeper into sleep. Since JJ had left – since the salty wind and sun-soaked warmth that once clung to your sheets had faded – you hadn’t been able to sleep without the window cracked open. The ocean air filled the room like a memory, curling softly around your limbs, wrapping you up in something that almost felt like him. And somehow, with the scent of sea salt in your lungs and the echo of waves outside, the distance between you didn’t feel quite so impossible.

BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ.

The phone buzzed against the wooden surface of the nightstand, its sound cutting through the silence and pulling you from that fragile space between dream and waking, an hour suspended in darkness, when the world feels neither fully real nor entirely gone. Eyes still heavy with sleep, you reached for it blindly, the screen glowing in the shadows as you brought it close, squinting through the blur.

Unknown number.

A soft sigh slipped past your lips as your head dropped back into the pillow. Your thumb hesitated for a moment, then tapped the green icon almost without thought.

At first, there was only static. Just the distant crackle of a weak connection and the weight of silence stretching out across the line – long enough for your finger to hover uncertainly over the screen, ready to end the call. But then, through the quiet, a voice broke in – rough, unmistakable, and laced with something desperate.

“Hey! Shit… -hi. Baby, is that you?”

It was his voice.

You sat upright in an instant, the sheets tangling around your legs as you clutched one to your chest like a lifeline. The sudden movement filled the room with the rustle of fabric, but otherwise everything was still, too still. Your whole body went still with it. Every muscle locked. Breath caught in your lungs like it had nowhere to go. The walls of the room seemed to close in, the night folding tighter around you, thick with memory and silence and the echo of a voice you hadn’t heard in too long.

“Please say something,” JJ pleads, his voice ragged, breathless, like he’s just sprinted across town with the weight of the world on his back. You can hear him curse under his breath, then let out a shaky exhale that crackles against your ear. “I… uh… I’m not even sure if this is still your number. I’ve had it in my head so long it feels like it’s tattooed behind my eyes, but I swear to God, if I dialed the wrong one… damn, sweetheart, say something. Please.”

His voice is uneven, laced with a desperate kind of humor that almost masks the tremble underneath. He’s trying to keep it light, to pretend he’s not falling apart, but there’s something fraying at the edges like a string pulled too tight and starting to snap.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes. Your heart is too full, too stunned by the sheer reality of him. It’s not ink and paper anymore, not letters scrawled in haste, not memories softened by time, not a voice imagined in dreams.

It’s him. Real. Alive.

Breathing into your ear like a ghost that somehow made its way back through the static.

And just like that, you’re wide awake. Your eyes fly open. Your body locks up, tight as a coiled spring. Blood rushes too fast through your veins, drumming in your ears, sending your heart into a frenzy. Your grip tightens around the phone until your knuckles burn, as if letting go might make him disappear again.

“Love?” he says again, quieter this time, the word breaking gently against the silence. “I swear if this is a wrong number, the next twenty letters are gonna be my emotional unraveling.”

Still, you say nothing. You want to. God, you want to say something, anything, but your throat closes around the words. They clog up like a lump behind your sternum, and everything beneath your ribs burns with the ache of air you can’t seem to draw in. You feel like a fish dragged suddenly onto dry sand – shocked, gasping, suspended in a moment you didn’t know you were waiting for. Your eyes sting, your chest tightens, and it feels like if you speak, even a single word, it’ll all unravel into tears. And you can’t have that. Not yet. Not now. Not when his voice has just returned to you after two long months of silence.

JJ keeps talking because that’s what he does when silence stretches too long and starts to feel like a threat. He’s always hated those heavy pauses, the ones where doubt creeps in like a spider scaling the walls, silent and certain. And the realization of it – how little he’s changed – makes the corners of your mouth twitch upward into the ghost of a smile. Of course he keeps talking.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Didn’t mean to sound so desperate, I just…” He lets out a sharp breath, one that sounds like disappointment carved into sound. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice. I mean, letters help… don’t get me wrong… but they don’t laugh. They don’t bite back. They don’t tell me off when I’m being an idiot. They don’t call me dumb when I deserve it.”

You still haven’t said anything, and now your hands are shaking. You draw your knees up under the covers, curling into yourself like you could somehow shield your body from the ache blooming inside. But it’s already too late.

He’s here.

In your room.

In your ear.

