#glimpsing something for the first time through a closing door

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (9) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F ! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael now live parallel lives—close in distance but distant as strangers. After a school field trip to the zoo, you get injured and are rushed to the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, straight to Michaels ER.

Word: 4971

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/Early 50s), Head Injury (Factured Skull), Bleeding from the ear, and Vomiting

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you for all the love on the last part. Lol I love seeing your guys comments and reactions. They crack me upppp. Couple more parts and this fic with come to a end🥲. Depending on season 2 maybe I'll write a spin off/Continuation of some sort 🤨??? or maybe I'll leave a good thing be. Idk this is all up in the air and just ideas. If I did continue it won't be until next year YIKES. Long way from now. But if you guys want it i'll prob do it lol very much a people pleaser 😭 also determined to finsihed eyes on me lol okay anyway. enjoy!!! - ryn

3 Months Later

Since that day—that morning where it ended—you and Michael had kept your distance. It wasn’t easy. Living across the hall meant you still saw each other constantly. You crossed paths in the elevator, passed in the lobby, caught glimpses through cracked doors. But it was different now. Cautious. Careful. The warmth was gone.

It was like reverting back to how things were in the beginning—only worse. Not acquaintances. Less than that. Strangers.

There were no more lingering glances, no more easy conversations or shared errands. No more moments where he helped you without being asked, like he just knew. Now it was all stiff nods and the occasional muttered “hey” or “hi,” as if everything between never happened or existed.

Your lives—once a single, tangled line—had split. Still running close, still crossing the same thresholds, but no longer connected. Now they moved in parallel. Close enough to feel, never close enough to touch.

You missed him. Not just being around him—but him. The version only you knew. The one who stayed late, who looked out for you, who let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

Now, it was like he barely looked your way. Just quick hellos, if that. And even those felt heavy.

Still, every time you saw him, you wondered if he missed you too.

And maybe—just maybe—you knew he missed you too.

But neither of you said a word.

Michael had been the first person to remind you what it felt like to be truly cared for. Losing that connection hurt deeply. But even without him, you were learning how to stand on your own. You are in a better place

After years stuck in a toxic, neglectful relationship with Aiden, you finally chose yourself. No more waiting to be seen or heard. You were rebuilding, piece by piece—stronger, quieter, more certain.

It was something Michael said the last time you saw him that stayed with you. His voice was calm but firm: “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

Those words gave you the push you needed to walk away.

After breaking up with Aiden, the silence was deafening at first. No shouting, no blame, no empty promises—just quiet. And for once, that quiet felt like space you could breathe in, not suffocate.

You weren’t completely free yet. There were days when memories clawed at you, when loneliness crept in like a shadow. But with each morning you woke up without him, you felt a little stronger. A little more whole.

And Michael? Seeing him after everything—it wasn’t easy. There was a tension, a distance between you that hadn’t been there before. You still felt guilty for how things ended with him. But beneath it all, you knew one thing: his words had helped you find yourself again. Even if your connection had changed, that truth remained.

—

This morning, you had left your apartments at the same time, walking side by side in silence. No words. No eye contact. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway—too close, too quiet.

He let you step into the elevator first, then slipped into his usual corner—like always. The space between you felt heavier than it should’ve in such a small box.

And every time you rode the elevator with him now, your mind drifted back to that morning. The one where everything shifted. The one where he had looked at you like he couldn’t wait another second. Where his hands trembled on your skin and nothing else existed. That morning where—for a moment—you both stopped pretending.

Now, you only pretended. Pretended not to miss it. Pretended not to look at him out of the corner of your eye. Pretended he wasn’t right there, close enough to touch, but choosing not to.

Then, suddenly—you don’t know why—you turned your head and glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a small, uncertain smile on your lips.

Michael stood there, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, AirPods in. He didn’t respond. Didn’t nod. Normally, he’d say hello—or at least acknowledge you—but today wasn’t one of those days.

Maybe he hadn’t heard you.

But he had.

Because the truth was, he missed you. Every time he saw you, felt your presence so close yet unreachable, it tore at something inside him.

But talking—to break the silence—meant opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close. It meant risking everything he’d been trying to hold together.

The silence in that elevator was suffocating.

The doors slid open.

You stepped out first, heart pounding, words caught in your throat. By the time the two of you made it through the lobby and out to the street, you found yourself saying, “Have a good day.”

Still, he ignored you.

Without a word, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

—--

It had been a good day.

There was a field trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, and the fifth graders had been buzzing with excitement since they got off the bus. They darted from exhibit to exhibit in loose clusters, calling out animal facts they half-remembered from class, pointing at the gorillas, giggling at the flamingos, and dramatically gagging when they passed smelly enclosures. 

You smiled through the chaos, constantly scanning the crowd, reminding them to walk—not run—while answering a steady stream of “Can we go there next?” and “Do we have to stay with our buddy?”

By the time the group began gathering near the exit to prepare for departure, the kids were hot, tired, and still somehow full of energy—trading animal facts, snacks, and complaints about the long walk back to the bus.

You turned to check on one of your students—and your foot caught on a backpack left sprawled across the pavement.

You didn’t even have time to brace yourself.

You went down hard.

Your head hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything went black for a moment.

You passed out for a few minutes before slowly waking up. When your eyes opened, your other 5th grade teachers and your students gathered around you, worried. 

A sharp pain pulsed through your head. When you touched the side of your face, your fingers came away wet—your ear was bleeding.

You tried to sit up, but your body felt heavy and unsteady. Panic flickered in your chest.

“Are you okay, Miss?” a student asked, voice trembling.

You forced a small, shaky smile. “I’ll be okay,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure.

One of the teachers noticed the blood coming from your ear when you touched it. They knew something was wrong—you needed to get to the hospital.

You tried to protest, insisting you were fine, but the other teachers wouldn’t hear it. Their concern was firm—they knew you needed medical attention. They called an ambulance, and took care of your kids as you headed to the hospital.

“Okay, we’re headed to PTMC,” the driver said to his partner in the back with you.

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. No. You didn’t want to go there. Michael worked there.

“What? N-no, can’t you take me to Allegheny?” you asked, your voice shaking as you glanced up at the paramedic trying to stem the bleeding from your ear.

“Miss, PTMC is closer. Allegheny is too far,” the paramedic replied, his tone calm but unyielding.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit you hard. Before you could stop it, you threw up—your body reacting to the pain and shock.

The paramedics quickly handed you a bag, their expressions gentle but focused. Your head throbbed fiercely, and the thought of seeing Michael at PTMC made the room feel even more overwhelming.

You swallowed hard, gripping the stretcher tightly as the ambulance doors shut and the vehicle started moving. Outside, the world blurred past the windows, but inside, your mind spun with pain, fear, and an ache far deeper than the injury itself.

—-

It was busy in the ER today—loud, chaotic, the usual blur of motion and noise. Monitors beeped steadily in the background, gurneys rolled down hallways, voices called out orders and vitals in clipped tones. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the sharper tang of adrenaline and urgency.

Michael worked hard and efficiently, his hands steady and his voice calm as he checked charts, issued instructions, and answered questions. Every task was precise and practiced. But despite his focused exterior, his heart wasn’t fully in it today. Beneath the surface, his mind drifted elsewhere.

For some reason, you were heavy on his mind—ever since he saw you that morning in the elevator. Though he went about his work with his usual efficiency, every time he glanced up or caught a quiet moment, his thoughts slipped back to you. That brief encounter stirred something beneath his calm exterior, making it harder than usual to focus.

Even as he moved through the chaos of the ER, you lingered in the corners of his mind—a quiet weight he couldn’t shake. Each task felt automatic, mechanical, like he was running on autopilot 

At the nurses’ station, Dana glanced toward Michael as he passed by, pausing briefly. His eyes scanned the triage monitor for a moment before he continued on his rounds.

“What’s his vibe today?” Dana asked, peering over the top of her glasses as she flipped through a stack of charts.

Jack didn’t look up from the computer. “Full-on rain cloud.”

Dana let out a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

Jack finally glanced up. “Yeah. Barely talking. Just doing his rounds like a ghost.”

Dana frowned slightly. She hadn’t had a real catch-up with Robby in a while.

“I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything beyond patient loads and charts in weeks,” she murmured.

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. He’s been keeping things tight. You can tell he’s holding something in… and it’s not just stress.”

Dana sighed, looking up from the computer. “It’s been—what? Three months since they stopped talking?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, watching Michael enter an exam room. “He’s doing okay. Better than a few months ago, for sure. But I think today’s one of those days where he’s really missing her.”

Jack added quietly, “It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He’s always been good at hiding what’s really going on.”

Dana didn’t respond right away, distracted by the faint sound of sirens growing louder in the distance.

“Looks like a bus just pulled up,” she said, glancing toward the ambulance bay.

Jack turned, following her line of sight. Through the glass doors, he spotted the rig backing in, its lights still flashing. The paramedics moved quickly, unloading a gurney from the back, getting ready to wheel someone inside.

“I got it,” he said, already moving toward the doors.

“Alright, what do we got?” 

Jack reached the stretcher as the paramedic began briefing him. 

“Mid-20s female, teacher on a zoo field trip. She tripped over a backpack and hit her head on the pavement. She lost consciousness briefly after the fall. There’s blood coming from her ear. She vomited on the way here and reported dizziness and nausea and is currently somewhat disoriented.”

“Exam Room 13’s open!” Dana called out as she overheard part of the paramedics’ briefing.

The gurney rolled past the nurses’ station in a blur of motion—wheels rattling, footsteps fast. Dana glanced up from her charts and files to get a quick look at the incoming patient… and froze.

Her eyes widened, recognition flickering across her face as she stood up straighter, instinctively stepping out onto the floor. Her heart skipped. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

It was you.

You looked pale, out of it—a plastic bag clutched in your hand, vomit on your shirt, and a smear of dried blood trailing from your ear. But it was unmistakably you.

The same woman she’d seen, playing around with Michael in aisle 9 of the grocery store fighting over cookies. 

Jack was already directing the paramedics to Exam Room 13, calling for trauma supplies as he moved alongside the gurney.

Dana stood abruptly, eyes darting around the ER. Looking for Michael.

Shit. Where’s Robby? Which wing did he go? She thought.

“Jack!” she called, rushing after him. She fell into step beside him as they wheeled you. 

“What?” he asked, not slowing.

“It’s her!” she hissed, voice low but urgent.

“Who?”

“The friend-neighbor-almost-something-—her,” Dana said, eyes wide. “Robby’s girl.”

Dana watched as Jack’s head whipped to face her. His expression shifts—from confusion to clarity, then to something dangerously close to dread.

Jack stopped short, turning just in time to see the gurney disappear into Exam Room 13. His expression changed instantly.

He looks at Dana again “That was her? Are you sure?” 

“Yes!”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “We need to tell him.”

Dana’s brows knit. “Are you sure? After everything… you know how torn up he was…well still is” she trailed off, uncertain. “I mean, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “He still cares about her, still feels things for her. You know he does.”

Dana hesitated, lips pressed into a line.

“He’s not over her, Dana. Not even close. No matter how messy the fallout was, he’d want to know. And if he finds out she was here and we kept it from him…”

“He’d never forgive us,” Dana finished, already nodding.

Jack’s jaw was tight. “Exactly.”

“Look I’ll take care of her, find him as soon as you can and tell him. Okay?” 

“Alright” they quickly went off in different directions. 

—

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead felt like too much—too bright, too sharp—cutting through the fog in your skull. Your stomach churned again, sour and unsettled. You’d already thrown up in the ambulance, the evidence smeared across your shirt, and the nausea still clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. It was like your body couldn’t decide if it was in pain or panic.

The nurse—Princess, according to her badge—helped you onto the exam table from the gurney, guiding you gently as you sat down.

“Let’s get you settled,” she said calmly.

You nodded, though the movement made your head throb and your stomach turn.

Princess moved with calm precision, wrapping a cuff around your arm to check your blood pressure and attaching monitors to track your vitals. She was already prepping the IV, her hands steady, practiced.

“Pressure’s a little low,” she murmured, mostly to herself, then offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You closed your eyes as the needle slid into your arm, trying to focus on her calm voice instead of the pounding in your head.

She grabbed a damp cloth and gently began wiping the vomit from your shirt, doing the best she could to clean you up while keeping you comfortable.

“You’re doing okay,” she said softly. “Just stay with me.”

Princess noticed the shift in your expression—the way your face paled. Without a word, she grabbed a plastic basin and placed it gently in your lap.

“Just in case,” she said softly.

A moment later, the door opened and a man stepped in, wearing navy scrubs and a calm, focused expression.

“I’m Dr. Jack Abbot,” he said as he approached. “I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Jack

The name stood out. Michael’s friend—he’d mentioned him a couple of times. Quick stories, casual references. You never met him, but the name stuck.

Now here he was, standing in front of you. And suddenly, it all felt just a little more real.

To Jack, you were more than just another patient. You were her—the neighbor, the teacher, the one Michael couldn’t stop thinking about. The one who shattered him.

He was torn. Part of him wanted to resent you. Another part couldn’t help but feel sorry—for both you and Michael. It hurt watching Michael suffer in silence, burying his feelings under layers of composure. But there was sadness for you too—because Jack knew you were still clinging to something broken. A relationship that should’ve ended long ago.

But none of that mattered now. He needed to take care of you—not only because it was his job, but for Michael. 

You and Jack locked eyes. Neither of you spoke, but something passed between you—an unspoken recognition. You both knew each other through Michael, even if you’d never met before. And in that silence, there was a quiet acknowledgment of everything that wasn’t being said.

“Let’s get you checked out,” he said gently.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He pulled on a pair of gloves and waited patiently as you gathered your thoughts.

“I tripped over a student’s backpack. I fell… hit my head on the side,” you said, your voice a little shaky.

Princess, at the computer nearby, typed quickly, capturing every detail.

“You passed out? For how long?”

“I don’t know. No more than 5 minutes?”

“And you feel nauseous?” Jack takes notice of the dried blood from your ear. 

“Yes” He brought his hands up, feeling your head, and then he felt it. A squishy part on the side of your head. 

Shit. 

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he gently pressed around the swollen area, careful not to cause more pain. His mind raced—without a CT scan, he knew the injury was serious. How severe, though, remained uncertain.

“Okay, stay still for me,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We need to get a CT scan to find out exactly what we’re dealing with.” He says to the Princess, but also to you.

You nodded, swallowing hard, the dizziness and nausea pressing harder with every breath.

Princess looked up from her computer. “I’m alerting neurology and radiology now.”

Jack forced a steady breath, trying to stay composed though inside, worry tightened its grip.

Your stomach lurched, and you vomited into the plastic basin Princess had handed you earlier. Jack stepped back slightly, giving you room but keeping his eyes locked on you, watching for any sign of worsening condition.

Princess moved quickly to help, she handed you a clean towel and quietly assured you as you wiped your face.

Princess stepped over, grabbing a pair of gloves and a warm saline wipe.

You flinched as she dabbed gently at the dried blood near your ear, trying not to let it sting. 

“Sorry,” Princess murmured, careful and quiet.

Jack watched closely but because the signs were impossible to ignore. The dried blood near your ear, the squishy spot on the scalp, the nausea and dizziness—they all pointed to something serious. Possibly a skull fracture.

Until the scan came back, there wasn’t much he could confirm. But in his gut, he already knew this wasn’t minor.

He reached for a chart from the counter, flipping it open and beginning to write. His pen scratched quickly across the paper, but he kept looking up every few seconds—checking your breathing, your pallor, the way you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Princess adjusted the bed slightly, propping it up so you could sit comfortably. She hands you a new plastic basin. She takes the used wipes and throws it in the trash along with her gloves and goes to wash her hands. 

You glanced at him, searching. “Did… did Michael send you?”

Princess moved to gather the extra materials they hadn’t used, placing them neatly on the supply rack. Her movements were quiet, efficient, but her attention never strayed far. She listens closely. 

Jack shook his head. “No. Robby doesn’t know you’re here… at least not yet.”

At that, Princess froze for just a moment. She didn’t know the full story, but it was clear you and Michael were connected. Her eyes flicked to Jack, widening slightly. A silent exchange passed between them—brief, but unmistakable.

Jack sighed inwardly. He knew exactly what she was thinking—the bet she and several other staff had made a few weeks ago at the bar about Michael having a girlfriend. Now was not the time.

His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, silently warning: Don’t even think about it. He shook his head slightly.

You hadn’t noticed the exchange. Your eyes closed, feeling dizzy, your head throbbing. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Princess gave an innocent, almost playful raise of her eyebrows, but beneath it was something calculating. She grabbed a chart out of Jack's hands and scurried out of the room, leaving a faint echo of footsteps behind her.

Jack remained still, watching her retreat. His jaw tightened, mouth pressed into a hard line. In the ER, whispers traveled faster than code blue alarms—money and rumors would be swirling in less than a few minutes. 

Jack exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second. He’ll deal with it later he tells himslef.

Jack leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you—pale, clearly worn down.

You swallowed hard, the dizziness still buzzing faintly at the edges of your mind.

“I don’t want to make things harder for him.”

“He’ll know,” Jack said quietly, his voice flat with certainty. “He’ll come rushing in here once he finds out—I guarantee it.”

“He likes you—a lot, cares for you deeply” he said, matter-of-fact, like it was the plainest truth in the world. “I’ve seen him talk about people before—patients, colleagues, even exes. But never like this.”

Your eyes flicked open. Jack wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You didn’t interrupt. His words caught you off guard—soft but heavy.

“With you… it’s different,” Jack said. “He’s not the guy who makes big declarations. But his actions? Loud as hell.”

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours—not confrontational, just honest.

“That day—after everything fell apart—he barely said a word.”

Jack’s voice dropped. “He didn’t say much. But I’ve known him long enough to read between the lines. Michael’s the silent type. Shove it down, suffer alone. That’s always been his way. He doesn’t fall easily. And he sure as hell doesn’t bounce back quickly.”

And didn’t you know it—you ruined what you two had. You looked down at your hands.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you said.

Jack finally met your eyes. There wasn’t anger—just a tired kind of clarity. “Maybe not. But it still happened.”

There was no heat in his voice. No judgment. Just the truth.

“He’ll handle it. He always does.”

He backed toward the door.

“My instinct is to tell you to continue stay away from him... keep the distance. To protect him.”

A beat.

“But even with all that… there’s a part of me that still hopes it works out between you two.”

He held your gaze.

“If there’s even a small chance you feel the same—don’t waste it.”

Then, firm again, “But don’t show up in his orbit unless you’re sure.”

“I’ll be back to get you for the CT scan. If you need anything, press the call button.”

And with that, he was gone.

—

Dana had spent the last several minutes searching—looking for Michael. The constant rush of the ER had kept her moving nonstop, priorities shifting by the second as new cases rolled in. Between the noise, the pages, and the demands of back-to-back emergencies, she hadn’t had a spare moment—until now. Finally able to look, she peeked into each exam room as she passed, also scanning for Michael.

Finally, she spotted him. 

Standing in the doorway, she called out, “Dr. Robby?”

Michael was looking up from the chart he was filling out while Victoria Javadi, the med student currently shadowing him, checked the patient under his supervision.

“Can… I talk to you outside?”

Michael glanced at her, then back at Javadi.

“Hold it down here. I’ll be right back,” he said, giving her a nod before stepping out into the ER floor with Dana.

“What’s up?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest.

Dana swallowed. “Robby, she’s here. Exam Room 13.”

“Who’s here?” His brow furrowed, clearly not understanding.

“She’s here,” Dana said again, slower this time, her eyes locking onto him.

Then it hit him.

His stomach dropped.

You’re here.

“W–what?” he said, hard and sharp, disbelief cutting through his voice.

“The bus pulled in a while ago-"

“How long ago?!” His voice rose, sharp.

“Half an hour—she hit her head. Took a fall during the field trip—”

Michael’s heart skipped, then kicked into overdrive. He didn’t wait for the rest.

He turned on his heel and bolted, weaving through the ER, past gurneys, staff, and startled patients.

He barely registered people calling his name.

Didn’t care about the chart he’d left behind, the patient waiting for him at 7 with Victoria, or the conversation he’d been having seconds ago.

All he could hear was Dana’s voice echoing in his head.

She hit her head.

His hands were already trembling. Thoughts circled like vultures—loud, fast, frantic. He didn’t know how bad it was. Was it minor? Maybe. But probably not—Not if the ambulance brought her in.

And then another thought struck—hard and bitter.

He’d ignored you this morning.

You’d smiled at him. Said, “Good morning.” Told him to have a good day.

And he hadn’t said anything back.

He’d brushed past you like you didn’t matter. And now—now this.

His chest felt tight. His feet moved faster.

Room 13. Room 13. Room 13.

Nothing else mattered. Not now.

Because you were here.

And you were hurt.

 He rounded the corner too fast, nearly slipped—caught himself—nearly crashing into Jack as he stepped out of Exam Room 13.

“WOAH!” Jack exclaimed, throwing an arm out to steady them both.

“Robby—”

“I gotta get to her—I” Michael said breathlessly, trying to push past him.

Jack grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place. “Stop, she’s gone.”

Robby froze. His heart plummeted, eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He couldn’t breathe—he just stood there, stunned, like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

Jack’s eyes widened as he realized. “Oh—shit—no! Gone as in, not in the room! I took her to her CT scan!”

Michael’s breath shuddered out of him. He stumbled back a step, dragging a hand down his face.

“FUCK, Abbot!” he snapped, voice hoarse. “Next time, maybe lead with that!!!”

Jack winced, “Yeah. Okay. Fair. Sorry!” He says quickly.

Michael looked like he was about to break. Without hesitation, Jack grabbed his elbow and pulled him inside your exam room, closing the door behind them.

Jack softened. “You want to sit for a second?”

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “No. Just… give me a minute.”

His chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He turned away from Jack and leaned heavily against the wall, one hand braced flat against it while the other gripped his thigh. For a long moment, he stayed like that—bent slightly at the waist, eyes squeezed shut—trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

Then, with a trembling hand, he reached under his scrub top and T-shirt and pulled out the gold Star of David necklace he always wore—small, worn, and mostly hidden. He rubbed it between his fingers, clutching it tight in his calloused palm like a lifeline.

With his eyes still closed, he drew in a shaky breath, as if trying to summon strength from somewhere deep inside—something steady, unyielding.

Jack said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched, quiet and still, letting Michael have the space to come back to himself.

Michael straightened slowly, collecting himself.

“She’s okay?” Michael finally forced out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s conscious. Talking. But I’m pretty sure she has a skull fracture—I just don’t know how severe yet. We’re gonna have ro wait on the CT to tell us more.”

Michael’s face went pale. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Jack softened his tone. “Listen, Robby… I know this sucks. It’s scary, but you’re not alone here. We’re doing everything we can, as fast as we can. She’s tough, and she’s got the best care possible.”

He paused, then added, “It’s us. This team, this hospital—we make it work. You know that. You’ve been part of holding it together more times than I can count.”

Michael’s jaw twitched, but his eyes flicked up—just for a second—as Jack continued.

“She’s in good hands. Our hands.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.” But there was no real conviction in his voice. 

Jack glanced at Michael, his expression firm but not unkind.

“There’s nothing you can do right now, Robby,” he said quietly. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

Michael’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw still tight, hands flexing at his sides.

Jack’s voice softened. “And as much as I hate to say it… you’ve got to pull it together and do your job. For now. Until she comes back from CT. We’ll know more soon.”

Michael closed his eyes for a beat, breathing through the heaviness in his chest. Then he nodded—barely.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

Jack glanced around. “It’s busy today. You know how it is—we’ve got to stay on top of everything, keep things moving.”

Michael knew Jack was right. As much as it tore at him, there was nothing more he could do right now.

So he did the only thing he could—he took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and began to shift the panic into focus. Into control.

He would see you when you came back from CT. Until then, he’d do his job. Just like he always had.

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[marigold-hills]

your hands; mine (Stalker Remus AU) Part 6

PART 1 | | PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

The first spoonful is like silk.

Remus moans. Audibly, aloud. At the taste, at the texture. Bites into a chunk of frozen chocolate and it starts to melt on his tongue - calling it silk is a disservice. He wants to savor, to be slow about it, but he eats like a dog lapping up its favourite meal. Can’t hold himself back until the bowl is empty.

He looks up when Sirius’ milkshake makes a slurping empty sound. The straw is still in between those pretty lips. Sirius is wide eyed and staring, like he’s stuck in some liminal moment inside of his own mind.

Remus feels a trail of melted ice cream dribbling down the edge of his chin. He wipes it off with the back of his hand. Thoughtless, licks it off: tongue outstretched to catch every drop like it’s something holy.

Sirius chokes.

Just like that, Remus is brought back to himself. Feels ashamed. Dirty, ugly display of greed and bad manners. “Sorry,” he says, playing with the spoon to occupy his fingers.

“Looked like you enjoyed it.” Sirius’ voice wavers and he coughs a bit, like he’s regaining a breath.

“I did. Thank you.” Remus’ mam raised him to be a polite man. He knows this about himself. He tries to remember how to be one.

“You murdered someone for me,” Sirius says carelessly and flippantly and so very blunt. “Least I can do, really.”

Remus knows what he did. He sees glimpses of the blood on his hands. Sees the man towering over Sirius like a shadow. But somehow, despite all of this, in the cozy night of Sirius’ flat, amidst the kebab and the ice cream, he’s forgotten.

Now he remembers. Like a tidal wave rising and rising and rising. The memory is more like realisation: he killed a man. He ended a life. This person no longer exists, who they were and who they could have been, gone because of Remus.

It doesn’t make any sense. How can something - how can someone - be and then just not be? 

“Huh,” Remus says, or tries to. “Excuse me,” he thinks he adds as he stands up and walks to the bathroom. Kneels on the white tiles. Dry heaves into the white toilet bowl. It smells like citrus chemicals, sharp and harsh and cloying at his nostrils and throat. His eyes water and he closes them on a cough and remembers the one Sirius let out when the man kicked him.

There must be a bruise. Remus should have checked him over better.

Should have done a lot of things better.

The taste of chocolate turns vile. Shaky legs, he forces himself up and over the sink. Cupped hands under the tap he fills his mouth with water. Washes it out and spits it out and gargles. 

You murdered someone for me. 

These new builds are made in such ways that things echo. In a white-tiled bathroom even thoughts do. 

Sirius’s block of flats was only completed three years ago, nobody else has ever lived there. It’s not like the rows of houses where Remus lives, each of them passed down through generations or through estate agents. Where death and birth have happened so much they become commonplace. 