Under your skin.

Again.

“I keep hearing you in my head, sweetheart,” he says, quieter now, his voice low and vulnerable, like it’s meant just for you. “When I fall asleep. When I’m out running. When it’s dead quiet at night and I’m the only one still awake… –I hear your voice. But it’s never loud enough. I keep thinking… if I heard the real thing again, if I heard you for real, I’d know I wasn’t losing my mind.”

You finally exhale. Not a word, just a breath, fractured and full of everything you still can’t say.

But that’s enough.

“There you are,” he murmurs, and there’s something in the way he says it that breaks you open. It’s not quite a relief. Not joy either. Just this soft, wrecked sound, like some pressure inside him has finally cracked and spilled. “God, I thought I imagined you.”

You try to speak, but your voice trembles at the edges. “I didn’t think…” You pause, swallow hard. “I didn’t think you’d call.”

“I didn’t think I could,” he admits, voice warm with weariness. “Had to trade two energy bars and a busted pen just to borrow a satellite phone with shit reception and, like, three minutes of talk time. Honestly? Highway robbery.”

You laugh then – quiet and unsteady, like the sound isn’t quite sure how to exist in your mouth. It breaks the tension, but not the emotion. There’s too much between the syllables, too much air, too much ache. And even though JJ doesn’t laugh back, you can feel the grin in his silence like warmth through the phone.

“I’ve missed this,” JJ says, quieter now, like he’s almost afraid of the silence after.

You lean back slowly, pressing yourself into the headboard as the blanket slips from your shoulders. Your grip tightens on the phone. Your eyes drift to the faded green glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling – dim now, after all these years, but still burning soft against the dark like they refuse to disappear.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whisper. Your nose starts to sting, and you wrinkle it, trying to keep the tears at bay. One finally slips free and slides down your cheek. “I thought I was dreaming.”

He goes quiet. Then comes his voice, low, a little rough around the edges. “Well… if it is, let’s not wake up yet.”

You smile, even as the tears keep falling. “It’s not.”

There’s a pause. You hear him breathing – just breathing – like he’s afraid to say more and mess this up. Faint sounds echo in the background on his end, rustling, muffled voices drifting in and out, but none of it feels real. Only him.

“I’ve been thinking about that morning,” he says eventually, clearing his throat. “When I was walking away and you yelled after me… told me you loved me.”

Your chest tightens. But your lips curve into a small smile as the memory flashes back – his boots hitting the pavement, his bag already slung over one shoulder, that dumb grin tugging at his mouth, all swagger until it softened. You hadn’t planned it. It just spilled out because you couldn’t let him go without saying it. Not then.

“I love you,” you say, barely more than a breath.

“Shit,” he breathes out, and then he laughs, hoarse and unfiltered. You don’t need to see him to know his head’s tipped back, his hand probably dragging down his face as he grins. “I really didn’t think I’d hear you say that again.”

You let out a shaky sigh, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve. “Yeah, well. I kinda had to.”

There’s a beat of silence, softer this time. Then his voice drops, like it’s coming from somewhere deeper. “You didn’t just say it, you know? You rewired my whole damn brain.”

You let out a quiet, tear-soaked laugh. “Okay, that’s dramatic.”

“I kissed you,” JJ says, voice low, like he’s dragging the words out from a place that still stings. “Then I had to get on that damn ship and act like I hadn’t just completely lost it. Spent the next hour trying to breathe like a normal person… trying not to stare at the spot where your hand touched my face for the last time.”

The ache hits you like a tide – deep, aching, not just physical but something heavier, something that claws at your ribs. It’s the kind of wanting that comes with remembering what you lost, and the memory leaves a bitter twist in your gut, crawling beneath your skin.

“Do you still think about it?” you ask, softer than you mean to. Because you think about that moment every single day. Sometimes in flashes, sometimes like it never left.

“All the damn time,” he says, no hesitation. “And not in that cheesy romcom way, like the kind you made me watch that one time, with a guy holding a rose between his teeth or whatever. It’s just… stuck. That second’s burned into my brain. Like it branded me.”

You drag the back of your hand across your cheeks, trying to pull yourself back together, to keep your voice from breaking again. But JJ goes quiet. And then he asks, his voice dropping into something quieter, more careful.

“Hey… are you crying?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. If you try, if you even breathe a word, you’ll break wide open. You want him here – not in your ear, not a voice over the line – but right here, real, warm, within reach. The sob slips out before you can stop it, soft and raw. You press your hand over your mouth, but it’s too late.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice cracking. “Baby… don’t. Don’t do this to me. I can’t take it.”

Another sob rises. Quieter. Smaller. But it hurts more somehow, because he’s still not here.

“Baby,” he says, harsher now, like he’s trying not to fall apart. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… fuck, just let me talk. Let me say dumb shit for a second, okay?”

You nod. He can’t see it, but somehow, he knows.

“I need to hear you breathing,” he whispers.

So you do. You breathe. Deep, slow, painful breaths. You let the silence hold the weight of that day – on the dock, in the heat, the last time you touched. You let it say everything you can’t.

“How’s home?” he asks after a moment. “What’s it like?”

His voice is soft again, but there’s something in the way he says it like the answer means more to him than he wants to admit.

You take a deep breath and sink deeper into the pillows, curling inward as if the mattress might hold you together. The phone is tucked between your shoulder and cheek, warm against your skin, your fingers still clutched tight around it like it’s the only real thing left tethering you to him. The ache in your chest hasn’t lessened since he spoke your name, but at least now it has a shape – a voice, a laugh, a memory you can reach out and touch.

“It’s the same,” you murmur, your voice drowsy and low. Your gaze drifts up to the ceiling where the glow-in-the-dark stars still cling, barely visible in the soft dark of your room. “Sarah’s about ready to pop. Everyone’s counting down. Kie’s convinced the baby’s going to show up during a thunderstorm, you know… for maximum drama. She says his godfather wouldn’t have it any other way.”

JJ chuckles, the sound crackling softly through the speaker, rich and familiar like summer wind. “Told her the kid’s got style if that’s how he enters the world.”

You can’t help the small grin tugging at your lips. “So you’re planning to live up to the role then?”

“Hell yeah,” he says, without missing a beat. “I’m gonna be the favorite. Uncle Chaos. Teaching him all the wrong things and none of the useful ones. It’s gonna be legendary.”

Your smile widens, despite the lingering ache behind your ribs. You can already see it – JJ barefoot on the beach, hoisting a tiny giggling kid up in the air, sand flying everywhere, both of them covered in sun and trouble. You picture the mischief on his face, the light in his eyes, the way he’d look back at you as if to say see what I made?

“And the others?” he asks, quieter now.

“They’re okay,” you say, pulling the blanket tighter around your legs. The breeze from the balcony carries in the scent of salt and distant night jasmine. “Pope’s buried in books again, researching something none of us can understand. I stopped pretending I did. John B still swears HMS Pogue runs smoother without you.”

JJ lets out a sharp laugh, and for a second, it fills the whole room. “Lies and slander,” he says. “I’m the only one who could get that rust bucket to obey.”

You giggle, tucking your chin down as your voice brightens for the first time in what feels like forever. “Told him the same thing. I stood up for your honor. Your legacy. Your questionable driving decisions.”

He snorts, and you can almost feel his grin through the line. That crooked, sun-drenched smile that always made you feel like the world was less impossible.

Then, the laughter fades, and a quiet settles between you. Not empty, but full of something else. Of everything you don’t know how to say. You draw in a slow breath, the kind that stings just a little, and let it go.

“They all miss you,” you say softly, your eyes on the shadows cast across your ceiling by the curtain’s slow dance. “But I miss you the most.”

On the other end of the line, you hear his breathing shift. A rustle, the creak of fabric as he shifts his weight. You imagine him lying somewhere dark and unfamiliar, phone pressed to his ear, staring up at a ceiling that isn’t yours. He doesn’t speak right away.

“I miss you too, baby,” he whispers, and the words hit like a hand on your heart. Not loud, not dramatic. Just real.

There’s a lull in the conversation, a silence that hums softly between you – comfortable, but charged with everything unsaid. You don’t want it to end. Not yet. So you speak, cautious but curious, coaxing more of him into the quiet.

“So…” you begin, your voice light, teasing. “Are MREs really that bad? Or were you just being dramatic?”

JJ lets out a theatrical groan, dragging the sound out like he’s in pain. “Baby, it’s worse. Imagine wet cardboard soaked in regret and seasoned with pure, uncut desperation.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you as you fall back against the pillows. The warmth of it surprises you. “Wow. Sounds… exquisite.”