Here, Remus feels like the moment he stepped over the threshold he brought with him a ghost. Ghosts don’t belong in flats like this one.

Remus splashes water into his eyes and thinks he better take the ghost back with him. Better make space for it in his own narrow life. Underneath the washing machine, maybe, or in the slit between the fridge and the counter, where he can never quite properly clean. 

It will share his bed now, Remus thinks. Drink his tea. Look at him from behind mirrors and across the windows and just over his shoulder, out of reach and out of touch. 

Remus didn’t think he would be inviting someone’s presence to join his life. He’s been living alone since he moved out of the cottage, a decade ago. It’s a long time to make routines and get used to one's own ways.

“Remus?” Sirius calls out from the living room. His voice is far from the bathroom door. 

NEXT PART

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

Tags!

@hoje--aqui

@rae-lune

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@lunalovegoodsgirlfriend

@father-imperator

@brighterthanthou

@a-pine-cone

@tealeavesandtrash

[huffelpuff210]

You belong to me now

Dark Mob boss Bucky Barnes x OC Reader

Summary: Regin is Peter's Best friend what happens when Bucky and Steve get a glimpse of you for the first time, Bucky is the most feared boss in the entire country, and what ever he wants he gets, and he wants you.

Notes: Regin and Peter around around nineteen

Warnings: Age gap, forced relationship, forced marriage, violence, obsession, possessiveness.

If Peter wasn't my best friend right about now I would kill him. After my double shift at the hospital, He knocked on my door. Yeah we also live next door to each other, about a week ago he asked me on some advice on how to not show emotion, how to be hard as nails like me...

You see I show little emotion when it comes to people, I barely let my guard down, its how I survived living with my father until I moved out of course. But I don't take too much crap from anyone anymore,

But He asked me, So I did explain to him that the key is to keep your expression the same, that it is sort of like poker, you don't want your opponent to know what you are thinking, if they do then the game is up, 

He nodded agreeing, I did ask him why he wanted to know, He told me he applied for a job as one of the men in Barnes's crew, Even though I wanted to tell him that it was a bad Idea, I supported him, 

Now two weeks later, He needed my cooking skills so to speak, cooking my ass off because he was having dinner with his new boss and his bosses right hand man..

So here I am after shift cooking my famous lasagna, in dark jeans, that hugged my ass a little too well, a flannel and a pair of white tennis shoes. 

"Parker where in the hell do you keep the parsley?" I asked rummaging through the cabinets I am on my toes as I look though the top cabinet, I see a gun, 

"Seriously a gun but no spices?" 

He chuckles entering the room, 

"Mr Barnes says to keep one in close proximity of every room." He says 

"Peter don't call him Mr. Barnes you sound like a teenager." I say as he hands me the spice

"He said not to refer to him by his first name, since were not on a first name basis." He says 

"Then call him boss." I say sprinkling the spice 

"Oh I guess that does work." He says with a chuckle 

I roll my eyes, 

"Honestly how do you even survive without me?' I say in a blank tone, Peter is used to my tone most people take it as offensive or me being a bitch but that is just how I am, 

"I really don't know at this point." He says rubbing the back of his neck, 

"So my tips helped you get the job want more advice about tonight?" I asked putting the dish in the oven, 

"Yes." He says 

"First off stand straight, you are slouching," I say narrowing my eyes at him he straightened up, 

"No talking with your mouth full," I say 

"And go shower and change into something presentable you look like a hobo. and smell like one." I say 

"Yes ma'am." He says with a sarcastic salute, 

"You look like one too." He remarked 

I smirked 

"I'm not the one having a business dinner to impress my new boss now am I?" I say crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at him

"touché" He says 

"I won't be long." He says walking away 

"And don't douse yourself in Cologne!" I yell 

I pinch the bridge of my nose turning around, bending over to examine the food from outside of the oven, 

                                      Bucky POV 

Me and Steve enter the home of Parker, the kid means well but he acts like he's thirteen calling me mr Barnes, so Steve suggested dinner with the kid just to see how things go. 

We hear talking, 

"Mr Barnes says to keep one in close proximity of every room." We hear Peter  say

"Peter don't call him Mr. Barnes you sound like a teenager." we hear a female voice 

I swear if it's his mother I'm out..

"He said not to refer to him by his first name, since were not on a first name basis." He says 

"Then call him boss." we hear

We look at each other, I like this person already, We peek around the corner not making ourselves known, it was a woman about Peter's age, She had her dark hair in a messy bun, She looked to be about 5'4 maybe 5'3, she had piercing green eyes, she wore dark jeans, a dark red and blue flannel with a grey shirt underneath, 

She was breath taking, 

"Oh I guess that does work." He says with a chuckle 

she rolled her eyes, 

"Honestly how do you even survive without me?' she say in a blank tone, I smirked 

"I really don't know at this point." He says rubbing the back of his neck,

"So my tips helped you get the job want more advice about tonight?" she asked putting the dish in the oven, 

Me and Steve exchange looks, I smirked watching the exchange 

"Yes." He says 

"First off stand straight, you are slouching," she says narrowing her eyes at him he straightened up, 

"I like her." Steve mouthed I nodded 

"No talking with your mouth full," she says

"And go shower and change into something presentable you look like a hobo. and smell like one." she says

"Yes ma'am." He says with a sarcastic salute, 

"You look like one too." He remarked 

she smirked 

"I'm not the one having a business dinner to impress my new boss now am I?" she says crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him

"touché" He says 

"I won't be long." He says walking away 

"And don't douse yourself in Cologne!" she yells

she pinches the bridge of her nose turning around, bending over to examine the food from outside of the oven, and I get a nice view of her nicely shaped ass. Now I'm not much into younger women, But this one... this one I like.

I clear my throat. 

She looks over her shoulder with a bored look, 

"One minute." She says 

We both were a bit confused most people cower at the sight of us, 

She pulls the dish out of the oven taking it over to the table placing it in the middle straightening the dish, 

"Buy my estimate you two must be Barnes and Rogers." She says 

I hold out my hand, 

She takes it, 

"Please call me James or Bucky, and this is my right hand Steve." I say 

She shakes my hand then Steve's 

"Regin, Nice to meet you, I'll go fetch him for you." She says walking away without another word, 

"Oh I really like her." Steve says 

I chuckled 

"She's mine pal." I say with a smirk

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

sweeping you off your feet for the second time

an : rafayel x nonmc | nonmc is introverted & nonconfrontational | mc is the girl bestie of nonmc | college au | tried to make it fluff but maybe i failed | typed on my phone & non proofread | might be triggering for some - read at your own risk cause its hard to make a label for every single thing | i wrote this cause i wanted to hurt myself

next

CHAPTER ONE

The second year of college felt much like the first, a blur of lukewarm coffee, late-night study sessions, and the constant hum of hopeful, fearful possibility. For you, a simple girl who favored oversized sweaters and glasses that hid the curve of your cheekbones, that possibility always revolved around him. Rafayel.

He was a walking contradiction: loud laughter echoing down the hallways, a sass that could disarm anyone, a charm that felt like a physical force, and a ridiculous handsomeness that made heads turn wherever he went.

He was art in motion, vibrant and undeniable, and from the moment you’d seen him, a whirlwind of paint-splattered clothes and bright, uninhibited smiles, you’d been a quiet admirer. Just another face in the crowd he so effortlessly captivated.

You’d settled into a comfortable, easy friendship with him, surprising even yourself. He’d tease you about your meticulous notes, borrowing your highlighters and leaving them uncapped.

He’d drag you to impromptu art installations, rambling excitedly about light and shadow, and you’d listen, mesmerized, your heart doing a foolish, hopeful little dance.

You saw glimpses of something deeper in him, moments when his charming façade would flicker, revealing an almost unsettling intensity in his eyes when he looked at you, a possessive edge to his jokes if another guy spoke to you for too long.

You, being foolish and dumb, brushed it off as endearing protectiveness, a sign of a truly special friendship. You desperately wanted it to be more.

And then, it happened.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, rain streaking the common room window. You were buried in a particularly dense philosophy text when Rafayel sauntered over, a mischievous glint in his dazzling eyes. He leaned against the armchair next to you, close enough for you to catch the familiar scent of his expensive cologne, mixed with a hint of turpentine.

“Hey, Cutie,” he drawled, his voice a low purr. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

Your breath hitched. Thinking about what? Your mind raced, a thousand improbable scenarios blooming.

He straightened, running a hand through his perfectly messy hair, a gesture that always made a shiver run down your spine. “I was wondering… if you’d like to go on a date with me.”

The world tilted. The words felt too big, too bright, too real to be true. You stared at him, your simple exterior doing nothing to hide the sudden, dizzying flush that crept up your neck. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a drum solo of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

“A… a date?” you finally managed, your voice a barely audible squeak.

He grinned, that utterly charming, slightly arrogant grin. “Yeah. Like, dinner. Or a movie. Or just… hanging out, but, you know, dating hanging out.” He winked. “What do you say, cutie? Ready to step into the glamorous life?”

You barely heard the last part. All you knew was that your long-held dream, the secret yearning you’d nursed since freshman year, was actually, incredibly, coming true. Rafayel, the dazzling, charismatic Rafayel, wanted to go on a date with you. Foolish, dumb, naive you.

“Yes,” you blurted out, the word escaping before your brain could catch up. “Yes, I’d… I’d love to.”

And so, it began.

The "dating" felt like walking through a dream. He was every bit as charming as you’d always imagined. He’d open doors for you, pull out your chair, send you random, witty texts throughout the day.

He’d remember obscure details about your favorite books and bring them up in conversation, making you feel incredibly seen.

He’d even occasionally let his guard down, sharing a fleeting, almost vulnerable thought about his art or his family, and you’d cling to those moments, convinced they were proof of his genuine affection.

Yet, underneath the dazzling surface, subtle currents stirred. If another classmate lingered too long talking to you, Rafayel would appear, a hand casually resting on your lower back, his smile just a touch too wide as he interjected.

“Mind if I steal my girl for a bit? Important artistic inspiration to share.”

He’d discourage you from joining study groups, claiming he just wanted more time with you, his eyes holding an intensity that felt exhilaratingly possessive. You, wrapped in the intoxicating glow of his attention, saw it as devotion, a thrilling sign that he truly cared.

You started to shed the layers of your perceived plainness. You wore clothes that flattered your figure, experimented with your hair, and found a new confidence in your step. For the first time, you felt truly beautiful, desired, loved. You were finally the main character of your own story, and Rafayel was right there beside you, writing it with you.

Until the day the ink ran dry, and the paper-thin reality ripped apart.

It was a Friday night, and you were walking across campus after a particularly lovely dinner with Rafayel. He’d just dropped you off at your dorm, leaving you flushed with happiness. As you passed the open window of a friend’s room, a burst of laughter erupted from within. And then, a familiar voice, loud and clear, the voice of Leah.

“Oh my god, Rafayel, you actually did it! You kept it up for almost two months! We thought you’d fold after a week!”

Your heart stopped. You pressed yourself against the cold brick wall, suddenly invisible.

Another voice, one of Rafayel’s closest friends, crowed, “Best. Dare. Ever! Cutie, the plain Jane of the lit department, thinking she actually snagged him! Classic!”

Then, Rafayel’s voice, smooth and laced with a hint of amusement, cut through the night.

“Hey, a dare’s a dare. Besides, it was… an interesting experiment. She’s not bad, just… a little too serious for my taste. But points for persistence, right? And she totally fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.”

His laugh, so familiar, so beloved, now sounded like shattered glass.

“She’s so gullible.”

The world spun, a vortex of agony. A dare. An interesting experiment. Gullible. Every sweet word, every charming gesture, every intensely possessive glance – it all twisted into a grotesque, mocking parody of love.

You hadn't been desired; you'd been a pawn. You hadn't been loved; you'd been a joke. Your heart, once so full, was now a gaping, bleeding wound. The confidence you'd found, the beauty you thought you possessed – it was all built on a foundation of lies.

You stumbled back to your dorm, the vibrant college campus now a cold, mocking landscape. You locked the door, sinking to the floor, tears streaming down your face. The pain was physical, a crushing weight that stole your breath. The admiration you’d held for him since freshman year, the foolish hope you’d nursed, the blossoming love – it had all been for this. To be the punchline of a cruel, casual dare.

You looked at your reflection in the darkened window, seeing not the confident girl you’d become, but the "plain Jane" they'd mocked, the "gullible" girl who had believed in a lie.

The slow burn wasn't just your unrequited love; it was the agonizing, drawn-out realization that you had given your heart, freely and completely, to a game.

And Rafayel, the loud, sassy, ridiculously handsome boy you loved, had simply used it as an amusing way to pass the time.

The price you paid was your shattered innocence, your trust, and the agonizing knowledge that you were nothing more than "just for fun."

[sainz100]

ahead of the 2018 British GP | x

[rafeslvbug]

paediatrician!rafe finding out singlemom!reader has no support…

“alright then, i’ve given her her medication, we’ll wait a couple minutes and she should be good to go,” rafe murmurs, settling aurora into your arms again, watching with a smile as she sleepily looks up up at you, gummy grin and chubby fingers stretching out to you.

you let her close her fingers around your pinkie, her body still small as she’s only three weeks old prematurely, still not reaching how big she would have been at full term.

“thank you,” you tell him, voice a bit hoarse from having lost it to the past few nights of trying to shush her, and handling phone calls from the temporary hotel manager taking over from you, unsure on what to do and bothering you even more. tiredness had caught up to you, washing over you with each appointment and hour that passed.

concerned, his brows furrow at the sound of your voice, asking, “lost your voice?”. he takes a seat opposite you, resisting the urge to stretch a hand out, fingers tapping against his knee.

you nod, stroking back aurora’s hair and repositioning her head while you lightly laugh, “yeah, i’ve had to yell over her wails and try to get through to this temporary hire who’s taking over my job. they keep calling me thinking i’m just on sick leave or something.”

you hoped he would laugh. you hoped it would ease the pinch in his brows but it only deepened it. “you could get your husband to do it- or sorry- aurora’s father?” he corrects himself, not wanting to make an assumption.

lips pursed, you shake your head. “no husband. dad’s not in the picture, didn’t want a kid i’m sure,” you mutter bitterly.

“oh..that’s shitty, he’s an asshole..” realisation dawns on him, how you were alone during labour, alone when he came to see you the first time, alone when you came in crying about aurora’s restlessness. you’ve always been alone. “parents?” he asks, praying that you had that at least, but he felt the answer you were about to give gnawing at his chest.

offering him a soft smile, you shake your head, “no..they uhm, they really liked my ex. thought i should have got an abortion but i wanted kids so..is that selfish?” you don’t notice how his eyes darken, focusing on the guilty look that flashes across your face.

“no.” he grits out, shaking his head firmly. “don’t think for a second that you’re selfish, you’re not, and they’re all jerks for leavin’ you,” he continues, running his hand over his face.

letting out an appreciative hum, you keep on admiring aurora, noting every little feature and how special she is.

“see? how could that be selfish?” he murmurs, causing you to snap your head up with a confused look, letting out a little “huh”.

“you’re only thinkin’ about her, you care about her. that’s not selfish, you’re riskin’ a lot just to have this girl in your life,” he walks over, slowly taking her from your arms to check how her medicine is working.

he glances down at you, glittering blue eyes and a shared soft smile, before handing her back to you. “all good,” he mutters, before moving to his computer.

“just out of curiosity,” he calls out before you leave through the door. “what’s his name? your ex?” he raises his eyebrows, looking up from his computer.

you cock your head, stepping closer to him, “why?”

he grins and shakes his head, typing something down, “no reason.”

wary, and beginning to let a fatigued giggle escape your lips as you walk a bit closer, setting aurora’s carrier down with her in it and trying to get a glimpse of what’s he’s feverishly typing. “rafe what are you typing?”

“nothing! you can’t look at the doctor’s computer,” he laughs, hiding his screen as his hands come to your shoulders, softly spinning you around and handing aurora to you.

“rafe..” you warn over your shoulder and he only shrugs coyly, opening the door for you and giving you a little wave as you leave. not before calling after to you, “hey! remember though, you have me to help, if you need it.” you smile, mouthing another “thank you” to him before you’re leaving through the double doors, out the hospital.

when he returns to his computer he opens up the watch file he was creating, for a certain baby daddy who left his beautiful girlfriend and cute daughter - a man about to be banned from the premises.

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616

[mostly-imagines]

Hi!! If you're up to it do you think you could write something about the first time Jason brings his gf to the manor. Like maybe he brings her in but doesn't tell anyone and so everyone is trying to sneak a glimpse of her??

meet the family

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason has a girlfriend???

warnings: none

The manor sits full as ever—a cloud of mild boredom sweeping over the Wayne clan.

Dick sits perched on top of an armchair reading a catalog, Stephanie’s splayed out across the couch, Cass is bundled up in blankets atop the ottoman, and Damian leans up against the center table from the floor.

It’s a relatively slow afternoon, until Tim comes bursting into the room, out of breath.

“There’s a girl here!”

Everybody looks at him, disinterest scattered across the room. “There’s a couple of ‘em.” Dick says, flipping through the pages of the magazine.

Tim huffs, “No! In Jason’s room—he has a girl in there!” Eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Now I know you’re lying.” Damian mutters.

Tims head snaps over to Damian. “Dude, go see for yourself. I heard her!”

“You really think Jason would bring a girl here and not even introduce us?” Steph asks, unconvinced.

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Obviously.”

Cassandra nods fervently.

“Okay, yeah. Maybe.” Stephanie mutters. “I bet he’ll introduce me before any of you guys, though.”

Dick barks out a laugh, “You’re nothing short of delusional if you think he’s introducing any of us.”

“We’ll have to take matters into our own hands, then.” Tim says, decidedly.

Damian audibly sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I’m meeting her first.” Steph confirms. “I’ll put money down right now.”

“Meet her or see her?” Cass signs.

“Same thing.” Stephanie shrugs.

Dick shoots up from his seat, “First person to see her gets to be the ring bearer!” He announces, racing out of the room.

Knock knock knock knock knock…

Knock knock.

It takes a good forty seconds, but Jason opens the door, an annoyed frown already on his face.

Dick gives him his brightest smile. It beams of deceit in Jason's eyes. “Hey man. What’cha doing?”

He crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

Dick tries to peer around Jason into the room, but Jason made a point of barely opening the door and his large frame isn’t doing Dick any favors right now.

“Just wanted to say hey…You wanna hang out?”

“No.”

Dick lingers awkwardly. “…Are you sure?”

Jason shuts the door.

A couple minutes later, Tim comes running up the stairs. He opts to skip over the courtesy of knocking and go straight for barging through the door himself. Or he would’ve, if Jason hadn’t seen that coming from a mile away and locked it.

“Fuck off, Tim!” Jason calls from inside the room.

“You lost your right to privacy the second you walked in this house!” He shouts back, hitting his fist against the door.

And Tim swears he can hear a sweet laugh as he trudges away. The authenticity of that claim will be heavily debated downstairs for the next several minutes.

Not even a thirty seconds later, Stephanie comes a knockin’. Jason opens the door wordlessly, patience clearly dissipating more and more.

“Hey, Jason! I can’t find my comm, you wouldn’t happen to have it, would you?”

His face deadpans. “No, Steph.”

Stephanie clicks her tongue, “Can you check?”

He stares at her.

“Actually you’re right, it would be faster if I did.” Stephanie tries to push past him into the room, but Jason, unsurprisingly, doesn’t budge.

“Stephanie.”

“I just want to meet her!” She pleads. “I won’t even tell the others, I’ll just say you wouldn’t let me in either!”

“Bye.” He closes the door.

He doesn’t make it all the way back to the bed before the next knock, singular and short.

Jason snaps the door open again, looking down at Damian with a glare.

Never one to waste any time, “Is there a girl in here?” Damian asks, seeming thoroughly disinterested in the answer.

Jason shuts the door in his face.

Several minutes later, another, quieter knock. Jason’s groan can be heard from outside the room. He pulls open the door once again.

It’s Cass.

She stares at him.

He stares at her.

“Can I say hi to her?” She signs.

Jason sighs. “I’ll pass along the message.”

She smiles and turns back down the hall.

Jason closes and locks the door once again, trudging back over to the bed where you lay. He collapses onto your chest, your arms wrapping around each others bodies immediately.

“Cass says hi.” He mumbles, the sound obscured by his face-down position.

“That message would be a lot more meaningful if I actually knew Cass.”

He groans. “You don’t want to meet them.”

“I do.” You say, running your fingers through his hair. “And I think you do too, or you wouldn’t have brought me to the house where the world's best detectives live.”

“I’m starting to regret it now.”

“Come on. Please?” You plead.

He picks his head up to look at you.

“Are you sure?” He asks with a grimace.

“Absolutely.” You say, topping it off with a kiss on his cheek.

He sighs.

Well. It’s never been within Jason’s skill set to deny you, anyways.

You descend the stairs hand in hand with Jason, his energy mopier than usual. You can hear a gaggle of voices coming from a room ahead, all talking over one another.

“Okay, Tim, you climb up outside the window and—”

“—It’s your plan, you scale the side of the house.”

Jason drops his head and mutters a “Jesus Christ…” as you near the commotion.

You give him a reassuring smile and pat his back as you both move into the doorway.

Everyone’s heads snap to the doorway, eyes wide and waiting.

Jason takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself for torture. “Guys…This is my girlfriend.”

“Hi.” You smile sweetly, waving to the room.

There’s a moment of still silence before the room erupts.

“Hold on—”

“—my god, she’s so pretty!”

“Oh wow—”

“Wait, what?”

”—You’re real?”

“—didn’t place that bet.”

Stephanie comes scurrying up to you and grabs both of your hands in hers. “Hi, I’m Steph!” She says with a beaming smile. “What’s your name?”

“I’m—”

But the others are right on her tail, crowding around you.

“We didn’t even know Jason had a girlfriend.” Tim says.

“Still not convinced.” Damian mumbles from the back.

Cass waves and signs something to you.

“She says we’re really happy to meet you, which we are.” Dick tells you.

Damian moves closer within the huddle and inspects you closely. You have no idea what he’s inspecting you for. You don’t need to dwell on it for long because Jason pushes his head away from you with mild force making Damian scowl.

Stephanie chimes in, “Did he bring you here to meet us? The others said—”

Jason cuts her off, already knowing exactly where that sentence was going. “I brought her here to show her my old room.”

Dick snickers, “Oh, is that what you were off doing?”

“Watch it.” Your boyfriend warns.

You nudge him with your elbow, be nice.

Tim moves closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “So you’ve like, spent time with him and everything? And you still want to be around him?”

“Okay and you’re done.” Jason takes your hand and leads you out of the room and back down the hallway.

“No wait!”

You’re already out of the room and into another and then another before you can even realize that you’re headed for the front door.

You stop in your tracks, pulling him to a halt as well. “What about—”

Jason shakes his head. “You don’t want to meet him.”

You lower your chin at him, “Jay. Do you want me to meet him?”

He’s silent and doesn’t look like he particularly does.

You sigh, “Okay, do you want him to meet me?”

“I—yeah…” he trails, and you give him your best sweet eyes, the ones that he knows he has no business saying no to. “I…okay. Okay.”

He leads you down another hallway, the sounds of his siblings clambering echoing in the distance. You end up in a room that looks like a never used study, where Jason pushes on one of the walls. It slides open with a bit of force from him, revealing a door with a keypad next to it.

He types a series of numbers into it, and opens it up to a narrow passageway that looks remarkably like a cave.

The passageway leads down to a set of stairs, and you can hear the loud sound of water in the distance.

You’re quite nervous about walking into the Batcave, but you know Jason wouldn’t bring you anywhere near it unless he was sure it would be okay. Okay for you that is, more so than his father.

“Careful. It’s slippery.” Jason holds your hand the whole way down anyway, making sure to linger no more than a step and a half in front of you.

You see Bruce Wayne, sitting at a desk with a large array of computer screens in front of it, and case files scattered all throughout the surface.

He doesn’t acknowledge your entrance, though you have to imagine if Jason got his observation skills from anywhere, it would be him.

As you approach, Jason switches your hands so that his left is holding your left. The result has his figure half covering you, you can only assume partially limiting Bruce’s view of you.

“Bruce.”

Bruce turns his chair around, regarding Jason with a raised chin. The greeting is somehow even more formal than you’d expected.

“Jason.” He readdresses his gaze to you. “Who’s this?”

Jason has a hell of a feeling that Bruce already knows exactly who you are. He’s probably known about you since you started dating. He would’ve had to, to not be pissed as hell that Jason brought a civilian into the cave.

Jason introduces you, his hand reluctantly letting go as you step forward to shake Bruce’s.

Bruce looks surprised, though pleasantly so. He smiles and shakes it kindly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He says.

“You too, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You say, smiling.

He laughs, “Oh, I bet.” Looking to Jason, he says, “I can’t say I’ve had the same pleasure, unfortunately.”

Though Jason’s behind you now, you can practically feel him roll his eyes.

“No, I can’t imagine him sharing anything unprovoked.” Bruce smiles widely at that.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but Jason, who’s probably on the brink of losing his mind down here, interrupts.

“Alright. Time to go.” Jason says, grabbing your hand again. He doesn’t give you much time to protest before he’s guiding you by the waist past him and towards the stairs.

You let him nudge you out and call over your shoulder, “It was nice meeting you!”

He’s halfway up the stairs as you exit, only to be stopped by Bruce addressing him again.

“Jason.”

Jason stalls his steps, turning around slowly. You’re out of the cave now, and Jason’s not excited to be alone with his Dad for even a minute. It doesn’t help that he has no idea what he’ll say.

“She’s kind.” Bruce says, simply.

“Yes.”

He tilts his head at Jason, observing him. “You love her?”

Jason looks at the ground. “Yes.”

Bruce nods. “Good.”

He returns to his work at the computers wordlessly, and Jason has to take a moment to realign himself before he climbs the rest of the stairs.

Jason doesn’t particularly seek his fathers approval, nor does he place any definable value on it. However, hearing him give his own version of his blessing to you struck something inside Jason. Something deep in his chest.

He re-enters the study, finding it empty. He walks out into the hallway, where you’re nowhere to be found. Despite being halfway across the house by this point, he can distinctly hear his siblings chattering in the living room. Chattering. And chattering. And chattering…

Oh god, you went back to the living room.

As Jason approaches the conversation becomes clearer.

“—long have you been together, anyways?”

“Well—”

Stephanie gasps suddenly, cutting you off. “Oh wait, you have to meet Alfred!”

“Oh, we’ve already met.” You tell her.

Dick’s head snaps up. “What? When?”

Jason enters the room, draping his arm around your shoulder. “About six months before you met her.”

A chorus of gasps and shouts ring out.

“What?”

[iydiamartinx]

ALWAYS WITHIN REACH

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 1.3k synopsis: Jason Todd doesn’t love loudly but he shows it with his constant presence and actions. a/n: To my anon who requested this, I love you and I loved writing this, but this made me feel so single. I need a man like Jason 😭

The first time you noticed it—really noticed it—was when you were heading out to grab a coffee.

You’d only grabbed your keys and a hoodie, ready to walk the two blocks to the corner store. The weather was mild, the streets quiet, and you hadn’t planned on being gone more than fifteen minutes. As you crouched to tie your laces, yawning mid-sentence, you called out lazily, “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Want anything?”

Jason was sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, blanket twisted around his legs. He’d groaned not five minutes ago about needing a nap and you figured he’d be out cold by now.

But then you heard the couch creak. He was sitting up.

“I’ll come with you.”

You blinked. “You just said—”

“I’ll drive.” He was already pushing to his feet, reaching for his keys like it wasn’t up for debate.

You stared, baffled. “Jay, I’m literally going across the street.”

He didn’t seem to hear you—or more likely, chose not to. Shirt half-buttoned, boots barely tied, he grabbed his jacket in one hand and your fingers in the other, dragging you gently toward the door. You didn’t argue, mostly because you were still sleepy and not quite ready to match his brand of  stubborn.

The drive took three minutes. He didn’t say much, just rested one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, thumb brushing slow, absent circles against your skin like he needed the contact more than the caffeine. Even when he pulled up to the drive-thru window, when you took the drink with a grateful smile and settled back in your seat, Jason didn’t let go. He shifted the wheel easily with one hand, the other still anchored to you, thumb still stroking your skin. 

You didn’t think much of it at the time.

The next time it happened, it was at the grocery store.

You were pushing the cart down an aisle while Jason trailed just behind, his hand warm and steady on the small of your back. It stayed there for most of the trip—absentminded, comforting. Sometimes he’d give a gentle nudge when you paused too long comparing brands, or he’d slide his fingers up your spine for no reason at all except to feel you there.

At one point, somewhere between the produce section and the towering shelves of canned goods, Jason muttered that he needed more protein powder. His voice was low and distracted, already halfway turned toward the far end of the store. He didn’t look back, thinking you were following but instead, you nodded vaguely and veered off toward the ice cream aisle, figuring you could cover more ground that way. 

You moved slowly, eyes scanning the frosty rows of half-gallons and pints. The doors of the freezer hissed quietly as you opened one, cool air spilling out as your reached for two pints, debating between cookie dough and mint chocolate chip. 

You weren’t even half way through the aisle when you felt him behind you again. 

His arms sliding around your waist and wrapping you up without a word. The warmth of him sank through your hoodie, his body pressing close to yours. A moment later, the weight of his head dropped gently onto your shoulder. His breath ghosted over the curve of your neck, soft and steady, the contrast to the chilled air in front of you making your skin prickle.

Leaning back into him just a little, you tilted your head, angling for a glimpse of his face, searching for something—an explanation, maybe. But all you found was the slope of his brow pressed close to your temple, his mouth relaxed, his lashes lowered like he might stay there forever if you let him.

“You okay?” you murmured.

He gave the smallest of nods, the movement brushing his cheek against yours. You stayed like that for a moment longer, Eventually, your fingers drifted toward the freezer door again, and you began to move. His arms loosened, but just enough to let you walk without pulling fully away. One of his hands slid down, fingers catching yours, while his other reached for the cart, reclaiming it without comment, guiding it forward to where you wanted to go.

And that’s when you started to see the pattern.

Jason always walked on the side closest to the street, his body subtly shifting until you were on the inside of the sidewalk, sheltered from traffic. Every single time. Even if it meant cutting mid-conversation to switch sides, or gently tugging you across with a hand to your waist or a brush of fingers against your wrist. It didn’t matter how casual the outing—he’d never let you walk street-side.

He held doors open without thinking, reaching out before you could even touch the handle. And whenever you were out together, his hand was never far. Sometimes laced through yours like second nature, your fingers intertwined as you walked in step. Other times, it rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through doorways, around corners, through crowds. 

He insisted on coming with you for errands. Always. It didn’t matter how mundane the task or how quick the trip—Jason was already pulling on his jacket before you finished asking, sometimes you didn’t even have to. And he never complained. Not once. Didn’t check his phone or sigh impatiently. He carried the bags. He waited while you debated between brands of ice cream. Even standing in line, he’d hook a finger through your belt loop and tug you back against him, chin on your shoulder, arms looped loosely around your waist as you two waited.

At gas stations, he always got out with you—even if all you were doing was grabbing gum and a drink. He filled the tank, too, waving off your protests with a quiet, “I got it.” In bookstores, he trailed behind you with a hand on your back, the other juggling the growing stack of titles you kept passing him with a sheepish smile. He never complained about those either. 

In crowded spaces, his arm always found its way around your waist or over your shoulders, pulling you into his side without a word.

And when you ran into people you knew—coworkers, old classmates, friends of friends—he didn’t interrupt or try to charm them. He didn’t puff up or shrink away, instead he seemed content to speak when spoken to. Otherwise he was content to stand at your side. One hand stayed low on your back, rubbing soothing circles.

They often stared at him warily—he was hard not to notice, after all. Tall, sharp-jawed, rough-edged. And yet, despite how intimidating everyone else found him, Jason was soft with you. Protective, yes. But never overbearing. He didn’t tell you what to do or try to keep you in a box made of fear. He just wanted to stay close.

It was subtle, but constant. And the truth was…you kind of loved it.

He was protective in the kind of way that didn’t feel like a cage—it felt like shelter. Like he needed to keep you close not because he didn’t trust you or because he thought you were weak. He stayed close because he knew what the world could be like. He didn’t want to control you. He just didn’t want to lose you.

And maybe that was it. Maybe that was why, no matter where you were or what you were doing, you never had to reach far to find him. In a room full of people, he was there. Even in sleep, he found you. Always.

Because while the world knew Jason as the Red Hood—fearless, violent, deadly—you knew this version. The one who always held your hand, who never let you walk alone, whose constant presence promised you that he was always there for you.

And in the spaces between who he was and how the world saw him, you found the truth of him. A man who had lived through hell, and loved you like it was his personal vow.

[jkwrites-m]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: established relationship, fluff, smut

Word Count: 6.4k

Summary: He’s finally home. And Y/N is ready to love him for the rest of forever.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, cursing, kissing, emotional vulnerability, light confessions, multiple smut scenes, separation, military, crying, light anxiety, explicit: praise, fingering, body worship, breast play, oral (f. receiving), slight handjob, unprotected sex (this is fiction!),

A/N: in honor of our boys coming back 🫡 (& another time ending & crying from everyone’s lovely comments), here’s a lil something since I stayed up all night to write bc what’s sleep? 🫶 (i originally planned like 3k words but i got kinda carried away 🤭)

♡ MASTERLIST

═══════

The clock ticked louder than it ever had before.

I’d vacuumed the living room twice. Rearranged the throw pillows six times. Lit two candles- one because it smelled like vanilla and safety, and the other because it was his favorite and smelled like expensive cologne and pine trees. My heart had been hammering against my ribs for the past hour, and now it had officially moved to my throat.

I was pacing.

Still in his oversized gray hoodie. Still barefoot. Still wearing the stupid socks with the tiny bunnies on them because they were his favorite and made him smile when he caught me dancing in them, and god, I just wanted him to smile again.

Eighteen months.

A year and a half of letters and FaceTime and countdowns and aching. The kind of ache that settled into your bones and made even the softest days feel sharp. And now, at last, it was over.

He was coming home.

Jeon Jungkook- my boyfriend, my best friend, my whole fucking world- was minutes away from walking through our door.

I felt like I was going to throw up. Or cry. Or both.

Probably both.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror and winced. I looked soft, nervous, flushed. Eyes too bright, mouth slightly open like I was afraid to breathe.

The couch still had the dent from the last time he sat there, all those months ago, legs spread, hair a mess, tugging me onto his lap while pretending we had five more minutes. The plants had survived, shockingly. His bunny mug was still in the cabinet, a little dusty but sacred. His dog tags were tucked in the top drawer of my nightstand, hidden like a secret I never wanted to forget.

My phone buzzed.

Jungkook: On my way up now 💜

My lungs forgot how to work.

I backed up until I was pressed against the front door, fingers curled around the hem of his hoodie, grounding myself in the scent that still lingered no matter how long it had been washed.

A minute passed.

And then, I heard it.

The sound of keys.

The soft jingle of metal against metal.

The world stopped spinning.

The doorknob turned slowly, like a movie playing in slow motion. The click of the lock releasing. A pause. A shift in the air.

And then- he was there.

He stood there for a second like he wasn’t sure if this was real.

His uniform was neat but creased from travel. The duffel bag slipped off his shoulder and thudded to the floor, forgotten. His hair was shorter than when I last saw him, neatly buzzed on the sides, grown just enough on top to let a few strands curl slightly across his forehead. His eyes- those stupid, beautiful brown eyes met mine, and they were glassy.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. I just stared, like blinking might make him disappear.

He said nothing at first. Just looked at me like I was a miracle.

And then he smiled.

That lazy, crooked, I-love-you-so-much-I-can’t-stand-it smile.

“Hi,” he said softly, voice rough and low.

I didn’t remember crossing the room. I just knew I was in his arms.

I slammed into him with enough force that he stumbled back a step, and his arms snapped around me like steel. His breath hitched. My fingers dug into his back, holding him as close as possible, trying to pull him into me.

“Shit,” he whispered against my hair. “You’re real. You’re really here.”

“You’re here,” I breathed, shaking. “You’re actually here.”

And then we kissed.

Hard. Fast. Desperate.

He tasted like spearmint gum and tears and every single day I’d waited for him. Our mouths clashed, messy and urgent, and I whimpered when he cupped my face with both hands, thumbs stroking the apples of my cheeks like I might fade if he didn’t touch every inch of me.

When we finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead to mine, his voice cracking.

“I kept dreaming about this.”

I laughed through a sob. “I kept your mug on the top shelf. It’s dusty as hell, but it’s yours.”

He laughed, breathless, hugging me tighter. “That stupid bunny one?”

“Of course.”

He looked at me like I was made of stars. “God, I missed you.”

I swallowed hard. “I missed you so bad, Jungkook. It physically hurt.”

His nose brushed mine. “Don’t cry yet. You promised not to cry.”

I wiped at my cheeks, sniffling. “You promised not to make me cry in the first five minutes.”

“And yet here we are,” he said with a grin, stepping inside fully and kicking the door closed behind him.

The moment it clicked shut, something shifted.

The weight of the past eighteen months lifted just enough for us to breathe.

He bent down, gently picking up his duffel bag with one hand and keeping the other firmly around my waist, like letting go wasn’t an option. I guided him toward the living room, heart still pounding in my ears, his presence so overwhelming it felt like light filling up every corner of a long-empty room.

═══════

We sat on the couch in the same spot we always claimed.

He let out a long sigh and leaned back, pulling me onto his lap without hesitation. I curled into him like I’d never left, straddling his thighs, arms wrapped around his neck. His hands settled on my hips, thumbs rubbing slow, calming circles.

“Still fits,” he murmured, looking down at the way I curled into him.

“What, me?” I teased.

He smirked. “You. The hoodie. The weight of you in my arms. All of it.”

I flushed, brushing my fingers across his cheek. “You look… God, I forgot how good you look up close.”

“Yeah?” he said, eyebrows raised, cocky grin pulling at his lips.

I nodded, biting my lip. “Like you’re gonna kiss me stupid again.”

He didn’t answer with words. He leaned in and did exactly that.

His lips were warm and familiar.

The kind of kiss that melted through skin and settled in the marrow.

I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t think I could stop. His mouth moved against mine like he was relearning every curve, every sigh, every tiny sound I made when he tilted his head just a little bit more. His fingers pressed against the small of my back, pulling me closer until there was nothing left between us but heat and years of pent-up wanting.

When we finally broke for air, he was smiling.

That soft, smug, gorgeous smile I hadn’t seen in person in far too long.

“You’re seriously trying to kill me,” I murmured, brushing my thumb along his bottom lip.

His eyes sparkled. “You think I flew across the country, got discharged, and came home just to not kiss you stupid?”

I snorted, burying my face in his neck. “You smell like detergent and danger.”

“Danger?” he repeated with a laugh. “Baby, I’m tame now. Government-issued. Fully trained in discipline.”

I pulled back just enough to raise a brow. “Yeah? That right?”

He nodded solemnly. “Mmhm. Highly decorated. Wildness fully contained.”

I rolled my hips just slightly in his lap- barely there, just enough to see if he’d crack.

He did.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hands tightening on my hips. “Okay- maybe not that contained.”

“That’s what I thought,” I whispered, lips brushing against the corner of his jaw.

His head tilted back, exposing his throat, and I kissed the smooth skin there, letting my teeth graze just enough to make him shiver.

“Eighteen months,” he whispered. “Do you know how many times I imagined this exact moment?”

“How many?”

“Too many to count. Always you. Always this hoodie. Always the way you look when you’re about to get what you want.”

I grinned. “What makes you think I’m about to get what I want?”

His hands slid under the hem of the hoodie, fingers grazing my bare thighs.

“Because I’m about to give you everything.”

═══════

He stood with me in his arms like I weighed nothing, one arm hooked under my legs, the other around my back. I squealed, laughing into his shoulder as he carried me down the hallway like some lovesick soldier in a romantic drama.

“I can walk, you know,” I teased.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he said, voice low. “Let me carry you for a bit.”

I bit my lip, heart stuttering.

He pushed open the bedroom door with his foot and set me down gently on the mattress. For a moment, we just looked at each other. No words. No teasing.

Just us.

His eyes roamed my face like it was holy. Like he was mapping me out again. He slid his hand up my leg slowly, reverently, pausing at the edge of the hoodie.

“Still mine?” he asked, voice rough.

“Always,” I whispered.

His mouth crashed into mine again.

But this time, it was slower. Deeper. We kissed like we had time. Like we had forever.

And as his hands started tugging fabric, and mine fumbled with the buttons of his uniform, I felt it- that tiny pulse of something perfect. Something sacred.

He kissed down the column of my neck like it was the only way he remembered how to breathe.

Slow, lingering, lips dragging along my pulse point, a warm exhale every time his mouth hovered just above skin. My fingers were in his hair before I realized it, tugging slightly, needing to anchor myself in something because I felt like I was floating.

The hoodie was still on me.

I think he liked it that way for a minute- his oversized clothing wrapped around my body, bare legs curled in the sheets beneath me, looking up at him like he hung the damn stars.

“Kook,” I whispered, fingers brushing his jaw.

He looked up, eyes dark and unreadable.

“Take it off,” I said, voice smaller than I meant it to be. “Please.”

His expression softened.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t tug or yank or act like he’d been waiting eighteen months just to get me naked- even if we both knew that was true. Instead, he knelt on the bed, hands sliding slowly up my thighs and under the hoodie, pushing the fabric up inch by inch.

I raised my arms for him.

He peeled it off gently, reverently like unwrapping something precious.

I was bare underneath. Nothing but skin and nerves.

He let out a slow, shaky breath. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

My skin flushed. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

His eyes drank me in like he was trying to memorize everything- the curve of my waist, the swell of my chest, the way I was already squirming under his gaze.

“You look like a dream,” he said, voice hoarse.

“And you look like mine,” I whispered back.

He leaned down, lips brushing the skin between my breasts, and I arched up into him on instinct.

Everything felt amplified. My body was hyper-aware of him. The way his fingertips skated along my hips, how he kissed across my ribs, how he made sure to linger in every spot that made me twitch or sigh or clutch the sheets.

“Still okay?” he asked, lips hovering above my belly.

“God, yes.”

“I want to go slow,” he murmured. “I don’t want to miss a single second.”

I reached for him, tugged gently on his shirt. “Then take this off and let me look at you.”

He sat up and pulled the dark green uniform shirt over his head, revealing tanned skin and inked muscle. My mouth dried instantly.

“You’ve been working out,” I said, biting my lip.

He smirked. “Had to keep busy.”

“Well, it paid off.”

I ran my hands down his chest, loving the way he shivered under my touch.

He lowered himself onto me, skin to skin now, heat meeting heat, and kissed me like he meant to make up for every night we’d lost.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispered, voice barely holding together.

“I do,” I breathed. “Because I felt it too.”

His hand slipped between us, and I gasped.

The real beginning was here.

And I was ready.

═══════

His fingers moved slowly- deliberate, trembling slightly, like the gravity of touching me again after so long was still settling in.

I opened for him instinctively, breath catching as he slid two fingers along my folds, testing, teasing, learning me all over again. His forehead pressed to mine, eyes never leaving mine, watching every twitch of my mouth as I whimpered under his touch.

The air between us was thick with anticipation, heavy with the weight of eighteen months apart.

“You’re soaked,” he breathed, his voice rough and low, as if the words were torn from him against his will.

“You’re late,” I whispered, a teasing edge to my tone, though my heart was pounding in my chest. I couldn’t help but smile, even as my body arched into his touch, craving more.

He let out a strangled laugh and kissed me again, lips claiming, hand steady as he slipped one finger inside me, and I gasped so loud he groaned, his breath hot against my skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, kissing down my throat. “I forgot how tight- how perfect- ”

“Don’t you dare stop,” I breathed, nails digging into his shoulder, holding him close. I needed him, needed this, after so long apart.

He didn’t.

A second finger joined the first, slower now, deliberate, as if he were mapping every inch of me. My hips bucked up into his hand without shame, without hesitation.

I wanted all of him. Now.

My hands fumbled at his waistband, and he didn’t stop me. In fact, he shifted just enough to help, pushing the last of his clothing off, bare now, hot and flushed and hard as hell. My mouth actually dropped open.

I looked down.

“Oh.”

His smirk was wicked, playful, the same one that had always made my heart skip a beat. “Something you missed?”

I bit my lip. “So much.”

And then I was on my back again, legs wrapped around his waist, his body hovering above mine like a question- waiting for the answer we both already knew. I could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, and my answer was already written in the way my body arched toward his.

“Still sure?” he whispered, forehead pressed to mine.

“Don’t make me beg,” I said softly, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside me.

His hips rolled forward.

We both gasped.

It was a stretch- the good kind. The perfect kind. Like being filled up with something that felt like love and breath and the sun all at once. He sank in slowly, carefully, kissing me through every inch, groaning against my mouth when he bottomed out.

We didn’t move at first.

Just stared at each other like the world had ended and we were all that was left. His eyes searched mine, full of questions and answers, of everything we hadn’t said in the months apart.

Then he started to move.

Slow. Rhythmic. Deep.

Every thrust was measured, like he wasn’t just fucking me- he was remembering me. I clung to him, my legs wrapped tight around his waist, my hands digging into his back, mouth open with moans I couldn’t control. My breath stuttered in time with his hips, and I felt every inch of him, every memory, every moment we’d missed.

“God, I missed you,” he groaned.

“I never stopped wanting you,” I cried out, my voice breaking as tears welled in my eyes.

He kissed away the tears as they came- not rushed, not frantic. Just present. Every part of him was right there. No space left between us. No apologies. Just forgiveness and softness and heat and-

My orgasm hit me like a wave.

It stole my breath and made me cry out, body tightening around him in a way that made him curse beautifully into my neck. He didn’t stop moving. He kept going- rougher now, chasing his own high as he buried his face in my chest.

“I’m close,” he panted, his voice a raw whisper. “Fuck- I’m- ”

“Cum,” I whispered. “Come home to me.”

That did it.

He spilled into me with a guttural moan, shaking, holding me so tight I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.

We stayed like that for a long time.

Sticky. Sweaty. Tired. Home.

═══════

Later, he curled into me, head resting on my chest like it was the only pillow that ever made sense. One leg hooked over mine. One arm around my waist. He held me like I was the last tether holding him to earth- like if he let go, the world would tip again.

I couldn’t stop touching him.

My fingers carded through his hair, slow and steady. It was softer than I remembered. Freshly washed, warm from sweat, the ends damp and curling from the heat between us. I pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and inhaled deeply, committing the moment to memory.

He didn’t speak. But I knew he wasn’t asleep.

His breath hitched every time I stroked behind his ear. His thumb brushed back and forth across the skin just above my hip bone, like he was counting seconds. 

He was still here. Still present. Still grounding himself.

Every so often, he’d let out a long breath, not quite a sigh, more like a release. As if with each exhale, a little more of the weight he’d carried for eighteen months finally bled out of him.

“I love you,” I whispered, not even meaning to say it aloud.

But he hummed in response, soft and quiet, like his soul already knew.

And still, I held him.

I let my fingers explore gently. Tracing the curve of his shoulder, the line of his spine, the new ridges and hardness in his body that hadn’t been there before. He’d grown stronger. Quieter. Older, somehow. But this- the way he clung to me like I was his anchor, hadn’t changed at all.

Finally, his breathing began to slow.

His grip loosened, not in fear, but in peace. His face softened, lips parting slightly as sleep took him. I kissed his temple, felt the tiny twitch of his lashes against my chest.

I waited until he was fully still. Until the apartment around us felt like a cocoon, and the air between us had settled into something sacred.

Then I leaned in close. My lips brushing the shell of his ear, breath warming his skin.

“Welcome home,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

But the smile that tugged at his lips in sleep was enough.

═══════

When I woke up, the room was blue.

That soft, pre-dawn blue where everything looks like a painting. The blinds were tilted just enough for the city lights to bleed through, casting long shadows across the sheets tangled around our bodies. I hadn’t moved. Neither had he.

Jungkook was still draped over me, cheek pressed to my chest, breathing slow and even. His arm was slung lazily over my waist, fingers curled into the fabric of the sheet like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go.

I could barely breathe, but not because of the weight.

Because of the peace.

I lay there, unmoving, eyes tracing the slope of his bare shoulder, the tiny freckles on his back, the edge of the tattoo that peeked out from beneath the covers. God, I missed those freckles. I missed the way he slept- completely uninhibited, one leg flung out, lips parted slightly like he’d been dreaming something soft.

He made this tiny sound when I brushed a hand down his spine. A low, sleepy murmur, almost like a cat stretching into touch. I smiled.

“I missed that noise,” I whispered, not really intending for him to hear.

But he shifted slightly, his voice thick and rough from sleep. “Missed you whispering in bed.”

My breath caught. I looked down, and sure enough, his eyes were barely open. 

His lips were pulled into a sleepy, lopsided smile.

“Good morning,” I said, brushing the hair from his forehead.

“Best one I’ve had in eighteen months.”

I felt my throat close a little. “You remember how to flirt, I see.”

“Hard to forget when you were in my dreams every damn night.”

He pushed himself up on one elbow and hovered above me, the sheet slipping slightly to reveal his chest. He leaned down and kissed my bare shoulder. Then my collarbone. Then the corner of my mouth.

“You smell the same,” he whispered.

“So do you.”

He smiled. “Must be fate.”

I laughed, pushing at his chest until he collapsed beside me with a groan, arm pulling me with him. I curled into his side, my hand resting over his heart.

“You okay?” he asked after a beat. “Really okay?”

I nodded against him. “I didn’t realize how not-okay I was until I could touch you again.”

He swallowed hard. “Same.”

We lay in silence for a moment, just listening to each other breathe. There was something sacred about the quiet. Something that didn’t need to be filled. Just held.

“I was scared,” he said quietly, voice so low I almost missed it.

My heart paused.

He was staring at the ceiling now, one arm still around me, his fingers drumming slowly against my hip. It was a nervous rhythm, soft and off-tempo. Like he was fighting the words.

“What were you scared of?” I asked, nuzzling closer, my nose brushing his jaw.

He hesitated, then turned to face me fully.

“That you’d move on,” he said. “That you’d realize you didn’t want to wait anymore. That someone else would come along and actually be there for you.”

I blinked at him.

“Jungkook.”

He looked down. “I know it’s dumb. You always reassured me. But every time I saw your face through a screen instead of in front of me, it hit me all over again. I wasn’t there. I couldn’t hold you when you cried. I couldn’t kiss you when you had a bad day. I couldn’t even send you a real fucking gift without jumping through a dozen approval hoops.”

“You sent me letters,” I whispered, voice thick.

“I wanted to send me. Not scraps of me. All of me.”

I cupped his face gently. His eyes were glassy again, lashes heavy with emotion.

“I never wanted anyone else,” I told him. “Not even for a second.”

He swallowed hard.

“I didn’t stay because I’m a good girlfriend,” I continued. “I stayed because you’re my person. You’re the one I see when I think of forever. There’s no timeline that could ever make me forget that.”

He leaned forward and kissed me- slow, deep, thankful. He kissed me like I’d just saved his life.

“I love you so much,” he whispered against my lips.

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

We fell back against the pillows, foreheads touching, breath shared. The silence between us wasn’t silence anymore. It was full. Of everything we’d said. And everything we didn’t need to.

After a few minutes, I rested my chin on his chest.

“I had my own fears,” I admitted.

He looked down at me. “Yeah?”

I nodded slowly. “That when you came back, you’d be… different. That maybe the version of you I remembered wouldn’t exist anymore. That I wouldn’t know how to fit next to you again.”

He traced a finger along my back. “Did it feel like that?”

“No,” I said. “It felt like breathing again.”

He pulled me tighter against him. “Then let’s never stop.”

My heart fluttered.

He kissed my forehead and whispered, “We can stay here all day, you know. Screw the outside world. No alarms. No phone calls. Just you, me, and this bed.”

“You’re speaking my language,” I murmured.

“I’ve always been fluent in you.”

I giggled, hiding my face against his chest. “That was so cheesy.”

He grinned. “I’ve been saving that line for weeks.”

═══════

Time slowed in the haze of post-reunion softness.

I couldn’t tell how long we’d been wrapped up in each other like that. Minutes? Hours? I didn’t care. The world outside our bedroom didn’t exist. It’s just the faint hum of the fridge, the occasional car below our window, and the steady thrum of Jungkook’s heartbeat beneath my cheek.

“I missed this,” I mumbled, eyes still closed.

He stroked my back gently. “What, cuddling naked in bed while I sweat like a furnace?”

I snorted. “No. Well, yes. But also this. Just being dumb and half-asleep and saying things like ‘I missed this.’”

His chest rumbled under me with quiet laughter. “I missed you being dumb and half-asleep.”