“Oh, it’s top-tier,” he says, clicking his tongue. You can hear the grin in his voice. “I even sent Pope a photo of the ‘menu’ the other day. He said it made him feel like a refined gentleman by comparison. Like he eats with cutlery now.”

You smile into the dark. “And the training?” you ask, rolling onto your side. The blanket bunches around your legs as you glance at the clock beside your bed. 2:21 am, blinking in a soft green light, like time is daring you to forget how late or early it is.

JJ exhales slowly. “Grueling. Brutal. Commander Pike has the emotional depth of a dish sponge and the voice of a man who’s forgotten how to smile. But hey, I haven’t passed out yet. So that’s something.”

“Yet,” you echo with a small smirk.

There’s a pause, then a smug little grin slides into his voice. “I’m slippery. They can’t catch me.”

“And the guys?” you ask, voice quieter now, more curious than teasing.

“Carter’s convinced he’s going to open a surf school in Florida once we’re done. Which is wild, because I’m not even sure he’s seen a surfboard in real life. Alvarez misses his dog more than his girlfriend by, like, a wide margin. And Singh… I swear to God, I caught him trying to teach himself harmonica last week. He’s awful, but he thinks he’s found his calling. It’s chaos. Total misfit crew.”

You laugh again, quieter this time, letting it melt into the hush of your bedroom. You roll onto your back, blanket tangled around your legs, and stare up at the ceiling. You try to picture him. Not as he was, but as he is now – somewhere far away, probably sitting on a metal cot in a cold, windowless room or maybe lying under an open sky.

You imagine him speaking into the receiver with that sideways grin, one knee bouncing, his fingers twisting the cord or flicking at something absentmindedly. You wonder if his hair’s longer now, or if he cut it all off again. You wonder if he has new scars – ones you don’t know about yet. If his hands look the same. If his eyes still carry that wild, restless light where your reflection used to live.

And even without seeing him, even across the miles, you feel him. Right there. Filling up your room with the sound of his voice.

He asks a little more gently this time, his voice careful like he’s testing the weight of it: “How’s your dad? Still giving you hell?”

You shift under the blanket, sinking deeper into your mattress as you tug it over your legs again. The phone is cradled between your cheek and shoulder, and your fingers drift absentmindedly to a loose thread on the seam of your pillowcase. “Only when he catches me checking the mailbox twice a day,” you murmur, voice dry with a hint of a smile.

JJ lets out a short, amused exhale. “Tell him I respect the hustle. Man’s got commitment to the bit.”

You laugh, quick and breathy, and let your head fall back against the pillow. “He still asks about you,” you admit, twirling a piece of hair around your index finger like you used to do in class when you were nervous. “He pretends he doesn’t, but he lingers when I read your letters out loud. Just kinda hovers near the doorway like he’s deciding whether or not to say something.”

“That’s… actually kinda sweet,” JJ says, and you can hear the smile curling into his voice. “In a very grumpy, I-will-never-acknowledge-my-feelings kind of way.”

You grin. “Mom’s worse.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She asks about you a hundred times a day,” you say, propping your elbow up and leaning slightly to the side as you draw your knees toward your chest. “Keeps trying to snatch the letters from my hands before I’ve even finished reading them.”

JJ lets out a hoarse, barking laugh. “Jesus. Looks like I’ve got a fanbase brewing over there. Should I be worried?”

“She’s already cleared a space on the fridge for your next letter.”

He groans dramatically, and you can practically hear him pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Okay, okay… –note to self: start addressing letters to Mrs. No Chill.”

You snort, then groan. “And my brother… –God. He acts like every envelope is packed with state secrets. I caught him holding one over the toaster the other day like he was trying to reveal invisible ink or something.”

JJ laughs so hard this time you hear a slight crackle of interference in the speaker. “That little shit. He's a menace. Tell him espionage’s not a good look on him.”

You smile, toying now with the edge of your blanket, folding it over your fingers just for something to do with your hands. “He likes you,” you say quietly. “He just… won’t admit it.”

“I’ll take the win. Doesn’t matter how reluctant,” JJ mutters, mock solemn.