“Charming.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

We stayed there, giggling softly, like we were trying not to wake the memory of everything we’d been through. I traced lazy shapes on his chest, spelling out nonsense, occasionally drawing a heart or writing his name with my fingertip.

He hummed. “Whatcha writing?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Is it dirty?”

I grinned up at him. “What if it is?”

He leaned down, nudging my nose with his. “Then I’m obviously obligated to investigate.”

His mouth found mine again. Slow, sleepy, and deliciously unhurried. He kissed me like there was no rush. Like we had all the time in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, we did.

When we pulled apart, he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “You wanna know what I missed the most?”

I nodded.

He smiled. “The way you look at me when you’re not saying anything. Just… like that. Like you already know I’m yours.”

I felt my eyes sting.

“And you are,” I whispered. “You always were.”

═══════

Eventually, our stomachs growled loud enough to interrupt the moment.

He groaned. “Okay. I love you, but I also love food.”

“You can have both,” I said. “You have me and leftover ramen in the fridge.”

He lit up like a little kid. “You kept the leftovers?”

I smirked. “I keep everything.”

He reached for his boxers, but I yanked him back by the waistband and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “I’m serious, though. Today’s just for us.”

“No calls. No errands. No makeup or clothes unless absolutely necessary.”

He saluted. “Roger that. I am officially yours for the day.”

“You’re mine every day.”

He kissed the tip of my nose. “Damn right I am.”

═══════

Jungkook made breakfast shirtless, and I decided I was never letting him leave the apartment again.

He wore nothing but those gray sweatpants and a sleepy grin, hair messy from bed, dog tags clinking softly as he moved around the kitchen like it was still his. Like no time had passed. Like his body didn’t just come home from the weight of eighteen months of structure and silence.

I sat on the counter in one of his old t-shirts (the black one with the tiny bleach stain near the hem) and watched him whisk eggs like it was the most mesmerizing thing in the world.

“I forgot how loud you are in the kitchen,” I teased, swinging my legs.

“I forgot how nosy you are,” he shot back with a grin, glancing over his shoulder.

I smiled, sipping my coffee. “Is it weird that this feels normal already?”

“Not weird. Perfect.”

He poured the eggs into the skillet and crossed the kitchen to stand between my legs. His hands rested on my thighs, his head dropping to my shoulder.

“I used to imagine this exact moment,” he said softly. “Waking up with you. Cooking for you. Holding you in a room that didn’t echo.”

My fingers threaded through his hair. “We’re here now.”

“I know.” His lips brushed my neck. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

═══════

We ate together at the counter. Laughing over slightly burnt toast, fighting over who got more juice, giggling when he leaned over just to kiss the corner of my mouth.

Every moment felt precious. Every touch mattered.

After breakfast, we curled up on the couch- me wrapped in a blanket, him lying between my legs, head on my chest like before. Our show played in the background, but we didn’t pay attention. We were too caught up in each other.

“I kept watching this without you,” I admitted.

He gasped dramatically. “You betrayed me.”

“I had to do something to feel close to you.”

He smiled, looking up at me. “You could’ve just written ‘Jungkook is sexy’ on all the mirrors.”

I snorted. “You assume I didn’t?”

He burst out laughing, hand sliding under the blanket to squeeze my knee. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

We stayed that way until the sunlight shifted, the afternoon creeping across the walls. And still, neither of us moved.

He sighed deeply, hand stroking my hip under the blanket. “You know the hardest part?”

I tilted my head.

“It wasn’t the schedule. Or the drills. Or the cold nights. It was sleeping without you. Going to bed and waking up without you.”

I bent down and kissed his temple. “Well, you’re never doing that again.”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

═══════

Night fell slow and soft over the apartment, wrapping everything in gold. The city hummed outside the window, but inside, it was just us. Tangled limbs. Quiet breaths. Familiar touches.

We lay curled around each other in bed, the comforter kicked halfway down, skin against skin. I was spooned against his chest, his arm tucked tight around my waist, nose pressed to the back of my neck. I could feel him breathing me in.

And then his hand started moving.

Not hurried. Not rough. Just soft, slow strokes across my stomach. Fingertips tracing idle patterns, brushing under the hem of the shirt I’d borrowed from him again. 

“Kook,” I whispered, breath catching.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just nuzzled closer, pressed a warm kiss just below my ear.

“I can’t stop touching you,” he murmured, voice heavy with sleep and want. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes, warm and heavy-lidded, held a vulnerability I wasn’t used to seeing. “It’s real,” I whispered, reaching down to lace our fingers together. 

His hand was calloused, a reminder of the life he’d lived without me for the past eighteen months, but his touch was gentle, as if he feared I might shatter.

He turned me gently onto my back, body sliding over mine in one smooth, fluid motion. His weight wasn’t oppressive; it was grounding, a reminder of his presence, of us. His lips found my collarbone, and I felt the low hum in his throat as he kissed lower, slower.

My body responded instinctively, arching slightly as his mouth trailed down, his tongue leaving a wet path that made me squirm beneath him.

“Need you one more time,” he said.

My breath hitched. “You just had me.”

“I know,” he whispered, forehead resting against mine. “But I want to feel it again. All of it. You. Us. This. Before sleep takes me.”

There was no room for teasing now, no space for jokes. Just heat and heartache and something deeper than either of us could put into words.

His lips found mine, and he kissed me like it was his final prayer, like he was pouring every unspoken word, every missed moment, into that single touch.

Hands exploring like every inch of me was sacred. 

He pushed my hair back, exposing the curve of my neck, and kissed every inch of newly revealed skin as if asking permission all over again. My shirt was peeled away slowly, his lips following the fabric as it slid off my shoulders. 

I shivered as his mouth found the sensitive skin of my breasts, his tongue tracing the outline of my nipples before taking one into his mouth, sucking gently, then harder, until I gasped his name.

“Kook,” I breathed, my hands tangling in his black hair, pulling him closer.

He smiled against my skin, a cheeky grin that made my heart flutter. “You taste so good,” he murmured, his lips moving lower, his hands sliding down my body. 

He kissed my stomach, my hips, my thighs as his fingers hooked into the waistband of my pants. I lifted my hips, helping him slide them off, and he paused, his eyes drinking me in like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with awe.

I blushed, but the heat in my cheeks was nothing compared to the fire burning low in my belly. “Baby,” I whispered, urging him closer.

His lips found the junction of my thighs, his breath warm against my cunt. I gasped as his tongue pressed against me, slow and deliberate, tasting me like I was the sweetest thing he’d ever known. 

His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he explored, his tongue dipping and swirling, his mouth sucking gently, then harder, until I was moaning his name, my fingers clutching at the sheets.

“Fuuuck, Kook,” I groaned, my body arching off the bed. “Right there.”

He hummed his approval, his tongue pressing deeper, his fingers sliding between my folds, teasing the spot that made me see stars. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice muffled against my skin. “So fucking perfect.”

His praise sent a rush of heat through me, and I felt my walls clenching around his tongue, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. 

“Baby, please,” I begged, my body on the edge, teetering between pleasure and release.

He smiled against me, his lips curving into that cheeky grin I loved so much. “I got you baby,” he whispered, pulling back slightly, his tongue tracing lazy circles that made me whimper. “Come apart for me.”

His words were the push, and I felt my body respond, my muscles tightening, my breath hitching as he worked his magic. His tongue was relentless, his mouth devouring me, his fingers sliding inside me, stretching me, filling me, until I was a mess of moans and pleas, my body trembling on the brink.

“Kook, I- ”

He didn’t let me finish. His mouth closed over me, his tongue pressing hard against my clit, his fingers curling inside me, and I shattered. My back arched, my nails digging into his shoulders as my orgasm ripped through me, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me, leaving me breathless and boneless.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, my body still trembling as he kissed his way back up, his lips brushing against mine. “That was-“ 

“Not enough,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “But we’ll fix that.”

He shifted, his body moving over mine, his lips finding mine again, kissing me deeply, his tongue tangling with mine as he settled between my legs. I felt him, hard and thick, pressing against my thigh, and I reached down, wrapping my hand around him, stroking slowly, savoring the feel of him, the way he twitched in my grip.

“You’re so hard,” I murmured, my thumb brushing over the head, smearing the pre-cum that had leaked from him.

“All for you,” he replied, his voice a low growl. “Always.”

He kissed me again, his lips moving to my neck, my collarbone, his hands sliding down my body, teasing, touching, until I was squirming beneath him, needy and desperate for more. 

“I want you inside me,” I whispered, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

He kissed me like he was claiming me, his lips fierce and hungry, his hands gripping my hips as he positioned himself at my entrance. I felt him press against me, the head of his cock teasing my folds, and I gasped as he slid inside, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine.

It felt different. More intense. Like our bodies remembered each other better than our minds ever could. There was no rush. No wild rhythm. Just slow, deep movements- hips rocking together in a perfect, quiet ache.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “You feel so good.”

I wrapped my legs tighter around him, urging him deeper, and he obliged, his hips rocking into mine, his thrusts slow and controlled, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through me. His eyes stayed locked on mine, his expression raw and open, as if he was laying his soul bare.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice a chant, a tether holding him to me. “So much.”

I kissed the corner of his mouth, the edge of his jaw, my fingers tracing the scar near his shoulder, a reminder of the life he’d lived before me. 

“I’m yours,” I told him. “Always.”

His thrusts grew deeper, his hips moving in a rhythm that matched my own, our bodies moving as one, our breaths syncing, our hearts beating in time. 

The air was thick with the sound of our skin slapping together, our moans filling the room, our pleasure building, inexorable and undeniable.

“Kook,” I gasped, my body tightening around him, my walls clenching as I felt the familiar coil of pleasure building low in my belly. “I’m close.”

“Me too,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his hands gripping my hips tighter. “Cum with me, baby. Let go.”

My body shattered around him, my orgasm ripping through me, my cries echoing in the room as he followed, his own release spilling into me, his name on my lips as we came apart together, our bodies trembling, our breaths ragged, our hearts pounding.

He collapsed beside me, chest rising fast, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead. I turned into him, pulling the blanket up over us. His hand found mine beneath it.

“I could stay here forever,” he mumbled, lips brushing my temple.

I smiled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “I’d let you.”

And then, slowly, his body began to relax. His breathing slowed. His grip on my hand loosened just slightly as his eyes fluttered shut.

I looked at him. He’s so beautiful and unguarded in sleep.

My heart ached with how much I loved him.

I leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“No more waiting, baby. No more distance. You’re home… you always were.”

═══════

♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 06/10/2025

[greengoblinswifey]

Temple— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— they always say “your body is a temple” and boy is nicholas’ body a temple you love to climb and worship.

warnings— PURE SMUT. fingering, hand job, oral(m receiving), unprotected sex, mirror play, spit kink, praise kink, degrading kink, body worship, ass slapping, choking, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink, cum eating, rough sex, aftercare, fluff.

a/n— ovulating and wrote this based on these pictures because he looks so good, ugh, i NEED him. (not prof read)

You were wandering the aisles of your favorite boutique, surrounded by the chatter of other shoppers. Just as you picked up a cute dress, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, expecting a simple text, but what you saw made your breath hitch and your pussy throb.

Nicholas had sent you a picture of himself shirtless, standing in his bathroom with the light cascading down his chiseled abs, his hair slightly damp and tousled and then one with the hat you gifted him on. He looked incredible, his physique had transformed since you first started dating for his new roles, becoming more defined and muscular, and it left you utterly speechless.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip as heat pooled in your core. God, he looks good. You remembered when you first met him, he was charming and sweet, and you loved him just as he was then. But this new version of him? It ignited something deep within you. It was as if every sculpted muscle was begging for your attention, and all you could think about was how much you needed him inside you, pounding you.

The dress you were holding suddenly felt heavier as you clutched it tighter, trying to maintain your composure in the middle of the store. Your thighs clenched instinctively, and you could feel the flush creeping up your cheeks. How was it possible for someone to look that good? You found yourself blushing, desperately trying to focus on the price tags in front of you, but your mind was racing with thoughts of him.

You quickly typed back, your fingers trembling as you tried to keep it casual. “Wow, what are you trying to do to me?” You hit send, your heart racing with anticipation. He was always playful, but this felt different, this felt more personal, more intimate.

As you made your way to the cash register, you could still see him in your mind, his body the definition of perfection. You swiped his card without a second thought, the thrill of using his money adding to your excitement. If only he were here right now. You imagined him behind you, his hands resting on your hips, whispering sweet nothings as you paid.

Your thoughts swirled with desire, longing to feel his warmth against your skin, to wrap your arms around him and pull him in close. His body was a temple, you thought, it was a holy site you craved to explore.

With a final glance at the dress in your hands, you decided to head home, your mind set on what would happen once you got there. You needed him, and you could already envision the fire igniting between you two as soon as you walked through the door.

As you rushed through the front door, adrenaline surged through you. You barely took the time to drop your shopping bags before you heard the unmistakable sound of the shower turning off.

You quietly made your way down the hallway, the steam still lingering in the air, and as you approached the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of him stepping out, droplets of water glistening on his perfectly chiseled body. Nicholas looked like a god, one you craved to worship, his muscles taut and glistening under the dim light, every curve and contour accentuated.

You leaned against the doorframe, mesmerized, your breath catching in your throat. This was everything you’d imagined and more. He dried himself off with a towel, completely unaware of your presence, and for a moment, you relished the view, every single inch of him was a work of art.

But you were done watching. The heat radiating from your core was too strong to ignore, and all rational thoughts slipped away. Without a second thought, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving yourself bare and vulnerable in the dim light.

The chill of the air contrasted sharply with the heat building inside you, but it only fueled your desire further. You stepped into the bathroom, your heart pounding, and when he finally turned to face you, his eyes widened in surprise and hunger.

“Nicholas,” you breathed, your voice thick with need. You stepped closer, the space between you two disappearing as the urgency of the moment enveloped you.

“Hey baby— oh shit.”

His towel dropped to the floor, forgotten, and in that instant, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, raw, exposed, and yearning for each other.

“Oh god, I need you so bad,” you whined, your body pressed against his as you desperately kissed him all over his chest and tipped to meet his cheeks and lips.

Nicholas pulled you close, laughter in his eyes as he felt your warmth enveloping him. “What’s gotten into you, pretty baby?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You looked up at him, your heart racing as you felt the heat radiating off his body. “Look at you,” you replied, your voice breathless. “Walking around here looking like this, sending me pictures of you shirtless… God, what do you expect?”

With a mischievous smile, you moved behind him, admiring his tall, muscular frame in the mirror. You couldn’t help but caress his abs, fingers tracing the defined lines, marveling at the way his body felt under your touch. He threw his head back in pleasure, a low groan escaping his lips as your hands explored him.

The atmosphere shifted, the playful banter giving way to something more primal. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body responded to your every caress. His thick, long cock was painfully hard now , and you could sense the need in him building, mirroring your own.

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him gently as you both stared into the mirror. The sight was mesmerizing, his face contorting with pleasure, the way he fell apart under your touch, completely lost in the moment.

As you continued, you watched him unravel, utterly captivated by how hot he was, how perfectly he fit into your desires.

“Look at yourself daddy, I’m making you feel so good, you look so fucking sexy,” you panted, speeding up your movements.

You bit your lip as you felt him jump and throb in your hands, everything he did made you feral. Then, with a shudder and a low moan, you felt the warmth spill onto your hand, a testament to the electric connection between you two.

“Open your eyes,” you demanded. They fluttered open and he watched in the mirror as you sucked his cum from off your fingers before lifting them up to his lips making him taste what was left of himself. He hummed in content, the sound going straight to your pussy but you would deal with that problem soon.

“No,” you said, determination lacing your voice as you looked up at him. “I need to give you more. I want to show you just how much I appreciate you.”

Slowly, you sank to your knees, eyes locked onto his as you let your tongue glide over his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. You trailed your tongue down to his abs, worshipping every ridge and contour. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “So sexy, Daddy.”

His breath hitched at your words, and you could see the effect you had on him, his body responding to your every move. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his cock again, feeling him harden beneath your touch.

“Look at how big you are,” you praised, your voice dripping with admiration. “So perfect in my hands.” You leaned closer, giving him a teasing lick, savoring the taste of him, and your eyes rolled back in pleasure at how good he tasted. “Mm, you taste amazing daddy.”

With that, you took him into your mouth, feeling him fill you completely. The sounds of his pleasure willed you on, and you began to move, sending him to the back of your throat, lost in the rhythm of worshipping him. “You taste so good,” you whispered between breaths, and Nicholas groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, urging you on.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “You’re fucking incredible.”

You continued, letting his praises wash over you, and as you felt him hold your head down and cum down your throat, it was like fireworks exploded around you. You savored the moment, knowing you had brought him to this point of ecstasy.

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked up at him, feeling bold. With your fingers, you gathered the rest of his release from his hard cock and brought it to your mouth. You took it in, savoring the taste, and smeared it and your saliva over his chiseled abs. You couldn’t resist the urge to lick it all off, your body shuddering with each stroke of your tongue.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, y’know that?” he said, watching you with a mix of awe and desire. “I appreciate that, baby. But now, it’s my turn to make you feel good.”

He positioned you in front of him, hoisting one of your feet up onto the counter, giving him a better angle. “Open your mouth,” he commanded softly, and you complied eagerly, watching as he spat into your waiting mouth. You swallowed it happily, feeling the rush of satisfaction.

Nicholas trailed his finger down your body, stopping at your soaking wet pussy. As he slipped a finger inside you, you gasped, your body arching toward him instinctively. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” he instructed, his voice thick with lust. “Look how beautiful you are.”

You glanced up, eyes locking with your reflection. The sight of you, flushed and breathless, sent a thrill through you. Nicholas’ finger worked expertly inside you, curling just right, and the pleasure began to build. “That’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come apart like this,” he praised, his gaze never leaving your face as he watched you surrender to the waves of ecstasy. “Let me see you feel good.”

With each movement of his fingers, the pleasure surged higher, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. “Daddy,” your moans filling the room as you finally reached your release, trembling under his touch.

“That’s it, I’ve got you baby, daddy’s got you,” he cooed, rubbing your clit fast as your body jolted and slowly came down from your high.

Nicholas trailed kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, his lips warm against your skin. “Look in the mirror, baby,” he murmured, his breath hot against you. You obeyed, your heart racing as you met your own gaze, feeling every kiss ignite your desire.

With a sudden, playful movement, he bent you over the counter, a sharp smack landing on your ass. “You look so sexy like this,” he teased, watching you wiggle your backside against him. You grinned back at him, biting your lip. “You look like a Greek god,” you shot back, and he smirked, pride flashing in his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he replied, holding your neck gently but firmly, bringing you back against his chest. You arched into him, feeling his hard cock tease against you as he slipped inside, filling you completely.

He began to pound into you roughly, his grip on your neck ensuring you were locked onto his gaze in the mirror. “Keep those eyes on me,” he commanded, and when you felt the urge to close them, he shook you slightly. “Look at yourself!”

“Daddy, you feel so good,” you gasped, feeling the pleasure building inside you.

“Tell me more,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me how fucking hot I am.”

You nodded, breathless, “You’re so hot, so beautiful. I love your body, daddy. I love how you look as you pound into me.”

“Such a dirty slut,” he teased, reveling in the sight of you enjoying every second. He rubbed your clit, sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you. “Look at yourself being fucked.”

With a loud moan, you surrendered to the man behind, your release washing over you as you cried out his name like it was the only word you knew.

Nicholas smirked, a glint in his eye. “I’m not done with you yet,” he declared, hoisting you up effortlessly, arms hooked under your legs. He turned you sideways, positioning you perfectly so you could watch him slam into you.

“Worship me,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly making you throb.

You felt a surge of excitement course through you, and you nodded, biting your lip as you gazed into his eyes. “You’re everything, Nicholas. So strong, so perfect,” you whispered, your heart racing at the power he held over you, “you’re so fucking beautiful, your body is a work of art.”

With each thrust, he drove deeper, filling you completely. “That’s it, baby. You know how to treat me right,” he growled, his tone playful yet commanding. “Show me how much you want me.”

You leaned forward, kissing him passionately, your hands roaming over his chiseled chest and arms. “I need you,” you breathed between kisses. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough daddy.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “I want to see you cum again.”

You gasped as he hit that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. “Daddy!” you cried out, feeling yourself on the edge once more. “I’m so close!”

“Then let go for me,” he urged, his eyes locked on yours, watching as the ecstasy took over. “Worship your man, baby.”

With one final thrust, you felt the familiar rush of pleasure envelop you as you climaxed, a wave of satisfaction washing over you. “Nicholas!” you cried, and he groaned in response, losing himself in the moment as he held you close, his body trembling with the intensity of it all but still not releasing.

He didn’t let you go. Instead, he laid your body down on the counter just a little, your legs wrapped tightly around him as he pounded into you once more. The world flipped upside down as you caught your reflection in the mirror, his tall frame hovering above you. The sight of him, muscles glistening and face twisted in pleasure, made your head spin.

“Who’s your daddy?” he asked, his voice thick with desire, his hand firm around your neck, exerting just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

“You,” you gasped, barely able to catch your breath. “You look like a god, so so h-handsome.”

The feeling of being so close to him made you dizzy, and his relentless thrusts only intensified the sensation. “I’m gonna fill you up and breed you like a bitch,” he growled, and your body responded to his words, craving more.

“Please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper as you gasped for air, but the urgency in your tone said everything. “I want it. I want you. I want your cum inside me!”

He smirked, the heat of his breath against your skin sending another wave of pleasure through you. “Since you think I’m so perfect, we’re gonna make the most perfect little babies,” he teased, pounding harder, deeper. You could feel the tension building as he brought you closer to the edge once more.

With a final, powerful thrust, he filled you completely, each pulse of his hot cum sending waves of ecstasy coursing through both of you. You felt him tremble against you as he held your neck tightly, ensuring you were looking at yourselves in the mirror.

As the high faded, exhaustion washed over you. He scooped you up into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder like a baby, ironic, considering what just happened. He brought a towel to clean you up, laying you gently on the bed, his lips trailing soft kisses across your skin.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured, pride evident in his voice. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you. You’re so perfect, princess.”

You cuddled into him, tracing circles on his pecs as you kissed his chest, savoring the warmth and safety of his embrace. In that moment, everything felt right, the world outside forgotten as you enjoyed the afterglow of what you had just shared.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Annoyed by their antics, Ghost is rolling his eyes faster than the sergeants can open their mouths to continue poking their fun at him

Of course you’d call him now, just as the two younger men are in the midst of teasing him incessantly, trying in vain to get the LT to admit to the relationship they’ve become certain he’s having with you in secret

And of course, they’d be absolutely correct in their assumptions

But Ghost certainly isn’t about to tell them as much, let them in on the fun the two of you have been having for months now behind closed doors

“Ach, I’d bet tha’s the lass right there, innit LT?” Soap goads, digging a playful elbow into Gaz’s side as he juts his chin towards the vibrating cell phone sat on the common room table, the men lounging around the otherwise vacant room late one night, everyone else long gone to sleep

“An’ if it was?” The masked man asks, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, raising a single brow hidden beneath the balaclava

“Well if it’s jus’ professional between you two, like ye say,” Gaz begins, exchanging mischievous glances with Soap beside him. “Then ye’d be able to answer with us here? On speaker?”

Never one to forfeit first, especially in the face of such cheeky expressions he can imagine their mums spent years smacking off of them, he for some reason chooses to indulge the men for once, imagining that whatever reason you’re calling him at this late hour couldn’t possibly be all that bad to share

“S’fine.” Ghost replies, swiping the phone off the table and swiping to answer, before pressing the speaker phone button

“Alrigh’?” He speaks into the receiver, ignoring the grinning faces leaning closer towards him

“Oh thank fuck, I need you! Simon please come to my room right now!” Your pleas come through the phone, surprising the men

“No fuckin’ way…” Gaz whispers, everyone’s eyes gone wide

“What’d you mean? Are you hurt?” Ghost asks instantly, shooting up onto his feet

“No no! But I neeeeeeed you Simon, I’m serious!”

“Eh, maybe I could come help ye out, bonnie.” Soap chuckles, evidently uncaring to keep his and Gaz’s presence a secret from you

“Is that Soap? Ew no way, I need Simon! No one else is as big as you are Si, please I need you!”

“Be right there.” Ghost answers simply before hanging up, already intent on making his way towards you

“Was na’ actually expectin’ her to say somethin’ like tha’! Was only half kiddin’ ‘bout it all but shite LT, good on ye!” Soap exclaims, reaching over to slap a hand across his teammates back

Ghost himself can’t deny his own surprise at the call, nor can he ignore the blood suddenly threatening to run south in his body as he wonders what had gotten into you, what has you feeling so desperately needy for him

He doesn’t bother to bid either one of them goodbye, listening to their snickering grow quieter and he marches towards your room in the barracks, having walked this path enough times he imagines he could do so in his sleep

He’s resisting the urge to adjust himself through his pants as he lands a palm on your door handle, imagination running wild with a thousand and one scenarios of what he’ll find when he opens it, what position you may be waiting for him in

Though of all the possibilities he imagined, this certainly wasn’t one of them

“Oh Simon thank god!” You exclaim once he’s stepped foot through the door, finding you stood atop your desk with a shoe in hand. “I’ve been trying to get this spider all night, I think you’re the only one big enough to reach!”

The sergeants think they’re real cheeky, stopping by your room a few minutes later with a box of condoms to toss at you and the LT, enjoying teasing the large man all too much and maybe they’re hoping to catch a glimpse of something they likely shouldn’t see but would kill for -

Though the men are stopped in their tracks when instead, they catch sight of their lieutenant emerging from your room with his large hands carefully clasped around something, followed by your form reminding him to “Be careful with it! Don’t squish the lil’ guy.” as you both head outside

Exchanging knowing looks, neither Gaz nor Soap need to say it aloud to know they’re both thinking the same thing

You’ve got Ghost entirely wrapped around your finger

[rafesangelita]

rafe watching kook sweetheart!reader touching herself from her open bedroom window… he’s just on his room, palming himself inside his pants as he tries to squint into a better view of her body.

warnings: bsf!rafe, voyeurism, male and female masturbation, slight guilt, mutual pining, size kink, small time skip, sexual tension, suggestive ending

a/n: i loved this request, anon!! tyyy <3

being your neighbor had it’s perks. considering you and rafe were like two peas in a pod, being so close together meant you spent every waking second with each other. felt bored? all you had to do was walk across the lawn and you’d be at your best friend’s house. wanted to rant? both of you were one locked door away. just wanted some company? rafe was bursting through your bedroom door in record time.

felt horny? all you had to do was leave your curtains open..

it all started one night when rafe was working out in his room, his curtain left ajar as you curiously watched his shirtless form. at first you were just going to leave him be, but then he started curling weights, his biceps and arm veins on full display. you couldn’t look away. his skin was slick with sweat, his muscles rippling under his flesh as he went through his workout with ease. you found yourself thinking about what else he could lift easily, your mind wandering off to him throwing you around and pinning you down for his pleasure.

he was much bigger than you.. so much stronger than you’ll ever be. you were a wet mess by the time rafe was done, your phone chiming with an instagram notification.

[Instagram] rafecameron posted on his story for the first time in a while.

clicking on the notif, your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when a picture of his sweaty abs illuminated your screen, his v-line peeking out of his sweat pants. you liked the story, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you wondered about how the ridges of his muscles would feel under your fingers. screenshotting the picture, you settled under your pink sheets, fighting yourself mentally before giving in. “here goes nothing..” you whispered, hesitantly trailing a hand down underneath the waistband of your sleep shorts.

you stroked your clit imagining your fingers were rafe’s instead, small moans and whimpers emitting from your throat as images of your best friend flashed behind your eyes. despite always feeling something for him, you valued your frienship too much to chance in ruining it with your feelings if they were one-sided. you came the hardest you’ve ever cummed before that night, not knowing rafe was just a few steps away fighting the urge to cross that line with you himself.

that was approximately a couple months ago.. and now the sexual tension between you two was flying through the roof.

the lingering touches, the stares that were once platonic had now softened into something much more. both of you could feel it. rafe used to watch you walk home to make sure you made it in okay, and now he was doing so much as walking you inside, hugging you goodbye once you two were in your room, pressing his lips into the crown of your head before leaving. you were giddy with butterflies after each visit with him. a particular day came where he was extremely busy with his dad, neither of you getting a chance to meet up.

it wasn’t until later in the night when you saw the light in his room flicker on that you got the idea..

dressing out of your original pj’s, you slipped on your see-through robe with pink, fluffy trim, and opened your curtains a little wider.. just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your naked body. you turned on the small lamp in the corner, the soft light illuminating your skin as you walked around aimlessly. rafe was looking something up on his laptop when one of your messages popped up on his screen.

[11:05 PM] y/n ♡: missed you today..

he smiled, getting up from his bed to see if your bedroom light was on. when he looked, he was met with a sight that never in a million years would he be able to prepare himself for. there you were, laying on your bed as the sheer pink material of your robe did nothing to conceal your pretty tits from his view. his lips parted, a shaky breath escaping his mouth as he watched you touch yourself. ‘i shouldn’t be watching this’ he kept repeating in his head like a mantra, a dark cloud of guilt floating over his conscience. whatever he told himself was deemed pointless once he grew hard in his boxers.

“fuck.” he palmed himself over his shorts, his cock aching just for you. there was nothing rafe wanted more than to have you underneath him, looking up at him with those sparkly eyes of yours while he filled you inch by inch with his length. he watched your mouth fall open in a silent moan, wishing so bad that he was there to hear it. rafe nearly died when you moved your hand and exposed your glistening folds. craning his neck to get a better look, he groaned when you turned to the side and arched your back. rafe continued palming his erection, his forehead now resting on the glass of his window.

just then, a knock sounded on the other side of his door. “rafe, do you have the truck keys?” ward’s voice pulled him out of his lust-filled trance, the sound making him scramble away from his spot. “what?!” he was frustrated now, his eyes scanning his space for the keys. “here.” rafe didn’t waste a second, locking his door shut once he tossed them in ward’s hands. by the time he went back to his window, you were standing there in nothing but one of his t-shirts, a soft smile playing on your lips before you decided to call it a night and close your curtains.

but the night was far from over.

[11:20 PM] rafe ♡: still got that house key under the welcome mat?

[kooklovee]

Ruined Right (m) - JJK

Your boyfriend’s back to you on a break from his military training. In other words, you’re making up for the lost time in the hottest, messiest way possible.

Pairing - bf!Jungkook x gf!Reader

Genre - 18+ established relationship au, fluff, smut MDNI

Warnings - hard dom Jk, sub reader, Explicit smut - unprotected, protected sex, oral (m&f receiving), hair pulling, light choking, fingering, edging, overstimulation, head pusher Jk🥵, gagging, marking, mild degradation, doggy, man handling, rough sex, (is black lace a warning?), aftercare

Wc - 4k

a/n - have you'll seen Jungkook's vdos from a concert he attended recently.. I mean.. my man is definitely hUge🫠 anyways here's a little treat for making HOTM a hit🤗 nfhhdhjakq posted this in a hurry enjoy

Masterlist kofi

---------------------------------------------------

Jungkook is attending a concert tonight.

You’re curled up on your couch, scrolling through Twitter and Instagram, and there he is. Blurry, low-quality videos flood your feed- Jungkook in the audience, dressed in a black leather jacket and that ridiculously cute brown fur hat.

He had told you earlier that he’d be attending, and now that you’re seeing him, it’s impossible to ignore how much he’s changed. His body is massive now—so much broader, so much bigger. Sending the entire internet into a meltdown.

"WTF is he eating in the military??"

"Hobi really meant it when he said Jungkook is HUGE now. I can’t breathe."

The tweets keep rolling in, people thirsting over his military physique, but none of them know what you know. None of them know that after the concert, after months of being apart, Jungkook is coming to you.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen each other. In the beginning, when he first enlisted, you managed to meet a couple of times.

But then life got in the way. his schedule, your schedule, time slipping through your fingers. Just glimpses from video calls. And now, after months of waiting, you’re finally going to see him.

You swallow hard, your heart racing.

Because if Jungkook looks this good in a grainy fan video…you can’t even imagine what it’ll be like when he’s standing right in front of you.

Your phone vibrates. Your boyfriend's name on the screen.

Kook: On my wayyyyyyy 🏃

You stand up, suddenly restless. You move to the mirror, running your fingers through your hair, adjusting your clothes, smoothing your hands over your skin.

Anticipation buzzing under your skin. It’s been so long. Too long.

The doorbell rings.

Your heart jumps. Running a quick hand through your hair, and you head for the door.

The second the door swings open, you don’t even give yourself time to process. He’s here.

Jungkook barely gets a breath in before you launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck, legs instinctively locking around his waist. A surprised chuckle rumbles from his chest as his strong hands catch you with ease, holding you up like you weigh nothing.

“Woah—someone missed me,” he teases, his voice rich with amusement, but there’s no mistaking the warmth in his tone.

“Of course I did,” you mumble against his skin, planting kisses all over his face—his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, anywhere your lips can reach. You feel the way his body shakes slightly with laughter, his grip on you tightening as he walks inside, shutting the door behind him without letting you go.

His scent surrounds you but there’s something different now. He’s bigger, his muscles even firmer beneath your touch, his frame broader than before. You pull back just enough to look at him properly, taking in the way his eyes soften as he gazes at you.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a grin. “You’re not even gonna let me breathe first?”

“Not a chance,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his, your fingers threading through his oh so short hair as he holds you impossibly close.

His lips move against yours, slow at first, savoring, but then he tightens his grip, fingers pressing into your thighs as he deepens the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, and you whimper into his mouth, your body pressing closer, desperate to just feel him.

Jungkook groans lowly, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “Fuck, baby… you have no idea how much I needed this.”

You swallow, heart pounding. “Then don’t hold back.”

His jaw clenches not wasting a second, carrying you straight to the bedroom.

His lips find yours again, rougher this time, his breathing heavy as he devours your mouth. You gasp against him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

By the time he reaches the bed, you’re dizzy from the kiss, from the sheer heat of his body surrounding you. He lowers you onto the mattress, but before you can even catch your breath, he’s on you—caging you in,  hands already roaming.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained as he drags his lips along your jaw, down your neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His teeth graze your skin, and your body reacts instantly, arching beneath him, a soft whimper slipping past your lips.

Jungkook grins against your throat. “Missed me that much, baby?”

His tone is teasing, but the way his hands are gripping you tells you he’s just as desperate as you are.

You don’t bother answering. Instead, you pull him down, crashing your lips against his, pouring every ounce of pent-up longing into the kiss.

It’s messy, desperate, your fingers immediately working to shove his jacket off his shoulders. He lets out a low chuckle, amused by your urgency, but he doesn’t stop you. He shrugs out of the jacket with ease before tossing it aside.

Your hands barely have time to explore before he’s pulling back, just enough to grab the hem of his t-shirt.

Your breath catches as he yanks the fabric over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the full extent of how much he’s changed.

The dim light of your room casts soft shadows over his skin, the broad set of his shoulders, the sheer size of him now.

Fuck.

Your eyes roam over him, taking in everything. The way his arms flex slightly as he tosses his shirt aside. He’s so much bigger now, so much more built than before.

Jungkook's lips curls up into a smirk, dark eyes watching you as you stare, shameless. “Like what you see?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your fingers itching to feel just how solid he’s become. Instead of answering, you reach for him, gripping his wrist and pulling him back down. You need him closer.

His hands move immediately, one gripping your waist, the other sliding up your arm.

“You’re staring too much,” he murmurs, lips brushing along your jaw before trailing down to your neck, hot and slow.

Your breath hitches as his teeth graze your skin, nails digging slightly into his shoulders, “It’s distracting.”

Jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, the sound low and knowing. With one swift tug, he pulls your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside.

His hands freeze for a second when he sees what’s underneath.

Black lace.

Delicate, barely-there black lace lingerie, the kind that clings to your curves. The kind you’ve never worn for him before.

Jungkook’s eyes darken instantly, “Fuck.” His gaze devours you, dragging over every inch of skin, before flicking back to your face.

“You wore this for me?” His tone thick with something heavy, something raw.

You nod, heat creeping up your neck, but his reaction makes you bolder. “Wanted to surprise you.”

Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose. “Baby…” He shakes his head slightly, his smirk returning, darker this time.

“You have no fucking idea what you just started."

His hands slip to your shorts, hooking his fingers into them. Slow.

“Off,” he mutters. “Now.”

And when you lift your hips, letting him strip them away, his eyes radiate just one thing—like he’s about to ruin you. Ruin you so right.

His hands hover over your skin, not quite touching yet, tongue swiping over his lower lip, eyes roaming over you, “You’re fucking dangerous,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

His hands move, gripping, spreading. Tracing their way up to your hips, dragging his fingers along the delicate lace, making sure you feel every single movement. The contrast of his rough touch against the soft fabric sends a shiver through you, your body reacting without hesitation.

“You like this?” he murmurs, his fingers teasing over the thin strap at your hip, “Wearing something this pretty—just for me?”

You barely manage a nod before he’s leaning down again, lips pressing against your stomach, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower.

His teeth graze against the sensitive fabric, right over your heat.

Your whole body jerks. A choked gasp leaves your lips.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs, his breath hot, teasing.

Jungkook’s grip tightens around your thighs, keeping them firmly in place over his shoulders. His breath warm against the soaked fabric of your lace.

His fingers slide along the delicate material, pressing just lightly over your heat, just enough to make you whimper.

His tongue flicking out just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Your frustration bubbling in your throat. “Jungkook—”

“Hm?” He looks up, smirking, eyes dark and playful.

You glare at him, panting slightly.

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep, dangerous.

“Jungkook, please—”, you finally breathe out.

His hands flex against your thighs. “Please what?”

You swallow hard, desperate now. “Please—please touch me. No more teasing, just—”

You don’t even get to finish. Jungkook shoves the lace aside in an instant, his mouth finally pressing against your bare heat. Hot. Wet. Messy.

You cry out. He devours you whole.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans against you, hands holding you down for him. “Should’ve begged sooner.”

Your back arches off the bed, a choked moan spilling from your lips as heat floods through your veins. His tongue moves with purpose, licking up every bit of your desperation like he’s been starving for this.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mutters against you, his voice raspy. His pace steadily increasing until you’re a mess beneath him, gasping, panting.

It’s too much.

Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, your hips moving without thinking, chasing that high that’s so, so close.

“J-Jungkook—,” you breathe out, desperate now.

And then—he pulls away.

Your eyes snap open. “Wh—”

He licks his lips, his chin glistening, smirking as he watches you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your legs still trembling—

“Not yet,” his eyes dark, thumb lazily tracing your inner thigh, ignoring the way you whimper, squirming under him.

You glare at him, frustration bubbling over. “You—”

“Be patient,” he mutters against your skin, smirk never fading. He loves this. loves seeing you needy, wrecked for him.

His lips trail up, enjoying the way your body reacts, the way your breathing stutters the higher he goes.

“Still looking so pretty for me.”

His fingers tracing over the thin lace barely covering your breasts. You shudder.

He licks over the lace, dragging his tongue slowly over the sensitive peak, soaking the fabric, teasing you without giving you what you need.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, hands gripping his biceps, nails digging into his skin.

He hums against you, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, grinning as he does it again torturously slow.

One hand trails lower, skimming over your waist, before hooking into the waistband of your lace panties dragging them down your legs.

His hands return immediately, fingers dipping between your thighs.

“Already so wet for me,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Messy little thing, aren’t you?”

He pushes a finger inside. A sharp gasp escaping your lips at how easily he slips in.

Your hands fly to his biceps, fingers gripping onto the hard muscle, holding on as he starts working you open.

Jungkook groans, feeling the way you clench around him, so warm, so tight.

“Fuck, baby,” he exhales, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he adds another finger, stretching you perfectly, curling just right. His pace deep, perfect.

His lips attach to your neck, sucking, biting. He wants you covered in him, wants you to see the evidence of this all over your skin when he’s done.

Jungkook feels the way your grip on his biceps trembles, nails pressing into his skin.

His fingers curl, pressing against that spot that makes your back arch off the bed, a sharp moan slipping past your lips.

And the second he presses his thumb against your aching clit, a strangled gasp rips from your throat. The added pressure sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you, your hips bucking against his hand instinctively, chasing the feeling.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

His fingers move faster, deeper, his thumb pressing down just right.

“J-Jungkook—” you gasp, your voice breaking as your stomach tightens, heat rushing through you in waves.

He feels it, the way you clench around his fingers, your body shaking under his touch.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your throat, marking you again, sucking another bruise into your skin. “Come for me, baby.”

The pleasure crashes into you all at once, ripping through your body like a storm, your back arching, your thighs trembling. Your grip on him tightening, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Jungkook groans at the sight, his fingers still pumping into you, dragging out your release. His thumb giving one last, lazy stroke over your achingly sensitive clit.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your grip on his shoulders tight, your nails digging in as the aftershocks ripple through you.

He pulls his fingers out bringing them to his mouth.

Your eyes widen slightly, still hazy from your high, as he licks his fingers clean.

His gaze never leaves yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, his voice deep, wrecked, utterly sinful as he sucks the last of your release from his fingers. “Always fucking sweet.”

Jungkook’s mouth is on yours the second he finishes his filthy display.

His hand slides up your body, fingers slipping beneath the lace still covering your chest.

A low groan rumbles from his chest as he cups your breast, squeezing, his thumb rolling over the hardened peak, teasing. His other hand grips your waist, holding you steady beneath him.

But you’re impatient.

The heat still buzzing through your body is too much, your need for him too overwhelming.

So you push at his chest, flipping him over in one swift motion until you’re on top.

Jungkook lets out a low, dark chuckle, his hands immediately gripping your hips, his eyes burning with lust as he watches you take control.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk.

You don’t answer. Instead, you kiss him again, messy, desperate, your hands roaming over his broad chest. His hardness presses against you through his pants and you can’t ignore it any longer.

Your fingers trail down, cupping him through the fabric. A low, gravelly groan rumbles from his throat, his hips pushing up into your hand, seeking more.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head tilting back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second.

You don’t waste time.

Your fingers move to his zipper, pulling it down with ease, and Jungkook lifts his hips, helping you tug his pants and boxers down.

And there he is. Hard, flushed, leaking for you.

You kiss your way down his chest, your lips skimming over his abs, leaving a heated trail.

You consider teasing him—making him suffer the way he did to you. But you’re too impatient for that.

So you lick over his tip.

Jungkook’s sharp inhale is immediate.

“Fuck,” he breathes, fingers tangling into your hair, gripping tight—just enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.

You press your tongue flat against him, as you take him deeper.

His thumb strokes along your cheek.

“Just like that, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with praise.

A sharp curse spills from his lips, his hand tightening in your hair, his hips pushing forward just enough to make you gag around him.

His thumb wiping at the corner of your mouth.

“Messy,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing against your lower lip, feeling how wet and swollen it’s become. “God, you look so fucking pretty like this.”

Your thighs clenching at his words.

Jungkook’s grip in your hair tightens, pushing you down further.

Your throat tightens, a strangled gag ripping from you as your fingers instinctively tap at his thigh.

His hold loosens, his cock slipping slightly from your mouth as you gasp for air, your eyes watering as you look up at him.

Jungkook exhales heavily, his hand sliding from your hair to cradle your jaw instead, thumb stroking softly against your damp lips.

“Shit—sorry, baby,” he murmurs, but the smirk tugging at his lips tells you he’s not really sorry.

Your breath is still uneven, but you don’t hesitate lowering yourself again, wrapping your lips back around him, taking him as deep as you can.

Jungkook groans, his fingers slipping back into your hair.

You can tell he’s close.

The way his thighs tense, the way his groans become rougher, deeper, the way his fingers start to tug at your hair just a little more—

And then, he pulls you off him.

Yanks your head back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening, swollen.

His eyes burn into yours, wild, dark, filled with something dangerous.

“On all fours.”

Your stomach flutters violently, your legs weak, but you do as he says.

You shift, turning around, your hands pressing into the mattress.

His hands slide down your waist, fingers gripping, kneading, as he takes in the view.

“Fuck, baby,” he exhales, his voice filled with pure hunger.

You whimper softly, shifting impatiently, feeling the heat of his body behind you, but not enough of him.

“Needy?” His tone is mocking, but when his hand slides between your thighs, fingers teasing along your slick folds, his breath catches slightly. “God, you’re dripping for me.”

You push back against his touch, desperate for more, but he grips your hip tightly, stopping you.

“Be good,” he warns, voice low, authoritative.

You can hear it—the slick sounds of him jerking himself, as he grinds the tip against your soaked folds, teasing you mercilessly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough, strained. “Look at you… so fucking ready for me.”

You whimper, trying to push back onto him, but his grip tightens.

Reaching over, he grabs his pants, fishing out a foil packet. You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see him rip it open with his teeth, rolling the condom onto his cock, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

The sight alone has your stomach tightening, your thighs clenching.

He drags himself up and down slowly, deliberately, coating himself in your slick.

You whine, pushing back onto him again, but he just chuckles.

“Impatient little thing,” he murmurs, his lips suddenly right against your ear. His teeth graze the shell, biting down lightly before he soothes the sting with his tongue.

“You wanted this, baby,” he breathes, voice deep, velvety, dripping with control. “Now, you’re gonna take it.”

He pushes in.

A gasp rips from your throat, your fingers clenching the sheets as he stretches you open, filling you inch by inch.

Jungkook groans behind you, his grip on your hip tightening, his cock throbbing as he bottoms out, completely buried inside you.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his head falling back for a second, his body trembling slightly as you both adjust to the feeling.

His hips pull back, just enough to make you feel the drag, before he slams back in, a sharp thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

A shattered moan escapes you, your body rocking forward, but Jungkook doesn’t let you go.

Instead he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you upright, your back flush against his solid, burning chest.

His mouth is on you immediately, kissing, sucking, biting at your throat, his free hand spreading over your stomach, pulling you tighter against him.

“Tell me how much you missed me, baby,” he murmurs against your already bruised skin, his hips still snapping into you, deep, devastating.

You bite your lip, smirking slightly despite the overwhelming pleasure, deciding to test him, just a little.

“No,” you breathe, teasing, taunting.

Jungkook freezes for half a second—before he groans, low and dangerous.

His hand moves up, fingers wrapping around your throat, firm. Enough to make you feel it, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

A dark chuckle spills from his lips as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

“Didn’t have my cock shoved in your pussy for months, and this is how bratty you’ve become?” he mocks, his fingers squeezing slightly, his other hand gripping your waist, holding you still as he thrusts into you harder, deeper, punishing.

His grip on your throat lingering for a moment before he releases you, only to push you down, pressing your head into the pillow.

His hips snap forward, knocking the air from your lungs. Your moan is muffled against the pillow, but it doesn’t matter—he hears it anyway.

You’re a mess beneath him, your hands gripping at the sheets, your body rocking forward with each powerful thrust.

“Feel that?” he pants, taunting, his hand sliding from your back down to your ass, squeezing. “That’s what you’ve been missing, baby.”

Jungkook groans at the way you clench around him, his grip on you tightening, his pace turning brutal, relentless.

“That’s right,” he mutters, teeth gritted, voice wrecked. “Fucking take it.”

Jungkook feels the way your body tenses, the way your walls flutter around him, and he knows you’re close.

So he moves his free hand, slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit.

A sharp, wrecked gasp rips from your throat as he circles it, firm with his pounding thrusts.

“Come for me, baby,” he groans, his voice low, commanding.

Your legs shake violently, your thighs tightening.

Pleasure crashes through you, blinding, overwhelming, your moans breaking apart as your body convulses beneath him. Your walls pulse around him, dragging him deeper into your orgasm, milking every last wave of bliss.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop.

His hips keep slamming into you, riding out your high, his movements still relentless, consuming.

Your body jerks, overstimulated, the pleasure unbearable now.

“Too much—” you choke out, your voice broken, shaking.

Jungkook leans over you, panting, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his voice rough, strained.

“One more, baby,” he murmurs against your sweaty skin, his breath hot, desperate. “Give me one more.”

You whimper, shaking your head weakly, but he feels the way your body reacts, the way you’re already spiraling again, trapped in his rhythm, in his control.

Your second orgasm slams into you suddenly, shattering through your already wrecked body. You cry out, your walls clenching down on him, and that’s all it takes—

Jungkook groans, his hips slamming into you one last time, burying himself deep as his release finally overtakes him.

A low, wrecked moan leaves his lips as his body shudders against yours, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you tight as he spills into the condom.

For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies tangled, trembling, completely spent.

Jungkook exhales heavily, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his hands soothing over your body, grounding you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse, satisfied, full of something deeper. “You’re… unreal."

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, turning your head slightly to meet his half-lidded, blissed-out gaze.

You both collapse onto the bed, Jungkook still buried deep inside you, your bodies tangled, sticky with sweat, breathing heavy, uneven.

Neither of you speak for a while, just taking your time, letting the warmth of each other sink in. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, his chest rising and falling against your back.

After a few moments, his lips find your skin.

Soft, warm kisses pressed to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. His hands glide over your waist, soothing.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice softer now, filled with something tender.

You nod, turning your face slightly toward him, feeling a little shy now that the intensity has faded.

Jungkook’s lips brush against your temple as he murmurs, “Was I too rough?” His voice is softer.

You shake your head, feeling a little shy now, but your voice is steady when you say, “No… I loved it.”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest.

Slowly, he pulls out, making you shudder slightly at the loss of him. He presses one last kiss to your shoulder before getting up, disposing of the condom.

He returns with a warm towel cleaning you up carefully, gently, his touch soft, eyes flickering up to yours every now and then, making sure you’re okay.

Once he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and slides back into bed, immediately pulling you into his arms. His body is warm, solid, safe, fingers tracing light patterns over your bare back.

For a while, you both just lay there, wrapped up in each other.

After a moment, you murmur into his chest, “When are you leaving?”

Jungkook sighs softly, his grip on you tightening slightly, like he doesn’t want to answer.

“Tomorrow morning,” he finally says, voice quieter.

Your stomach sinks a little, but before you can dwell on it, he tilts your chin up, making you meet his gaze.

A small smirk tugs at his lips, fingers sliding down your spine, slow and teasing.

“But,” he whispers, his voice low, filled with promise, “I still have time to make the most of tonight.”