A moment of stillness follows. Not awkward. Just full. You close your eyes and focus on his breathing – steady, quiet, close. You let it wash over you, something soothing and real. The ache in your chest eases slightly, like pressure finally finding a place to go.

And you think, for a heartbeat, that maybe if you don’t move, if you just stay here wrapped in this blanket with his voice in your ear, time might forget to keep moving forward without him.

But then, like a question that slips out before your mind can catch it, you murmur, “Do you… know when you might get a break?”

There’s a pause. A soft kind of silence. You can hear him inhale, hold it. Not like he didn’t expect the question, more like he’s choosing how to carry the weight of it without making it heavier.

You shift on the bed, your legs pulling up closer to your chest as the words sit between you, still warm. Guilt tingles at the base of your neck. You rush to soften it.

“I mean, not like that… –I wasn’t trying to ask when you’re coming back or…” you stop, groaning quietly. Your hand flies to your forehead. “I just meant… like, a weekend. Whatever it’s called over there.”

He lets out a small breath, low and hoarse.

“They call it a leave,” he says after a moment, voice softer than before. “And if I manage not to screw anything up between now and then, maybe… in a couple of months. Just a few days.”

You nod instinctively, even though you know he can’t see you. Your fingers curl in the hem of your blanket, tugging it tighter under your chin. “That’s good,” you say quietly, barely above a whisper.

He’s quiet for a beat, and when he speaks again, there’s a gentleness to it you hadn’t expected.

“If I could… I’d come home just for an afternoon,” he says. “Doesn’t even have to be long. I’d sneak into the backyard like some idiot who forgot he had a front door. I’d sit at the kitchen table and steal a sandwich while your dad pretends not to notice. I’d mess up John B’s surfboard on purpose just to hear him whine.”

You smile, but your lips quiver with the ache rising up in your throat. You bite down gently, just enough to ground yourself. The taste of blood and salt lingers in your mouth.

“You’d be disappointed,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “The sandwiches are just peanut butter and pickles now.”

There’s a second of horrified silence.

“…What kind of war zone are you living in?”

You let out a laugh – small, surprised. It bubbles out of you and catches you off guard. The sound is raw and sweet and too short.

“I don’t even know anymore,” you say through the laughter. “It’s like Dad’s trying to test our loyalty.”

JJ groans. “Your father’s a war criminal.”

You laugh again, then fall quiet, holding the phone tighter, your hand cradling it like it’s the only real thing in the world.

The silence that settles isn’t awkward. It’s full. Like both of you are trying to stretch the seconds, hoping the connection holds. Hoping time forgets to move forward.

“…JJ?” you whisper.

“I’m here, baby,” he answers instantly, like he was already leaning in.

You hesitate. Your throat feels tight again.

“I just… I wasn’t dreaming, right?” you ask. “Was this real?”

His voice comes back soft and rough, like it’s brushing against your cheek through the receiver.

“No,” he says. “You weren’t dreaming.”

Then quieter: “But I’ll pretend I was. When I fall asleep tonight.”

The lump in your throat is back. You close your eyes. You can almost feel the weight of him beside you, the way his arm would hang lazily over your stomach, fingers curling absentmindedly around yours. You want to believe this moment could keep going. That his voice could anchor you through the night.

“JJ,” you start again, voice cracking just a little.

There’s a pause. You know he hears it in your tone.

His voice comes in low, wrapped in warmth.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

The line clicks.

You stay frozen, the phone still pressed to your ear even though it’s already gone quiet. The silence in the room hums with the ghost of his voice. You can still feel it in your bones. He’s not here but it’s like a shadow of him lingers anyway.

You draw the phone slowly to your chest and hold it there, your palm flat against your heart.

And in a breath, barely more than a thought, you whisper into the dark.

“Good night, JJ”

thankx for reading <3

it really means a lot to me. i haven’t updated where the tide waits since april, and i’m so happy to finally share more of it. i know it’s not the most popular thing on jj, but i love writing it, and i’m planning to finish it, no matter how slow the updates might be.

if you ever have ideas or thoughts, feel free to send them to my inbox or dms! sometimes i hit writer’s block, and your input helps more than you know.

also, if you feel like leaving a comment, i’d be super grateful. they honestly mean more to me than likes or reblogs :3

– your santi 🪐

jj m.list // series masterlist

56 notes · View notes