---------------------------------------------------

[heejamas]

JUST LIKE HEAVEN ──★ ˙

꒰ ‎﹒ pairing: jay x fem!reader … ﹒ 80s au, childhood friends to lovers, brother's best friend!jay, fluff … ﹒ w/c: 21k synopsis: you never planned to fall for your brother’s best friend, jay. but the summer before college, on 1989, something shifts—between mixtapes, quiet drives, and the kind of closeness that sneaks up on you. and after a few cassette tapes and long drives, the love you never planned for starts happening. ꒰ ‎﹒ warnings: it's pretty much proofread, a few cursing and drinking 💿 % (◠﹏◠ ✿) #nowplaying: just like heaven - the cure \ read part 2 <3

your childhood home is full of memories you don’t think about much. they live in the peeling paint on the porch rails, in the creak of the floors, in the hum of the old fridge on hot afternoons. they stay quiet most of the time, until you’re older, until you come back and realize you’ve changed and the house hasn’t.

that’s when you notice jay.

he’s jungwon’s weird friend from seventh grade, with shaggy hair that falls into his eyes and those old denim jackets everyone seems to have. he drags around this beat-up backpack covered in doodles and faded patches from god knows where. your mom likes him right away, says he’s polite. your dad nods approvingly whenever jay remembers to say "thank you" after dinner. and you think he laughs way too loud whenever jungwon beats him at street fighter on the super nintendo. 

you’re fifteen. they’re thirteen, maybe fourteen. still stuck in that world where afternoons stretch out forever, filled with video games, bike rides around the block, and inside jokes you never bother to understand. you roll your eyes at them most of the time, stepping over tangled controller cords and empty soda cans on your way to do something more important, thinking they’re just kids and you’re already so much older.

jay is just jungwon’s shadow back then. wherever your brother goes, jay follows, always a step behind, a little quieter, a little more careful. it’s easy to ignore them. it’s easy to be busy with your own life, too busy dreaming about the future and flipping through college brochures you don’t even know if you want. they’re just noise in the background, a constant buzz of laughter and slamming doors and the rumble of sneakers on the stairs.

but people don’t stay the same forever.

jay starts getting taller, his voice losing the high, sharp edge it used to have. his hair gets longer, and he starts wearing beat-up converse with little drawings in sharpie on the rubber toes. sometimes you catch glimpses of him when you’re rushing past, and something about him feels different, but you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out what. you’re still too busy worrying about math tests you might fail and love stories that haven’t even started yet.

until one day, you do notice.

it’s a saturday, late september. the air is still warm, but the evenings are starting to cool down, and the house smells like dust and old wood. you come downstairs, half-distracted, looking for your walkman because you promised yourself you’d organize your tapes today. you find them sprawled out on the couch like always, controllers in their hands, eyes locked on the television screen where some new game you don't recognize is flashing bright colors. jungwon shouts something you don't catch. jay laughs, really laughs, head thrown back against the cushions, and you feel it in your chest, sudden and sharp.

he looks different when he laughs like that.

you stand there for a second longer than you mean to, walkman forgotten, and jay glances over at you. just a quick look, but he smiles a little, like he’s happy to see you. like you’re not just jungwon’s sister passing through the room. and for the first time, you smile back.

you don’t know why it catches you off guard. maybe it’s the way his hair falls into his eyes, still messy but different now, like he means it to look that way. maybe it’s the way he’s stretched out on the couch, longer, broader, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up to his forearms, his whole body lazy and comfortable like he belongs there, like he’s always belonged. maybe it’s just the way he looks up at you when he notices you standing there, not with that clumsy, wide-eyed look little boys get around older girls, but something steadier. familiar. like he knows exactly who you are, and he’s not scared of it.

you freeze for a second, your heart knocking strangely against your ribs. because jay isn’t just jungwon’s weird friend anymore. he’s jay.

the guy who starts hanging around the kitchen more, pulling up a chair while you’re finishing math problems you don’t really understand, pretending not to watch you struggle before quietly trying to help you. the guy who steals fries off your plate like it’s no big deal, like it’s normal, like it’s always been that way. the guy who borrows your worn-out paperbacks without asking, then returns them with the pages bent and little notes scribbled in the margins that he pretends he didn’t write. the guy who teases you just enough to make you roll your eyes, nudging you with his shoulder when you’re being too serious, who always knows when to back off if you’re having a bad day. the guy who learns how you take your coffee without you ever telling him.

it’s not one big moment. it’s all the tiny ones stacked together, like old mixtapes in your drawer, like lazy car rides with the windows rolled down and some song you both half-sing along to playing too loud on the radio. it’s afternoons lying on the living room floor, arguing over which band is better, your arms barely brushing and neither of you moving away. it’s the quiet comfort of someone who’s seen you cry over dumb movies and scream at thriller ones and doesn’t seem to mind any version of you.

sometimes you catch him looking at you like he’s trying to remember the way you laugh, like he’s memorizing it just in case. sometimes you look back.

but life keeps moving, whether you’re ready for it or not. you’re seventeen, almost eighteen, and everything starts feeling too small. the house, the town, even the streets you thought you knew by heart. there are college acceptance letters taped to the fridge door, and graduation gowns thrown into the backseat of your beat-up car, and a kind of heavy goodbye already sitting inside your chest even though you haven’t left yet.

your prom is on a sticky, humid friday night. you decide not to bring a date — you tell everyone it’s because you just want to have fun with your friends, and that’s mostly true. it’s easier that way. just dancing until your legs ache, laughing until your cheeks hurt, taking blurry disposable camera photos you know you’ll look back on someday and miss, even if you don’t feel it yet.

jay is there too, somewhere in the crowd, wearing a suit jacket that doesn’t fit quite right and a tie he keeps loosening like he can’t stand it around his neck. you catch glimpses of him across the gymnasium, in flashes of strobe lights and spilled punch and bad eighties ballads crackling through the speakers. he’s laughing at something jungwon says, head tilted back the way you love, and for a second it’s easy to forget that everything’s about to change. just for a second. 

when his eyes finally find yours, it’s not a big thing. no dramatic pause, no heart-thumping moment where time slows down. just a small, familiar look, a tiny lift of his eyebrows, a barely-there tug at the corner of his mouth, like he’s saying, there you are. like he’s been looking, too.

you catch him later, leaning against the wall, looking at his shoes, looking like he’s thinking too hard about something. you walk over without really deciding to.

"having fun?" you tease, nudging his shoulder with yours.

he glances at you, the corners of his mouth pulling up into that lazy smile you’ve grown too fond of. "define fun," he says.

you laugh, and for a moment, neither of you moves. the music shifts, and the soft buzz of a slow song fades out, replaced by the upbeat strum of a guitar. just like heaven by the cure fills the room, and you feel it immediately—the energy picks up, the rhythm infectious, almost impossible to resist.

show me, show me, show me how you do that trick—the words swirl around you, playful and light, like they’ve always belonged here.

you glance around at the couples shuffling together, trying to get their feet in sync, the way everyone’s pressing close to one another, still unsure, too stiff. and then, you look back at jay.

"wanna dance?" you ask, your words light, but your heart’s racing just a little.

jay hesitates, just for a second. then he shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting again, like it’s all the answer you need. "sure."

you’re expecting it to be awkward, the too-far-apart distance, the fumbling hands, the inevitable laughter that’ll cover the embarrassment. but it’s not like that at all. jay’s hands find your waist like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before, easy and sure, and you loop your arms loosely around his neck, feeling the warmth of him against the cool gym air. it feels... effortless. like breathing. like it’s always been this way.

his hair falls a little messier than usual over his forehead, stubbornly imperfect, like it’s just meant to be that way. his jawline’s sharper now, the angle of his face different, and his skin is warm under the harsh lights, making everything feel a little softer. there’s a crease between his eyebrows, like he’s thinking about something that’s not quite ready to be said.

you feel it before you even understand it, that pull toward him, low and steady, like a thread pulling you closer. and then he looks down, his eyes meeting yours with the kind of ease that’s new, but not. like it’s exactly what’s supposed to happen. he smiles, small and crooked, and you feel your chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with the music.

"you’re really leaving, huh," he says quietly after a while.

you nod, your throat tight, the words stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth. jay’s fingers press a little harder into your sides, like maybe if he holds on tight enough, he can keep you here, even for just a little longer. maybe he doesn’t want to say goodbye either.

the song keeps playing, the lyrics swirling around, “you're just like a dream…” but you don’t really hear it anymore. all you can feel is the way jay’s body moves with yours, how his forehead is just barely brushing yours now, close enough that you can count the little mark on his neck you never noticed before. 

it’s quiet, too quiet, and you wonder if he’s going to say something else, but the words get stuck. so instead, he just pulls you a little closer, his breath warm against your face. "i’m gonna miss you," he says, his voice soft, simple. it’s almost too quiet, like it’s meant just for you, like he’s trying to memorize it.

you blink up at him, the weight of the words sinking in. he’s not smiling now. he’s just looking at you like he’s holding onto the moment, like he wants to keep it in a place that’s safe, tucked away somewhere. "i’ll miss you too," you say, and it’s more honest than you meant it to be. more honest than anything you’ve said in a while.

jay’s hands tighten just a little, like he heard something more in your voice than just the words themselves. and for a second, it feels like the whole room tilts. like there’s something hanging between you, heavier than anything you’ve had to name before. you wonder if he’s going to kiss you. you wonder if you want him to. you wonder if it would change everything, or maybe just fix it.

but then, the song ends, just like that, leaving you with the fading sound of footsteps and chatter, the world rushing back in a little too suddenly. you stand there, still close, the space between you still warm, the feeling lingering like the echo of a song you don’t want to forget. someone bumps into jay’s shoulder, laughing, pulling him a little out of the moment, and just like that, the spell breaks. he steps back, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed, like maybe he imagined it too.

"come on," he says, voice a little rough, nodding toward where jungwon is waving from across the room. "he’s probably getting into trouble without me." you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something stupid, like stay or don’t go. instead, you just smile, small and steady, and let him lead the way back into the crowd.

and even when you’re laughing at something stupid jungwon says, even when you’re posing for one last blurry photo with all your friends, even when you’re driving home with your windows down and your hair a mess and the night stretching out around you like something endless—you can still feel it. the weight of jay’s hands on your waist. and the almost of it all.

and then college happens. and it happens fast. faster than you thought it would.

you spend the first few weeks clinging to your roommate like a lifeline, getting lost on campus, pretending you’re not homesick even when you are. you go to every welcome event they offer, eat bad cafeteria food, smile too much, and drink way too much bad coffee. you start telling people where you’re from like it’s a footnote, something small and far away. you write to jungwon sometimes, mostly silly letters with inside jokes and little updates.

you write to jay too, but it’s different. it’s a slow thing, quiet. he sends you a cassette tape he’s made, filled with songs he’s discovered that semester. it feels like a part of him tucked away in the cracks of the music. each song is carefully chosen, a snapshot of his world that he’s willing to share with you. there are some songs you already know—under the milky way by the church, there’s a light that never goes out by the smiths, happy when it rains by the jesus and mary chain—but there are others that feel new, like fall on me by r.e.m., and run 2 by new order. you listen to the tape late at night, lying on your bed in your dorm room, the sound crackling a bit from the old tape player.

the music fills the space around you, and even though you're miles away, it feels like he's right there. you smile at the thought of him picking these songs out for you, the quiet way he’s trying to share himself with you through these notes hidden in melodies. it’s not much, just a tape, but it feels like something important.

you send one back, and you’re careful about it, picking songs that make sense for you, songs that represent the pieces of your world he hasn’t seen. your tape is full of the pop hits that are playing on the radio and the ones you can’t get out of your head. there’s heaven by bryan adams, heaven is a place on earth by belinda carlisle, cherish by madonna. you include hysteria by def leppard because it’s the kind of track that gets stuck in your head for days. right here waiting by richard marx because the lyrics remind you of being away. there’s even out of love by air supply, an old classic from before your time, but you love it anyway, the soft ache in the melody feeling like something you want to keep.

and, of course, you end it with just like heaven by the cure. because it reminds you of him, even if you haven’t figured it out yet.

when you listen to his tape, it’s like hearing him in each song. you start to understand the quiet parts of him a little better, and when you hear his voice on the other side of the tape, talking about how he found a new band, it makes you feel closer to him, even from so far away. but when you listen to your own tape, your music is different from his. and when he comments on it in one of his letters, saying “your songs are... nice. but i like how they’re so different from mine. it’s kind of adorable.” you can't help but laugh, because that’s exactly how it feels. a little piece of you, a little piece of him, strung together by the tapes you send back and forth, each one carrying something new, something personal.

by november, you think you’re finally getting the hang of it. you memorize the shortcuts between buildings. you figure out which vending machines still have good snacks after midnight. you write essays and go to parties and kiss a guy you meet in your creative writing class. one day he asks you to come over, you say yes. you lie on his bed, half-listening to him talk about his favorite bands, and you try to feel something. anything. but when he leans in to kiss you, all you can think about is a different laugh, a different pair of hands. and then you leave before it gets messy. but you tell yourself you’re not running away.

you tell yourself you’re doing great. you’re growing. you’re learning. you’re supposed to feel a little lost. that’s what everyone says, right?

sometimes you find yourself flipping through old photo albums when you can’t sleep. birthday parties in the backyard. summers at the lake. blurry group photos where jay is always a little off to the side, smiling like he’s in on a joke no one else knows. 

you don’t write to him as much after that. you don’t even know what you would say.

then suddenly, it’s december, and you’re coming back home for christmas. home feels smaller somehow. the rooms tighter. the streets more faded, like the whole place is holding its breath. your mom cries when she sees you, wrapping you in a hug that feels like it could last forever. your dad jokes about how you didn’t get any taller, ruffling your hair in that way he always did. jungwon hugs you, a little awkward, like he’s not sure if he should admit that he missed you.

you don’t see jay right away. you wonder if that’s on purpose. it’s funny, you think, how things feel a little different now. everything seems a little more... real. a little more complicated.

then one night, three days after you get back, jungwon says some of the guys are meeting up at the diner, the one that’s been around forever. he says you should come, and even though you don’t really want to—you're tired, you’ve got that homesick feeling lingering in your chest, like you’re not sure where you belong anymore—you let your brother drag you along.

the bell above the door rings when you step inside, a familiar sound that feels comforting and a little strange at the same time. you look around, half-expecting to see everyone as they were before, but the place feels different too. quieter, somehow. then you spot him almost immediately—jay, sitting in one of the booths by the window, his back half-turned toward the door, like he’s been keeping an eye out. the way he looks up when you walk in, it catches you off guard.

your chest tightens, but not in a bad way. it’s more like something you didn’t realize you were carrying finally settles. you hadn’t been sure what it would feel like, seeing him again after all these months—if it would be strange, or awkward, or if the distance between you would be something you could feel, like a wall that you couldn’t cross. but it’s not like that. it’s just him. and somehow, it feels like no time has passed at all.

he’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, nothing special, but somehow it fits different now. more grown. there’s a faded concert t-shirt underneath — something from the cure or the smiths maybe, you can’t quite tell. the sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up to his elbows, revealing a silver ring on one of his fingers that you don’t remember from before. his hair’s a little longer now, falling into his eyes, messy in that effortless way, like he hasn’t thought about it at all. he looks tired, but good. familiar and new at the same time.

you stand there for a second too long, taking him in, feeling that odd mix of nostalgia and something else you can’t quite place. he catches your eye, and his smile is small but real, like it’s just another friday night, like no time has passed at all. you find yourself smiling back before you even think about it. something eases in your shoulders. you hadn’t realized how tense you were until that moment.

you make your way over to the booth, weaving through the scattered tables. jay shifts slightly to make room for you, his eyes staying on you the whole time. he doesn’t say anything, and it doesn’t feel like he needs to. it’s easy. it’s always been easy with him, even when it wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

when you slide into the seat across from him, your knees brush under the table. neither of you moves away.

the diner’s warm and a little too bright, the light reflecting off the metal and neon in that way only places like this have. outside the windows, you can see the parking lot glowing under the streetlights. you feel a little untethered, like you’re still getting used to being home again, but sitting here, with jay, makes it better somehow.

after a while, the table thins out. people start leaving, slapping each other on the back, promising to meet up again soon. jungwon gets pulled into a conversation near the door, laughing about something you don’t quite catch.

you and jay stay behind, still nursing half-empty drinks, the fries long gone, cold now, and forgotten. jay taps his fingers lightly against the side of his glass, watching the ice melt and clink together, like he’s lost in thought.

"so," he says, glancing up at you, his voice low, "how’s school?"

you shrug. "good," you say. "weird, but good."

"yeah?" he smiles, a little lopsided. "you look good."

you feel your face warm, but you don’t look away. you whisper "you too" and it’s not awkward. it’s not anything big. just two people who used to know each other better, finding their way back in small, steady steps.

he leans back in the booth, stretching his arms out over the seat. "made any weird college friends yet?"

you laugh. "too many. one of my roommates is obsessed with astrology. another one swears she’s gonna start a business selling scrunchies."

jay grins, shaking his head. "sounds like a mess."

"it is," you say, smiling. "but kind of a good one."

he taps the side of his glass again, thoughtful. "must be nice, though. being out there already."

you glance at him. "you’re almost there."

he shrugs. "still feels far sometimes. senior year’s dragging."

"any idea where you wanna go?" you ask.

he runs a hand through his hair. "thinking about it. applied a few places. nothing’s official yet."

"you’ll figure it out," you say, and you mean it.

he smiles, a little softer this time. "hope so."

for a second, you both just sit there, the sounds of the diner filling the space between you — clinking dishes, a coffee machine steaming, a group laughing a few booths over. it’s late enough that everything feels slower, quieter. easier.

"and you?" he asks. "besides making friends with astrology girls. you like it?"

you think about it for a second. "i do. it’s overwhelming sometimes, but... it’s good. i like feeling like i’m figuring myself out a little."

he nods, like he gets it. "guess that’s the point, right?"

"i guess so." you nudge his foot lightly under the table. "and you? besides hating senior year?"

he laughs. "not much to report. football’s over. classes are boring. just trying to get through it."

there’s a part of you that remembers what that felt like, that weird limbo of waiting for everything to change. you realize now how much he’s stuck between two worlds: not quite out of here, not quite moving on yet. "you’ll be fine," you say. "you’re good at landing on your feet."

he raises an eyebrow. "you think so?"

"i know so."

he leans back, looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out. then he smiles. "thanks.", he murmurs. you both fall quiet again, but it’s not heavy. it’s easy, natural, like slipping into a rhythm you didn’t even realize you missed.

christmas break passes fast. you spend most days at home, curled up on the old couch that still sags in the middle, flipping through tv channels that never seem to change. your mom keeps making hot chocolate, your dad keeps pretending not to cry during the holiday movies. jungwon drags you to the mall once or twice, but mostly you just exist. 

it’s snowing by the time christmas morning rolls around. you’re sitting by the window with your coffee, when you hear a knock at the door. you think maybe it’s one of your neighbors, but when you open it, it’s jay. standing on the porch, hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, snow dusting his hair.

"merry christmas," he says, a little out of breath, like maybe he ran the last block. he holds out a flat package wrapped in plain brown paper. 

you blink at him for a second, surprised, before stepping aside to let him in. "you didn’t have to."

he shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. "i wanted to."

he kicks his boots off by the door and follows you into the living room, glancing around like he’s checking if he’s interrupting something. but the house is quiet. your parents are upstairs. jungwon’s probably asleep. it’s just you. you sit down on the couch and he drops into the armchair across from you. you turn the package over in your hands, feeling the shape of it, square and thin. your heart tugs a little when you realize what it probably is.

"can i open it now?" you ask.

jay nods, looking suddenly nervous. "yeah. i mean — yeah."

you tear the paper carefully. inside is a brand new LP, look sharp! by roxette. the cover is glossy under your fingertips, all reds and blacks and bright letters. your throat tightens a little. "you said you liked them," jay says quickly. "i mean, i wasn’t sure if you had it already, but..."

you shake your head, smiling. "i don’t. i love it." he relaxes, leaning back in the chair like a weight’s been lifted off him. "wait," you say, setting the record carefully on the table. "i have something for you too."

you get up, digging around under the tree until you find the small box you tucked there last night. it’s wrapped in plain red paper, the corners a little uneven. you hand it to him before you can overthink it. jay looks at you, eyebrows raised, before tearing the paper carefully. inside, there’s a folded black t-shirt. you painted it yourself a few nights ago, hunched over your desk with fabric markers and too many crumpled up test versions. it’s simple, the bon jovi logo in white and red across the front, a little uneven if you look too close, but still clear. still yours.

he unfolds it slowly, running his fingers over the design like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch it. "no way," he says, grinning. "you made this?"

"obviously," you mutter, trying not to sound nervous. "it’s not perfect."

jay shakes his head immediately. "it’s awesome," he says. and you know he means it. he holds it up to his chest for a second, like he’s trying to picture it on, and then he just laughs, soft and real. "this is... seriously. this is the best thing anyone’s ever given me."

you duck your head, feeling your face heat up.

"i’ll wear it to school and make everyone jealous," he adds, winking.

"you better," you say, smiling into your coffee cup.

you spend the rest of the afternoon flipping through your parents' old vinyl collection, showing jay the records you used to love when you were little. you put on wham! way too loud just to annoy him. he groans dramatically but doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, and you catch him mouthing the words when he thinks you’re not looking.

outside, the snow keeps falling. inside, everything feels a little easier. like maybe being home isn’t so bad after all.

and then new year’s eve feels bigger this year. everyone keeps talking about it — the end of a decade, a fresh start, whatever that’s supposed to mean. you don’t know if you feel different yet, but there’s something in the air. maybe it’s just the cold. 

you end up at heeseung’s house with jungwon and a bunch of their friends. it’s packed by the time you get there, kids from all over town squeezed into the living room and kitchen, voices loud, music even louder. someone’s blasting "i wanna dance with somebody" by whitney houston from an old stereo. the bass rattles the windows, mixing with the sound of people laughing and shouting over each other. there’s a big homemade banner taped crooked over the fireplace that says goodbye '80s!

you recognize most of the faces. everyone’s older now, a little different, but not enough that it feels like you’re strangers. and jay finds you not long after you get there. he bumps your shoulder lightly with his when he passes, no words, just a look that makes your chest feel a little too tight for a second.

around eleven-thirty, you slip outside to breathe. the porch light is on, but the backyard is dark, covered in a thin layer of snow that crunches under your boots. the cold bites at your fingers through your jacket sleeves. you tuck your hands into your pockets, watching your breath fog up in the air. a few minutes later, the door creaks behind you. 

"figured you’d be out here," jay says, stepping onto the porch. he pulls the door shut behind him with a soft click.

you glance over your shoulder at him. "couldn’t breathe in there," you say. your voice is small in the cold.

he huffs out a laugh and leans against the railing next to you, close but not touching. his jacket is too thin for how cold it is. you want to scold him, but you don’t.

the music inside is muffled now, but you catch bits of it. "like a prayer" is playing and madonna’s voice strong and sure under all the noise. you both stare out at the yard for a while, not saying much. the snow glows faintly under the streetlights, and somewhere down the block you can hear fireworks popping early.

"weird, huh," jay says eventually. "end of the '80s."

you nod. "feels fake."

he laughs under his breath. "yeah."

you shift a little closer to him without meaning to. your arms brush lightly, and you don’t move away. neither does he. the clock inside starts ticking down. someone yells two minutes! and the whole house cheers. you don’t move.

you think about a lot of things all at once. how he’s jungwon’s best friend, how you’re supposed to be leaving again in a few days, how nothing about this is simple. you wonder if he’s thinking the same things. 

jay glances at you out of the corner of his eye. he looks nervous, but not scared. just unsure. you wonder what would happen if you leaned in just a little more. you wonder what it would feel like, kissing him here, under the freezing sky, with the decade slipping away behind you.

you feel the weight of it sitting between you, heavy and sweet. and for a second, you know he feels it too. he shifts closer and you look up at him. he’s looking at you. and you both stay like that. thinking about it. wanting it. but not moving. and then someone starts counting down inside. the voices rise, loud and clumsy. 10, 9, 8…

jay’s hand brushes yours on the railing. your fingers twitch. you almost reach for him. almost. 7, 6, 5…

you hear someone pop a bottle of champagne. laughter spills out through the walls. 4, 3, 2…

you blink up at him again, heart hammering in your chest. happy new year!

the cheers explode from inside. noisemakers screech.  jay smiles at you. small. a little sad. you smile back, even though your throat feels tight. he lifts his hand like he’s about to say something, like he’s about to do something, but then he just ruffles your hair gently, messing it up the way he used to when you were younger.

"happy new year," he says, voice rough with cold and something else you can’t name.

"happy new year," you whisper back.

he lets his hand fall to his side, standing there awkwardly for a second like he doesn’t know what to do now. you stay there with him anyway, shivering a little, watching your breath curl up into the new year, feeling the almost of it all settle quietly between you.

after a second, jay shifts closer. he slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like he’s done it a thousand times before. you go easily, leaning into him, feeling the steady weight of him against the cold. he’s warm. real. he rests his chin lightly on the top of your head. you close your eyes for a second, breathing him in. 

"i’m gonna miss you when you leave again," he says, quiet enough that you almost don’t catch it. your heart stumbles a little.

you tilt your head just enough to look up at him. "i’m gonna miss you too," you say, and it’s the easiest truth you’ve ever told.

jay squeezes your shoulder gently, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you before you go. and you stay like that for a while, neither of you saying anything else, the cold forgotten, the noise from inside fading into the background. just the two of you, holding onto something you’re not ready to let go of yet.

and the first week of the 90s  slips away faster than you want it to. you spend most of it packing, pretending you're not already thinking about how different everything is going to feel when you leave again.

the night before you go, you’re sitting on your bed, trying to squeeze one last pair of jeans into your overstuffed duffel bag, when jungwon knocks on your door. he sticks his head in without waiting for you to answer. "hey," he says, tossing a small brown paper bag onto your bed. "jay told me to give you that."

you blink, dropping the jeans. "what is it?"

jungwon shrugs. "dunno. just said not to let you forget it." then he’s gone, disappearing down the hall like he’s late for something.

you stare at the bag for a second before picking it up. it’s folded over at the top, taped shut with a ripped piece of scotch tape. your hands are weirdly shaky when you open it. inside, there’s a beaded bracelet, tiny colorful beads strung together on a thin elastic cord. simple. clumsy. perfect. in the middle, white lettered beads spell out a word: stay.

you swallow hard, pressing your thumb over the little plastic letters. tucked under the bracelet is a note. folded up small. you unfold it carefully, smoothing it out on your knee. his handwriting is messy, a little tilted to the side.

figured you could use something to take with you.

not saying you have to. just... thought maybe it’d help.

stay safe. stay happy. stay you.

— jay

you read it twice. three times. then you tie the bracelet around your wrist, the little beads pressing into your skin. it’s light, almost weightless. but it feels like something solid you can hold onto. you don’t take it off, not even when you fall asleep that night.

the next few months pass in snapshots. you get lost on campus again. you spend late nights in the library, half-asleep over textbooks you barely understand. you go to a few bad parties. you leave early from most of them. you find a new favorite coffee shop tucked into a side street no one else seems to know about. you start a playlist called songs for when it’s too quiet and fill it with songs he would’ve hated and songs he would’ve loved.

you write to jay sometimes. he writes back sometimes.

the letters aren’t anything big. he tells you about his senior year, about helping jungwon fix up his beat-up bike, about late nights driving aimlessly around town just because there’s nothing better to do. you tell him about your professors, about getting a B+ on a paper you thought you failed, about the guy who tried to hit on you in line at the dining hall and how you pretended not to hear him.

sometimes weeks pass without a letter. sometimes it’s just a tape in the mail, no note, just a playlist scribbled in sharpie on the cover. sometimes it’s a postcard with two lines written on it and a dumb joke he probably stole from someone else. you keep all of them.

and the bracelet stays on your wrist through everything. lectures. essays. early morning walks across campus when the frost still clings to the grass. some nights, when it’s too late to call home and you miss everything more than you can say, you twist the little beads between your fingers until you fall asleep.

you don’t go back home for spring break after all. something comes up — a group project that runs long, a roommate who needs support, a week that fills up faster than you expect it to. you think about going back more than once, but every time you almost book the trip, something pulls you away again.

you write to jay sometimes. he still writes back. less often now. but when he does, you can feel the way he’s still there. still him.

in one letter, he tells you about a movie night in jungwon’s basement, where the vhs got stuck halfway through and they just ended up making popcorn and talking about dumb dreams. in another, he tells you he’s thinking about cutting his hair, but can’t decide. you tell him not to, that he wouldn’t look right without it falling in his eyes. he writes back: i’ll take that as a no then.

finals come faster than you think they will. the campus is loud, you stay up late cramming for exams, your dorm a mess of open books and laundry you keep forgetting to fold. 

you wear the bracelet every day. you don’t tell anyone where it came from.

when the last test is over, you walk across the quad, your last essay still warm from the printer in your bag. someone’s playing music from their window — here comes the sun, probably as a joke. you look up at the sky and think: i made it. you don’t cry. but something inside you softens.

a few days later, you’re packing up your dorm when a letter shows up in your mailbox. the envelope is light blue, a little smudged. your name’s written in black pen, all lowercase, like always. you know it’s from him before you even touch it. you sit on the floor to read it.

hey! i got in.

it’s not close.  didn’t think i’d actually get it, but i did. i’m happy. or i think i am. i should be. i just don’t know when i’ll be back. maybe not for a while. i’m trying not to think too hard about that part. anyway, jungwon and i graduate next week. mom’s making me take dumb photos in the backyard. hope you’re doing okay. you’re probably already done with your finals by the time you get this.

write if you want.

— jay

you read it twice. then fold it slowly and tuck it into your bag with the rest of your stuff. you sit there for a while, just staring at the wall, the air conditioner humming in the background like it's trying to say something you don’t want to hear. he got in. he’s leaving.

you should be happy for him. and you are. but your chest still aches a little. 

your train gets in a few days later. the platform’s hot, crowded. your backpack sticks to your shoulders and your legs are sore from sitting too long. you don’t care.

your mom cries again when she sees you. your dad makes the same joke about how you still haven’t grown. jungwon picks you up in his old car, which somehow still runs. he talks nonstop on the drive home, half excited, half nervous. you listen, smiling. 

you sit on your bed, staring at the ceiling. the bracelet on your wrist feels heavier now. or maybe just more real.

two days before graduation, you meet jay at the park.

you told him you would, back when you first got home, when the plans were still loose and everything felt far away. but now you’re standing by the old swings, blinking against the sunlight, waiting for him to show up, and it feels like something more than just a plan. the sky’s clear, the kind of summer blue that only shows up when school’s over and everything smells like cut grass and sunscreen. your sandals kick at the edge of the mulch. the trees rustle softly above you.

you spot him before he sees you — coming up the path from the far side of the park, hands shoved in the pockets of his shorts, t-shirt a little wrinkled, hair pushed back like he tried to make it look like he didn’t care. he’s taller than you remember. maybe not actually taller, but something about him feels bigger now. steadier.

when he finally looks up and sees you, something shifts. he speeds up, half-jogging the last few steps, and then he’s there, right in front of you. there’s a beat where you both just look at each other, not smiling yet, not talking, just looking. and then you drop your bag on the grass and step into him. he hugs you like he means it. strong, quick, all in. his arms wrap around your waist and lift you clean off the ground for a second, your toes dangling, your heart thudding in your chest. you let out a small breathless laugh, and when he sets you down again, he doesn’t let go right away.

“you’re really here,” he says quietly.

“told you i’d come,” you say, your cheek still pressed against his shoulder for a second longer before you finally step back.

you both sit under the big tree near the edge of the field, the one that’s always had a carved heart on the trunk from someone else’s story. it’s a little cooler in the shade, and you pull your knees up to your chest as jay leans back on his elbows beside you.

it’s quiet for a bit. just the sound of birds and a distant dog barking and the soft thump of a basketball somewhere on the other side of the park.

“feels kind of strange,” he says after a while, his voice low like he’s not sure if he wants you to hear it or not.

you glance over. “what does?”

he shrugs, eyes still on the sky. “this. seeing you again. after all this time.”

you nod, because you get it. it’s quiet in a different way than it used to be. a little uncertain, but not uncomfortable. “yeah,” you say. “i’ve been thinking about this since i got back.”

he turns his head slightly toward you. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you repeat. “i missed you.”

his mouth pulls into a small smile, almost shy. “i missed you too.”

you both fall quiet again. the sounds of the park fill in the space, wind through the trees, kids yelling somewhere near the basketball court, a dog barking in the distance. “so,” you say after a minute, “you’re really going.”

he nods. “yeah.”

“it’s far.”

he glances at you, then looks away again, squinting at the sky. “i know.”

“how do you feel about it?”

he exhales slowly, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “i don’t know. excited, i guess. and nervous. i keep thinking i should feel more ready than i do.”

you take a breath, letting your shoulders relax a little. “i’m happy for you.”

he looks at you again, really looks. “yeah?”

you smile. “yeah. it’s a big deal. and you deserve it.”  he doesn’t say anything right away. just nods, like maybe he’s letting himself believe it now that you’ve said it. “you’re gonna be okay,” you tell him. “even if it’s scary at first.”

he stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back on his palms. “you think?”

“i know.”

he’s quiet for a moment. then, softly, “i don’t know when i’ll be back.”

you nod. “that’s okay.”

he turns to you again. “you’ll write?”

you smile, eyes on the grass between you. “of course. you?”

“of course,” he echoes.

the wind picks up slightly, brushing the hair from your face. someone nearby is playing music from a portable radio — i’ll be over you by toto — low and scratchy. you close your eyes for a second, letting the sound wrap around you, letting the moment stay just a little longer.

you don’t talk about the fall, or what this will mean later. you just sit side by side in the summer light, the space between you quiet and full.

the graduation happens two days later. you sit between your parents, legs sticking to the metal seats. someone behind you keeps whistling every time a name is called, loud and sharp, like they don’t know how much it echoes. jungwon walks across the stage flushed and proud, his posture too straight, the kind of serious he only gets when he’s trying to act older. he doesn’t look at the crowd, just accepts his diploma and moves on, but you still catch your dad elbowing your mom like he’s proud too.

jay comes up a few names later. he steps onto the stage like he’s not thinking about it, like he just wants to get it over with. his gown is wrinkled, his shoes are scuffed, and his tassel hangs crooked over one eye. he doesn’t smile or wave. he doesn’t try to make a moment out of it. but just before he crosses to the other side, he lifts his head and glances up toward the stands. it’s brief, so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t already watching him. you don’t know how you’re so sure, but you know that look was for you.

after the ceremony, everything feels loud and fast. people are shouting names and hugging in clusters, parents crying in the open without shame. there are flowers, flash photos, and folding chairs being dragged across the grass. you weave through the mess until you find jungwon, still in his gown, arms full of random cards and half-squished flowers. he grins when he sees you, pulling you into a hug so tight you almost drop your camera bag. 

“you better be proud of me,” he says, like it’s a joke, but there’s something real in his voice. you laugh, and your eyes sting more than you expected.

you find jay later, after most people have already moved on to someone’s backyard for a low-key celebration. he’s standing off to the side, just past the fence, holding a soda can in one hand and tapping it lightly against his knee. when he sees you, he doesn’t wave or call you over. he just waits. and when you walk up, he says, “hey.” 

you say it back. simple. there’s a pause where neither of you seems to know what to say next. you tell him, “congrats,” and he shrugs like it doesn’t matter, like the whole thing wasn’t a big deal. 

“wasn’t that hard,” he says, but he’s smiling anyway, and the way he looks at you makes you think maybe it did mean something after all.

you can feel the weight of what’s not being said. about time, and change, and how nothing ever stays the same for long. the sun’s starting to dip behind the trees now, casting everything in that golden light that makes it all feel more nostalgic than it should. you shift your weight from one foot to the other and look down at the bracelet still snug around your wrist, the little white beads faded from wear.

summer days stretching long and hot, the kind that make time feel slower but heavier too. you're back in that rhythm you almost forgot, the one where the afternoons melt into each other and the nights smell like barbecues and cut grass.

you spend your days with the same people you always did. jungwon drives you and a few others out to the lake more than once, his car stuffed with towels and snacks and a boombox that only works if someone’s holding the antenna at the right angle. you sit on the hood of the car with your feet up, sunglasses sliding down your nose, half-listening to everyone talk over each other. the new madonna single plays somewhere in the background — “hanky panky”, the one everyone's pretending not to like but can’t stop singing. someone brought a water gun, and at some point everyone ends up soaked, even jay, who laughs harder than you’ve seen him laugh in months.

some evenings, the group heads to the movie theater in town. you all pile into the back rows, whispering during the trailers, throwing popcorn at each other. “ghost” is the big one that summer, and you sit next to jay the night you all go see it, his arm brushing yours on the armrest. when the scene with the pottery wheel comes on, someone in front of you groans loudly and says, “no one’s that romantic,” and jay leans closer, whispering, “maybe they just haven’t met the right person.” it makes your heart stumble in a way you pretend not to notice.

other days are quieter. sometimes it’s just you and jay, wandering through the video store with no real plan. the new total recall cover stares at you from the wall, and you both end up picking movies you probably won’t even watch. old horror tapes and weird indie comedies he swears are “actually kind of genius.” you walk out with two rentals and a pack of licorice, arguing about which one has the worst tagline.

you stop at the diner after, like you always do, ordering milkshakes and sitting in the same booth by the window. the waitress knows your order now, calls you “kids” even though you’re both technically grown. jay draws shapes into the condensation on his glass and talks about packing, about how he’s trying not to overthink it, how everything feels real now. you listen. you nod. you want to tell him you’ll miss him, but you don’t.

some nights, he picks you up just after dinner, without a plan. you drive around with the windows down, hair blowing into your face, music too loud — “vision of love” by mariah carey plays on the radio at least twice a week. he taps the steering wheel, humming along. sometimes you drive past the high school. sometimes you don’t go anywhere at all, just park by the edge of the woods or the empty baseball field, talking about nothing and everything until the sky turns dark and the stars start to show up one by one.

there’s a meteor shower in late july. your whole group gathers at the old soccer field with blankets and snacks and bug spray that doesn’t work. you lie next to jay, shoulders touching, and he keeps pointing out stars like he knows what he’s talking about. someone swears they saw a ufo (probably jake). someone else throws a marshmallow at them (probably sunoo). you laugh so hard you nearly cry, and when jay leans close to say something, you forget what it was because you’re too aware of how close his face is to yours.

one afternoon, in early august, you’re sitting on the back porch of his house, drinking warm lemonade and flipping through an old rolling stone magazine. there’s a photo of sinead o’connor on the cover, and a piece about how her song “nothing compares 2 u” is topping the charts. jay’s sprawled out beside you, messing with a cassette that keeps getting eaten by his walkman. the air is thick with summer, and the cicadas haven’t stopped buzzing since noon.

“i don’t think i’ve ever had a summer like this,” he says, eyes on the sky.

“what do you mean?”

he shrugs. “it just feels different. like i’m trying to remember everything while it’s still happening.”

you look at him for a second, then out at the yard. “you will,” you say. “you’re gonna remember all of it.”

he turns his head toward you, half-smiling. “even the part where i burned my arm trying to light the grill?”

“especially that part.”

you both laugh, and then you fall into silence again. a good one. the kind you don’t need to fill.

it doesn’t feel like time is running out — not yet. but sometimes you catch him looking at you like he’s trying to memorize something. and sometimes you look back.

the days keep slipping past. people start talking about back-to-school sales. the leaves don’t change yet, but the nights feel cooler. here, the biggest news is that the fair’s coming to town next weekend. someone says they’re bringing a new ride this year. someone else bets it’ll break down halfway through. you’re not sure if you care, but you still make plans to go.

because it’s still summer. and you’re still here. and so is he.

the plan comes together fast. sunghoon brings it up during a late-night drive, saying something about his family’s place by the lake. just for the weekend. just to get away before everything changes. at first, it’s a maybe. and then it’s real.

by the time friday comes around, the cars are packed with duffel bags and cheap snacks, someone brings a boom box with a whole stack of mixtapes, and sunghoon is shouting about everyone bringing their own towels “unless you want to smell like boat mildew.”

you ride up in jungwon’s car, squeezed in the backseat with jay, your knees knocking every time he shifts. about halfway through the drive, he pulls out his walkman and slides one side of his headphones off, holding it out toward you without saying anything. you take it, slipping the foam-covered speaker over one ear, the cable stretched loosely between you. you both lean against your windows, the same song playing quietly into opposite sides — “come back to me” by janet jackson, soft and slow, the kind of track that feels like warm air and something just out of reach.

the house is bigger than you expected. the trees wrap around the place in all directions, tall and green and full, and the only sound is water hitting the shore and the crunch of gravel under tires. everyone spills out of the cars at once, bags hitting the ground, someone already yelling about who gets which room. inside, it’s cozy. 

you end up sharing a room with sunoo and chaewon. heeseung takes the couch, claiming it's "closest to the snacks," and riki somehow ends up sleeping in a sleeping bag under the kitchen table on purpose. jay and jungwon share the room across the hall. the walls are thin. you hear them laughing through them the first night.

the weekend unfolds in pieces. saturday morning starts with cereal out of paper bowls and someone burning toast. everyone’s in various states of disarray, hair a mess, hoodies thrown over pajamas, socks half-on. you and jay sit on the floor near the sliding doors, plates balanced on your knees, talking about nothing while the rest of the group bickers over who left the milk out.

in the afternoon, you all head down to the lake. the water’s cold at first, but not enough to stop anyone. you jump in together, shouting and laughing, the sun sharp above you. someone finds an old inflatable tube and takes turns getting pushed around on it. jay helps you climb onto it, steadying you with both hands, his fingers wrapping around your wrists. “you got it?” he asks, and you nod, even though your heart’s racing from more than just the water.

later, while everyone else plays volleyball or naps in the sun, you and jay wander off down the shoreline. it’s quieter there, rocks under your feet and the water brushing up against the edge in soft waves. you talk about stupid things — a song he can’t get out of his head, your favorite cereal as a kid, how sunghoon’s feet are suspiciously loud when he walks. every once in a while your hands bump. he doesn’t move away. neither do you.

in the evenings, the group crowds around the living room. movies play on a tiny tv with crackly sound. the only lights come from the strings of fairy lights someone hung across the windows and the dim glow of the kitchen behind you. you sit next to jay, sometimes close enough that your knees touch, sometimes leaning just far enough that your shoulders brush. it’s subtle, but steady. like a rhythm you’ve both learned without realizing.

sunday morning is slow. the kind of slow that makes you want to freeze time. breakfast is quiet, everyone a little softer, a little sleepier. you find jay on the back deck with a mug of something warm, his feet up on the railing, staring out at the lake like it’s telling him something.

you sit next to him without saying anything. he hands you the mug without looking, and you take a sip. it’s too sweet, but good. the kind of good that only comes from something someone else made for you.

“wish we had another day,” he says eventually.

you nod, pulling your knees to your chest. “me too.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says, “this summer went fast.”

you don’t say anything, just rest your head lightly against his shoulder. he shifts just enough to let it stay there. no one says it out loud, but you all feel it, that this is the last time you’ll all be like this. the last time before dorm rooms and new cities and long-distance calls and whatever comes next.

that night, someone builds a fire in the pit out back. everyone sits around it in a loose circle, smoke curling into the night sky, music playing low from the boom box. the stars are clear, the lake still, the air cool enough that you need a hoodie. 

you and jay share one. he shrugs it off halfway through the night and drapes it around your shoulders, hands brushing your arms as he does. you want to say thank you. you want to say more. but you just sit there, leaning into him, the firelight catching the edges of his face, the warmth of his body pressed steady against yours.

no one brings up that you’re all leaving soon. but you feel it in every laugh, every shared look, every time someone lingers just a little longer before walking away.

everyone’s scattered, jake’s trying to restart the fire pit, jungwon and riki are elbow-deep in a card game that’s been going on for an hour, sunghoon’s in the kitchen burning something that’s supposed to be popcorn. there’s laughter echoing through the house, a mixtape playing low from the boom box left near the sliding door. a soft track from phil collins fills the space — “do you remember” — not loud, not even really noticed, just there.

you find jay standing at the edge of the deck, looking out at the water. his hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and his hands rest in his pockets like he’s trying to stay grounded.

“hey,” you say quietly, walking over.

he turns, a half-smile on his face. “hey.”

you stop beside him. “want to get out of here for a minute?”

he doesn’t ask where. just nods. “yeah.”

you don’t go far, just follow a little path that wraps around the trees, leading to a small clearing with a tilted wooden bench and an open patch of sky above. it’s quieter here. the music, the voices, the laughter. all of it fades behind you.

you both sit on the ground instead of the bench, the grass cool beneath you. the stars are already out, scattered and steady, blinking softly like they’ve been waiting for someone to look up. for a while, neither of you says anything.

then jay leans back on his palms and says, “you think anyone really knows how many stars are up there?”

you snort. “don’t tell me you’re gonna start counting.”

he grins. “nah. just thinking about how small everything feels when you look up.”

“yeah,” you say. “but kind of in a good way.”

he glances at you. “you’re good at that.”

“at what?”

“saying stuff that makes things feel okay.”

you shrug. “you make it easy.”

he doesn’t respond right away, just looks at you for a second longer than usual. then he lies back in the grass, arms behind his head, eyes on the sky. you follow, lying beside him, shoulders just close enough to touch. you’re quiet again. you can feel your heart beating a little faster now, not from nerves exactly, but from the weight of the moment. it’s not heavy. it’s just full.

“can i tell you something?” he asks after a long stretch of silence, his voice quieter now, like the night asked him to soften.

you nod without thinking, even though he’s not looking at you. “of course.”

he shifts beside you, fingers brushing the grass, then stills again. “i think… part of me was scared to come on this trip.”

you turn your head, surprised. “why?”

jay exhales through his nose, not a laugh but not quite a sigh. “because i knew it’d feel like this.”

you blink, unsure what he means, your chest already tightening. “like what?”

he pauses. “like the end of something. and the start of something else. and i don’t really know what to do with this either.”

you sit up slightly, propping yourself on one hand to look at him more clearly. he doesn’t flinch from your gaze. the moonlight hits the side of his face, soft and silver, catching in the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. “what’s the this you’re talking about?” you ask, even though you think you already know.

he turns toward you too, mirroring your posture, his eyes searching yours in the dark. “you.”

your breath catches before you can stop it. it’s not the word itself — it’s how he says it. quiet. careful. like he’s been holding it in for a while and finally let it slip out.

you open your mouth to respond, but the words tangle. there’s nothing neat to say. just this feeling that’s been building, moment by moment, all summer.

you don’t realize how close you are until he reaches for your hand, gently, like a question. your fingers meet his halfway, sliding together slowly. his palm is warm against yours, steady. and you think: this is it. this is what you’ve been circling around for weeks, maybe longer.

neither of you says anything. even though your heart is beating so loud you’re sure he can hear it, everything else around you is still. the trees, the sky, the hush of the lake behind the trees.

you shift closer, knees brushing, his breath close enough that you can feel it on your skin. he doesn’t move, just watches you, and there’s something in his eyes that makes you feel like you’ve never been more seen. his voice is barely above a whisper. “i’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

you don’t ask what. you already know. so you nod, slow and certain. “me too.”

you lean in at the same time, hesitant at first, like the moment might slip if you move too quickly. your nose brushes his, then his forehead leans gently against yours, and you both pause there, breathing the same air, eyes falling shut.

when you kiss, it’s not rushed. it doesn’t try to prove anything.

his lips meet yours like he’s taking his time, like he wants to make sure you feel it. not just the kiss, but everything behind it — every late night drive, every quiet look, every almost-touch. it’s warm, patient. his hand moves to your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye. you kiss him back, slowly, like you’re learning how to do it together. your fingers curl slightly in his shirt. the kiss deepens just a little, enough to make your stomach flip, but still soft, still careful.

when you part, your faces stay close, noses touching, his forehead pressing gently into yours. your eyes open slowly, and so do his.

he smiles, not wide, not nervous. just real. “okay,” he says, like it’s the only word he can manage.

you let out a soft laugh, your breath still shaky. “okay.”

he leans in again, like he can't help it — or maybe like he doesn't want to. his mouth finds yours a second time, a little slower now, but more certain. like the first kiss answered a question, and this one is what comes after.

your hand moves to his neck, fingers brushing the edge of his hairline. he exhales softly into the kiss, like he's been holding his breath for too long. you tilt your head, just enough, and everything around you slips away. it’s just him. just this. you kiss him again and again, soft but needing it more now. and in the space between those kisses, your thoughts start to scatter.

you think about how you’re going back to college in two weeks. how this summer doesn’t get to last forever. how he’s your brother’s best friend, who would probably lose his mind if he knew about this, who’s trusted jay with more than anyone else.

you think about the way jay looked in that hoodie on the porch earlier, the way he reaches for your hand like it’s instinct, the way he always glances at you like he’s making sure you’re still with him. you think about the distance coming, the time zones, the unfamiliar dorms and roommates and classes, and how everything is about to split open into something new. and how scary that is.

but none of it feels bigger than this. 

none of it feels more important than the way he’s kissing you right now, like he means it. like he’s been meaning it for a while. like this moment belongs to you, not the future. 

you press a little closer, your hand gripping the front of his shirt, like holding onto him might freeze time. like maybe, if you stay right here, none of the hard parts will catch up yet. you kiss him like it’s the only thing that matters, because right now, it is.

and somewhere in the quiet, you can feel it from him too. not in words. not in anything he says. but in the way his fingers stay gently on your jaw, the way his breath stumbles a little every time your lips meet. in how his hand settles at the small of your back, pulling you in like he’s afraid of letting go too soon.

this isn’t just a summer crush. not for you. not for him.

and for once, you don’t try to name it. you don’t try to figure out what comes next. you just kiss him again. and he kisses you back.

the morning after feels quieter.

you wake up to the sound of zippers and muffled voices, the rustle of plastic bags and someone shuffling through the fridge. the sun is already pouring in through the windows, soft and golden, catching dust in the air like snow. the couch cushions are out of place, blankets half-folded, someone’s shoes by the door, another person brushing their teeth in a hurry. 

you sit up slowly, blinking the sleep from your eyes, your hoodie still smelling like smoke and lake water. there’s that brief moment, the one before your brain fully wakes up, where you forget what day it is, what comes next. but then it settles in, slowly and all at once: the trip is over. it’s time to go.

jay is already awake, crouched by his backpack in the hallway, rolling up a pair of socks like it matters. his hair is a mess. he’s wearing a t-shirt you’ve seen a hundred times and socks that don’t match. he glances up when he sees you, gives you a tired half-smile. not wide. just soft.

you both don’t say much. maybe there’s nothing to say yet. maybe saying anything would make it feel too real.

the car ride home is crowded. jungwon’s driving, sunoo’s in the passenger seat. the backseat is a puzzle of bags and limbs and too much heat, and you and jay are tucked into the middle of it, pressed together by necessity. you settle in, the windows cracked just enough to let in the air. you let your head rest against jay’s shoulder slowly, trying to make it seem casual, like it’s just more comfortable that way. he doesn’t move, just shifts a little so you can fit there better. his arm brushes yours, and he taps his thumb against his knee in a steady rhythm. you close your eyes, but you don’t sleep.

you’re holding back tears and you don’t even know why exactly — maybe it’s the quiet, or the closeness, or the feeling that something is slipping away. you press your face a little more into the fabric of his sleeve, pretending the sun through the window is what’s making your eyes sting. 

you think about how in two weeks you’ll be gone again. how everything’s about to stretch out — cities, time zones, semesters. you think about how this summer felt like something rare. like it shouldn’t have happened, and yet it did. and now it’s ending, and you don’t know what comes next. you don’t know when comes next.

you feel his hand rest lightly on your knee under the bags. you don’t open your eyes. you just let yourself pretend, for a few more miles, that none of it’s changing yet.

when the car pulls up in front of jay’s house, it’s abrupt, too sudden, like the day skipped ahead without permission. jungwon puts it in park and leans his head back dramatically. “finally,” he mutters. sunoo groans, stretching his arms above his head. jay moves first, shifting beside you, gathering his stuff slowly. he doesn’t say anything right away. you sit up, already feeling the cold where his body isn’t next to yours anymore.

he opens the door and climbs out, throwing his bag over his shoulder. then he turns back toward you, standing there for a second longer than necessary, like maybe he thought this would be easier. you climb out after him.

jungwon is fiddling with the radio, sunoo is yelling something about needing to pee, and the world keeps moving behind you, but jay is still. he looks at you like he’s trying to find the right thing to say and coming up empty.

he shifts his bag on his shoulder, then takes a small step closer. “so...” he starts, then trails off.

you nod. “yeah.”

he hesitates. then reaches out and pulls you in.

the hug is tight. longer than expected. his arms wrap around your back, his chin rests lightly on your shoulder. you let your eyes close. your hands grip the back of his shirt, holding on like maybe that will stop the clock.

you feel him breathe in. then out. slow and steady. like he doesn’t want to let go either. when he pulls back, he still doesn’t let go of your hand.

“let’s see each other before… we leave,” he says. his voice is quiet.

you nod, squeezing his fingers. “yeah.”

he lets go first. you step back toward the car. jay doesn’t turn until you’re almost inside. you catch one last glance of him through the open window as jungwon pulls away, hands in his pockets, hair in his eyes, standing in front of his house like he doesn’t know what to do with himself now after all that happened.

you lean your head against the window and close your eyes. you feel the bracelet on your wrist.

and you decided to visit jay that week. the sun was already dipping low when you got off your bike. the sky had turned that soft orange-pink, the kind that makes everything feel like it’s slowing down. the basement door was around the side of the house, half-hidden behind some overgrown bushes. you pushed through them, found the handle, and pulled it open. the air was cooler as you stepped down the narrow wooden stairs, careful with each step. you’d never been down here before. not once.

his room looked exactly like him. the walls were dark wood, lined with posters — the cure, bon jovi, AC/DC, the smiths — and a few polaroids tacked up with tape. his bed was unmade, blankets rumpled and half-falling off the side. one guitar case was open on the floor, the others hung neatly on the wall, each one looking like it had a story. there were cassette tapes in uneven stacks on the desk, a walkman with tangled headphones beside them, and clothes half-folded in the open suitcase on the bed.

jay was kneeling beside it, fitting a hoodie into a tight corner of the bag. he glanced over his shoulder when he heard you, his smile soft. “hey,” he said.

“hey,” you answered, stepping further in, letting the door click shut behind you.

you stood for a second, just taking it in. this space you’d never seen, that felt like it had always been waiting. you leaned your shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, watching him. “so this is where you disappear to,” you said.

he chuckled, still folding something. “yep. it’s basically a cave.”

“it’s nice,” you said quietly. “feels like you.”

he looked up at that, met your eyes for a second, then nodded once, like that meant something to him.

you didn’t really help with the packing. mostly just watched him move around, picking things up, setting them down, deciding what made the cut and what didn’t. there was something peaceful about it. the quiet rhythm of his hands, the soft music playing low from the tape deck, the occasional creak of the floor above.

“you nervous?” you asked, after a while.

he paused, then sat back. “a little,” he admitted. “i mean… yeah. i’ve never really been away from here. not like this.”

you nodded slowly. “i remember that feeling. the first time i left.”

“did it get easier?” he asked, eyes still on the bag.

“not right away,” you said. “but yeah. eventually.”

he looked up at you again, studying you like he was trying to memorize something. “you’re gonna be far,” he said. “but i’m gonna be farther.”

you tried to smile, but it felt like it caught somewhere in your chest. “i know.”

he stood, dusted his hands on his jeans, and walked over to the wall. reached up, gently took down the acoustic guitar. he turned it over in his hands like it was something fragile, something important. then he sat down on the floor and looked at you.

“can i play something for you?”

you nodded, not trusting your voice for a second.

his fingers found the strings like they always knew the way. he adjusted the strap, then looked down, brows pulled slightly together in focus. and then he started playing, slow, familiar. the first few notes hit you like a wave. “just like heaven”. you don’t say anything. you don’t have to. it was always your song — even if neither of you ever said it out loud. the one you danced to at prom. the one you kept slipping into his mixtapes, over and over again, like a quiet kind of truth.

you felt your throat tighten, your eyes sting. but you didn’t look away. he played through the intro like he’d done it a thousand times, and maybe he had, but now it sounded different. quieter. like it was just for you. the room felt smaller somehow, or maybe just closer. his voice was low, a little unsure at first, but steady.

"show me, show me, show me how you do that trick..."

his eyes flicked to yours for a second, then back down to the strings. he didn’t overdo it. didn’t try to be impressive. just played it like it meant something. like the song could hold everything neither of you had said out loud yet. you sat down slowly on the floor, right by his side, looking at him while he played.

when the last note faded, he didn’t say anything right away. neither did you. then he looked at you again, and this time he smiled, small, but full of something bigger. “that song always reminds me of you,” he said. 

your voice was quiet. “i think i’ll hear it and think of this.”

he nodded once. “good.”

you leaned in, fingers brushing lightly against his knee. he put the guitar aside and leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours for a second. the moment was soft. still. like the whole world had paused long enough to let you both catch your breath.

“i don’t want to go yet,” he whispered.

“i know,” you said. “i don’t want you to go either.”

but he was going. and you were too. and the time in between would stretch and pull and test everything you weren’t ready to name yet.

he kissed you then, slow, familiar, like it was a promise. not a goodbye.

and you kissed him back like maybe it could be both.

still, he was leaving. and you were too.

and on the day jungwon and jay left for college, the house felt too quiet. even before the sun had climbed all the way up, the morning was thick with that strange stillness that only came with goodbyes. doors opened and shut softly. drawers clicked closed. voices stayed low, like everyone was trying not to disturb something.

you helped jungwon with his last-minute packing, folding the same hoodie twice because you didn’t know what else to do with your hands. he kept making dumb jokes like he wasn’t about to leave for months, like it wasn’t the first time either of you would be on your own in a real way. your parents hovered nearby, taking turns checking his bags, giving the kind of advice that sounds rehearsed, like they’d been practicing it in their heads for days.

jay showed up a little before nine. he knocked once and let himself in, like always. he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept much, like maybe this was harder for him than he wanted to admit. jungwon lit up when he saw him, and for a second, it was just like any other morning. jay helped carry bags to the car, made fun of how jungwon packed, teased him about almost forgetting his bag of underwear. they bickered all the way down the front steps.

your mom cried when jungwon hugged her. your dad clapped him on the back, too hard, and told him to call every sunday. when it was your turn, he didn’t say anything. just pulled you into a hug and held on for a long time. you didn’t say anything either. there wasn’t much to say. you were proud. you were scared. he was still your little brother, even if he was taller than you now.

jay was the last one to say goodbye. jungwon looked at him like he wasn’t sure what to do, like they hadn’t talked about this part. jay didn’t make a joke this time. he just stepped forward and hugged him. tight. both arms. like it meant something. and maybe it did.

when the car pulled out of the driveway, you watched until it turned the corner and disappeared. your mom went back inside. your dad followed. jay stayed. he stood a few steps from the porch, his car parked at the curb.

you didn’t say anything. just walked over and stood beside him, close enough that your arms brushed. neither of you looked at the other.

“so,” he said eventually, voice low. “that’s it, huh?”

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “yeah.” a pause. the cicadas were screaming in the trees. somewhere down the block, a sprinkler turned on. “you leaving today?” you asked.

he nodded. “wanted to catch jungwon before I did.” he paused. “and you.”

the words were simple, but something about them made your chest ache. “i go tomorrow,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

jay looked over at you then. his eyes were soft in the morning light, tired around the edges like he hadn’t slept much. maybe you hadn’t either. he smiled a little, almost sad. “come here.”

you followed him to the sidewalk, where his car sat humming faintly, engine already warm. he opened the passenger door and leaned in for a second before straightening up again, something small in his hand. a package, square and neat, wrapped in old newspaper and tied with a thin piece of string.

“what’s this?” you asked.

“something for you,” he said. “for when it feels too quiet. or too loud. or just… anything.” he offered it to you gently. “there’s a letter inside. don’t open it until i’m gone.”

you looked down at the package, then up at him. “you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to.” 

you didn’t know what to say. the knot in your chest twisted tighter. jay shifted, one hand in his pocket. “i was gonna write this part down too,” he said. “but figured maybe i should just say it.”

your heart picked up. he was looking at you again. steady this time.

“i like you,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “i’ve liked you for a while. and i didn’t want to leave without telling you.” your breath caught. “i know it doesn’t change anything,” he added. “i’m going far. it’s not like we can just call each other all the time, or drive over. i don’t even know when i’ll be back. but i needed you to know, anyway.”

you stepped forward before you could think. “jay…”

“you don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly, almost nervous now. “i’m not asking for anything. i just—this summer meant something to me. and i hope it did to you too.”

it did. more than you could say. you reached up, one hand brushing against his jaw. “can i kiss you goodbye?”

he smiled, soft and small, and nodded once.

the kiss wasn’t rushed. it didn’t feel like a goodbye, even though it was. it felt like everything that had built up over that summer — the lake trip, the music, the stars, the slow shift from maybe to yes. he held your face gently, fingers curling behind your neck. you kissed him like you wanted to memorize it.

when you pulled away, you didn’t step back.

his forehead pressed against yours. his breath was warm against your cheek.

“guess i see you around, y/n,” he said, voice rough at the edges, like he’d swallowed something too big and hadn’t quite gotten it down.

you didn’t answer right away. you were still looking at him, like maybe if you stared hard enough, if you memorized every freckle, every line, every soft and quiet thing about him, it wouldn’t hurt as much. but it did. it hurt in that hollow way, like something was being peeled from your chest and packed away in the trunk of his car.

your throat felt tight when you finally spoke. “yeah,” you whispered. “see you.”

but it wasn’t casual, not the way you’d said those words a thousand times before, not tossed over your shoulder after a movie night, not shouted across the lawn when he left after dinner. it was the kind of see you that didn’t have a when. or a where. it was hope and ache tangled into two syllables.

he looked at you for a long moment, like he didn’t want to move either. the sun was hitting the edge of his face, casting shadows beneath his eyes, and your heart ached at how familiar he looked, and how fast he was becoming a memory.

you didn’t mean to cry. the first tear slipped out before you could stop it, trailing down your cheek, catching in the corner of your mouth. then another. you didn’t make a sound. just stood there, holding that little newspaper-wrapped box like it might keep you steady.

jay stepped forward. gently. carefully. he brushed the tear away with his thumb, his hand cupping your jaw so lightly it almost didn’t feel real. “hey,” he said, barely audible. “don’t cry.”

you tried to laugh, but it came out broken. “i’m trying.”

he shook his head, and you could see the effort it took him to keep his own eyes dry. “i wish i didn’t have to go today.”

you nodded. “i wish you didn’t either.”

he sighed, and it felt like something was collapsing inside both of you. “i’m gonna try to write. as much as i can. i know it’s slow and dumb and it’ll probably take a week just to get to you, but—”

“i’d like that,” you said quickly. 

he smiled at that. “and… if i can figure it out, maybe i could visit. maybe after midterms or something. if i save up.”

“you don’t have to promise,” you said, though your heart leapt anyway.

“i want to,” he said. “i don’t know what this is, but it matters to me. you matter to me.”

your eyes welled again, and this time he didn’t stop the tears. just let them come. held your hand like it was something precious. something he didn’t want to let go of.

“i should go,” he said eventually, so quiet it barely touched the air.

you nodded, but didn’t let go. not yet.

he leaned in, kissed your forehead, then your lips, soft, lingering. the kind of kiss that stayed with you long after it was over. when he pulled back, he touched your cheek one last time, then forced himself to step away.

you watched him open the door. slide into the driver’s seat. the car engine rumbled to life, low and steady.

he looked at you once more before pulling away. just a glance. but it held everything.

you stood there until the car disappeared down the block, the silence rushing in to fill the space he left behind. the cicadas were still buzzing. the heat was rising off the pavement. life kept going. you looked down at the package in your hands, the string digging a little deeper into your palm now. you didn’t open it. not yet.

you just stood there. and missed him already.

that night, you barely slept. the house was too quiet. your room looked too neat. jay’s gift stayed on your desk, untouched, waiting. you’d packed around it. like it was fragile. like it needed its own space. the next morning, the train station smelled like old coffee and newspaper ink.

now, the package sat on your lap as the train pulled away from the platform, and your parents grew smaller and smaller through the window until they disappeared entirely.

you didn’t cry. not then. you waited until the train curved around the hill, the town falling behind you, and then, when there was no one left to wave to, no one watching, you untied the string.

the newspaper fell away with a soft rustle. inside, a cassette tape, carefully labeled in his handwriting: for when you miss home. and beneath it, a folded piece of paper. creased, a little smudged, like he’d been holding onto it too long before giving it to you.

you opened the letter slowly.

“y/n,

i’ve never been great with words unless i’m joking around, and even then i’m kind of an idiot. but i didn’t want to leave without trying.

this summer meant something to me. you meant something to me.

i think it still doesn’t feel real. that i’m sitting on my bedroom floor right now writing this with the window open and knowing it’s the last time i’ll do this with you just down the block.

i’m not expecting anything. not really. i just didn’t want you to think any of this was a fluke. or just summer heat or timing or nostalgia or whatever. it wasn’t. i’ve liked you for a long time. i just didn’t know how to say it until now.

if this letter gets to you before the homesickness does, good. if not, then maybe it’ll at least feel like someone’s there with you for a minute.

i made the tape in my room last week. i kept thinking about that drive to the lake, how we listened to music and didn’t talk for miles. some songs that sound like how i feel when i’m with you.

i’ll write if you want me to. and maybe i’ll find a way to visit. but if not, if all this ever is is a good memory, thank you for being it.

i’ll miss you more than i can say.

— jay”

you fold the letter back up slowly, pressing the paper flat with your fingers like it might hold its shape better that way. your chest aches in that quiet, heavy way that doesn’t rise all at once, just settles there. low. constant. you hold the cassette in your hand, thumb brushing over the label. 

you rewind it. click. the tape whirs gently, and you close your eyes for a second while it rewinds, your forehead resting against the cool glass of the train window.

when the tape starts again, it opens with “pictures of you” by the cure, every word bleeding into the next like he meant for it to feel like memory. you press your headphones closer, the foam scratchy against your ears, the sound just loud enough to drown out the rest of the train.

the sky outside your window shifts while the songs pass. pink bleeding into orange, then purple, then black. you don’t notice when the train stops at smaller stations. you don’t move when other passengers get up, switch seats, pull out books. you just stay there, with the music, the letter in your bag, and the weight in your chest.

the semester starts quietly. new faces, cold hallways, shared bathrooms that never seem clean. your roommate plays ace of base too loud and always leaves her towel on your chair. you stay busy, mostly. classes, the library, the quiet corners of campus where no one talks. 

the first letter comes ten days in. his handwriting is still a little messy, like he wrote it fast, like he couldn't wait. he tells you about getting lost on his first day, about his roommate who only eats instant noodles, about how he thought of you when he saw a lake behind one of the buildings. the last line says:

i miss you like it’s a sport. i’m training for the olympics.

you laugh out loud. you write him back that night. you tell him about your weird professor, about the vending machine that only gives dr pepper, about how the cafeteria chicken always tastes like cardboard. you say:

i miss you too. i think about that night in the lake more than i probably should.

and it begins. letters back and forth, every week, sometimes more. his envelopes start showing up with little doodles in the corners. he draws your name in bubble letters, sticks tiny pressed flowers inside, once even includes a guitar pick “just in case you forget my favorite color is green.”

you tape some of the letters to your wall. you sleep with one under your pillow. when the days feel long, you reread them like prayers.

he writes about the cold, about the way the wind whistles through the cracks in his dorm window. you write about late nights in the common room, your hands always cold, your heart always a little heavy. sometimes the letters are funny, sometimes soft. sometimes they sound like promises neither of you can quite say out loud.

as november creeps in, the air gets sharper. the letters get longer.

sometimes i look for you in the crowd, even though i know you’re not here. i don’t know what that means. i just miss you, a lot.

then, one wednesday afternoon, the dorm phone rings. you almost don’t answer. but something in your chest pulls you toward it.

“hello?”

static hums, and then his voice, distant and slightly warped by the old payphone line:

“hey. it’s me.”

you freeze. the dorm fades away. someone laughs down the hall, but it’s muffled now. “jay?”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “yeah. god, your voice. i missed it. you sound exactly like i remembered, but—warmer somehow.”

you sit down on the floor with your back against the wall, knees pulled up. “you’re calling from the payphone?”

“outside the student union. my fingers are turning blue, probably. but it was worth it.”

you smile into the receiver, thumb resting against the cord like it’s his hand. “you’re crazy.”

“for you, yeah. a little.” there’s a pause, comfortable and quiet. just the sound of the wind through the line, a car passing in the background, your heartbeat in your ears. “i wish i was there,” he says.

“i wish you were too.”

“i’ve been thinking about christmas,” he adds, voice a little smaller now. “about home. and... i don’t think i can make it.”

your stomach drops. “what do you mean?”

“money’s tight. really tight. i thought i could pick up extra shifts at the dining hall, but they already filled the schedule. i asked my mom if she could help, but she’s barely getting by. i’ve been doing the math over and over—bus, train, anything. i can’t swing it. not this year.”

you lean your head back against the wall, eyes stinging. “i was counting down the days to see you.”

he sighs, like he’s trying to keep something in. “i hate that this is what growing up means. working two shifts and still not getting to be where your heart wants to be.” you’re quiet for a moment, and then he adds, “i wish i could call you every day, i wish i had a cordless phone and no long distance fees and a million quarters in my pocket.”

you laugh, even though it breaks a little at the end. “i wish you were here right now.”

“you think if we both wish it hard enough, we’ll end up on the same train platform by accident?”

“sounds like a movie.”

“sounds like us,” he says. “if we were a little luckier.” the wind through the line is sharper now. he shivers audibly. “i should go before i lose feeling in my toes.”

“can you call again?”

“i’ll save up quarters. skip lunch if i have to.”

“don’t skip lunch.”

“okay, i’ll just skip half of lunch,” he says. “i miss you.”

“i miss you more.”

“that’s not possible.”

“prove it.”

he laughs again, soft and tired and full of something like love. “someday soon. not this christmas, maybe. but someday. i promise.”

you press the phone tighter to your ear like that might make it last longer. “okay. i’ll wait.”

“don’t wait too still. keep living. i want stories when we talk again.”

“you’ll get stories. all of them. i’ll write you tonight.”

“i’ll be waiting.”

the line crackles. you imagine him standing there, snow on his shoulders, one hand buried in his coat, the other holding the receiver like a lifeline.

“bye, jay.”

“bye, love.”

the line goes dead.

you sit there for a while, the dial tone humming in your ear, and then finally, finally, you hang up.

and then christmas comes like it always does. you take the long train ride back home with your walkman pressed to your ears and your bag heavy. the town looks smaller than you remember. maybe it always does since your first semester away. the streets feel frozen in time, lit by weak streetlights and lined with familiar shops. it’s strange—everything is the same, and nothing is.

but this year, you’re not the main event. jungwon comes back two days after you. it’s his first time home since he started college. your mom can barely keep it together when he walks in the door with his overstuffed duffel bag and a sleepy smile. she hugs him so tightly he winces. your dad ruffles his hair, your aunt comes by with a casserole. it’s like the prodigal son has returned, and honestly, you don’t mind. it’s good to see him. it’s good to see them see him.

he looks older. not just taller, though he is. not just the haircut, or the faint stubble he clearly hasn’t decided what to do with yet. it’s in the way he carries himself. looser. more sure. the kind of ease that comes from living somewhere new and surviving it.

you end up on the roof a few nights later, like old times. he finds the ladder first. calls to you from outside your window like you’re kids again. the stars are faint but steady. the air sharp in your lungs. you bring blankets and two mugs of whatever was warm in the kitchen.

you sit side by side, legs stretched out, silence easy between you.

“so?” you ask eventually, nudging him. “how’s it really been?”

he doesn’t answer right away. then: “it’s good. really good, actually.”

you glance over. “yeah?”

“yeah. the campus is beautiful. i got lucky with my dorm, too—my roommate’s cool. not, like, best-friend cool, but we get along. classes are hard, but... in a fun way? it’s weird, i kind of like the pressure.”

“nerd.”

he nudges you back. “i joined this music club,” he says. “nothing serious, just people who like playing stuff together. i’ve been writing again. and there’s this group that goes out on thursdays to open mic nights... i don’t always go, but when i do, it feels... i don’t know. freeing.”

you smile. “i’m glad, wonnie.”

“me too,” he says, and his voice is soft. “i missed this, though. missed home.”

“you seemed so... settled.”

“i think i am,” he says. “but it doesn’t mean i don’t think about this place. about you guys.”

the quiet stretches between you again. you sip your drink. the wind moves through the trees. then, after a pause, he speaks again—gentle, careful. “can i ask you something?”

you look over. he’s not looking at you. “yeah?”

“you and jay.”

you freeze a little. “what about us?”

“i don’t know. it’s just... you never really said anything. and neither did he. but i’m not dumb.” his voice is soft, not accusing. just curious. 

you stare at your hands, fingers curled in the edge of the blanket. “it wasn’t supposed to be a thing,” you say eventually. “it just kind of... happened. after that summer. we kept writing. and then we kept feeling things. and now it’s this... half-real, half-imagined thing that lives between semesters.”

“but it’s real to you?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “it is.”

he doesn’t say anything right away. then: “he never told me.”

“i think he didn’t know how.”

“or maybe he didn’t want to make it more complicated.”

“maybe.” you look over at him. he’s watching the sky. “are you mad?”

he shakes his head. “no. just surprised. and... maybe a little jealous?”

you blink. “of jay?”

“i'm your brother after all.” he chuckled, you followed along after a while.

“he couldn’t come home this christmas.”

“i figured. he didn’t answer when i asked.”

you glance at jungwon. “you guys often write each other?”

“yeah,” he says. “not super often. but he sends me these long letters when he can.”

you smile at the image. “does he ever talk about me?”

he hesitates for a moment, then nods. “not directly. not like, in big declarations or whatever. but you’re always there. in between the lines. like... he’ll say something about music he’s been listening to, and it’s a song you used to love. or mention some movie and how ‘y/n would’ve hated it.’ that kind of thing.”

you feel something tighten behind your ribs. “so he never said anything?”

“no,” jungwon says, quiet. “but i could tell. i mean, i’m not dumb. i knew something was going on. i just didn’t know what, exactly.” he leans back on his hands, looks up at the stars. “but then i started thinking,” jungwon goes on. “if he was gonna care about someone like that, i’m glad it’s you.”

your eyes sting a little. you smile at that. “do you miss him?”

“of course,” he says, then looks at you. “but i think you do more.” you don’t say anything. he doesn't press. after a while, the wind picks up. your fingers are cold, your mugs are empty. jungwon glances sideways at you. “we should go in before mom wakes up and accuses us of catching pneumonia.”

you snort. “she’s probably already awake.”

“probably.”

he gets up first, offers you a hand. you take it. when you both climb back in through the window, the house is still quiet. warm. familiar. but something in your chest feels a little different. like the ache is still there, but softer. held.

the holidays pass in the quiet rhythm of home. 

you help wrap gifts at the kitchen table with leftover paper from last year—half of them with the name “jungwon” in curly, looping letters. he's the center of the season this time. it’s his first time back since starting college, and your parents cling to him like they’re making up for lost time. your mom tears up over his favorite soup. your dad takes pictures with the chunky kodak camera he barely remembers how to use.

you don’t mind. not really. it's good to see him like this—full of stories, confident in ways he wasn’t before. he talks about dorm parties, about sleeping through 8 a.m. lectures, about running into a professor at a bar once and pretending not to notice. he even joined a rec basketball team. you listen, smiling, even when your chest aches a little with the difference.

new year’s eve arrives with less celebration than usual. your parents are asleep by eleven. jungwon watches back to the future part iii on VHS in the living room. you sit with him on the floor, both of you wrapped in old quilts, sipping ginger ale from mismatched mugs. when midnight hits, you both yell “happy new year” more out of obligation than excitement. there are no fireworks, just distant shouts from a few blocks away. 

you think of jay. wonder if he’s somewhere with people, or alone. wonder if he thought of calling. wonder if he stopped himself.

you go back to campus in early january.

the train is colder this time. more grey. you keep your headphones in and stare at the frost on the window. roxy music, the cure… the soundtrack of trying not to feel too much.

when you get back to your dorm, your roommate’s side is already full of unpacked clothes and christmas candy. your side is neater, more sparse. you pin up a few new photos. unpack slowly. tuck your homesickness into corners and drawers.

classes start again. second year feels heavier than the first. the professors are stricter, less patient. you drink more coffee. underline more passages. your handwriting gets messier.

jay’s letters still come, but they’re different now. shorter. the envelopes are still addressed with care, your name underlined twice like always. in one letter, he writes about a band he’s joined—some guys in his dorm who needed a rhythm guitarist. he says they play mostly pixies and stone roses covers, sometimes in the campus bar, sometimes in someone’s garage. he says it’s loud and messy and it makes him feel like he can breathe again.

he doesn’t mention missing christmas. he doesn’t say anything about not calling. he signs off with a song lyric, like he always does. this time: “heaven knows i’m miserable now.” you smile anyway.

as the months pass, the letters come slower. once a week becomes twice a month. then sometimes just one, slipped into your mailbox late and slightly rain-stained. but they’re still his. still full of little details—what he’s reading, the weird dreams he had, the girl in his english class who always talks about astrology.

february comes. then march. and suddenly the snow is melting again. your hair is longer. you’ve started carrying a walkman everywhere. your favorite café replaced the jukebox with a cheap stereo that mostly plays madonna and paul simon. the world is moving forward, spinning fast, pulling you along with it.

but some days, when the sun hits just right, and you hear a guitar riff through a half-open dorm window, you think of him. of that fall. of letters. of train rides. of the silence that still holds you both, gently. and you wait. because you know—somewhere—he’s waiting, too.

it’s a saturday afternoon in april, and spring has finally, finally started to show its face.

you’re sitting beneath the cherry tree near the east edge of campus, the one that blooms a little earlier than the others, the one that looks like it’s holding secrets in every petal. sunlight slips through the branches in soft waves, dancing across the open pages of your book. there’s a coffee cup balanced carefully in the grass beside you, the sleeve still warm.

you’ve been there for over an hour. the world feels far away. it’s the kind of quiet that’s not empty, but full of wind in the leaves, of the occasional rustle of a student passing behind you, of the soft, steady hum of a saturday moving forward without urgency.

you turn a page, and then someone sits down beside you. you don’t look up right away. the book’s getting good again. but then you notice the shift in weight. the familiar way your skin prickles. the scent of something: clean laundry, faint cologne, and something you haven’t smelled in months but recognize instantly.

you turn. and it’s him. jay.

he’s right there, in front of you. close enough to touch. you don’t think. you don’t even say anything. you just launch yourself at him.

your book flies into the grass. your coffee nearly spills. your arms wrap around him tight, your face buried in his neck before your brain can even catch up. he laughs, breathless, a little startled but not pulling away. his arms close around you, firm and warm and shaking just a little.

“holy shit,” you whisper, your voice muffled in his hoodie. “holy shit, you’re here.”

“yeah,” he says, holding you tighter. “i’m here.”

you pull back just enough to look at him, still holding his shoulders like you’re making sure he’s real. his hair’s longer, shaggier than you remember. his face is a little thinner. his eyes are tired but bright. “how—what—” you start, then blink hard. “how did you know i’d be here?”

he smiles, soft, almost shy. “one of your letters,” he says. “you mentioned this tree. said you always came here saturday afternoons to read. so... i did the math.”

your heart does something strange in your chest. like falling and flying at the same time. “you remembered that?”

“of course i remembered that.”

you turn toward him fully, knees folding underneath you. “what—” your voice cracks, so you try again. “what are you doing here?”

he tilts his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i wanted to surprise you.”

your mouth opens and closes once. “you did.”

he laughs gently, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah. i figured.”

you take him in more slowly now, in full color. the soft mess of his hair, pushed back like he’s run his fingers through it a dozen times today. the curve of his mouth, familiar and brand new all at once. the hoodie you’ve seen in polaroids, now in front of you. the pin on his strap — the smiths, still. his shoelaces are untied.

“so you just... showed up?” you ask.

“not just.” he glances down at the grass. “i’ve had this planned for a few weeks. it’s spring break at my school.”

you blink. “you’re spending your break here?”

“yeah.”

“with me?”

he lifts a shoulder, casual in the way he never really is when it comes to you. “yeah. if you want me to be.”

your heart stumbles. “why didn’t you go home?”

“my parents came to visit me last month. brought homemade food, checked if i was sleeping enough. we did the whole thing.” he pauses. “so this time... i wanted to come see you. you were the priority.”

your throat goes tight. painfully tight. you stare at him. “that’s—”

“cheesy?”

“kind of.”

he grins. “but true.”

you blink fast, trying to keep your voice from wobbling. “i can’t believe you’re here.”

he nudges you with his shoulder, gently, and for a moment, everything around you seems to fade. the campus sounds, the other students walking by, the breeze rustling through the cherry blossoms, they all blur into the background. it’s just the two of you, sitting here in a moment that feels impossibly perfect.

“well. i am,” he says again, this time his voice lower, quieter. he’s watching you now, really watching you, like he’s trying to memorize the way you look in this light, the way you sound when you speak so softly, the way your eyes flicker with something unspoken. your heart thuds in your chest, and you swallow. the world feels like it’s holding its breath too, waiting for something. waiting for us, you think, and before you can stop it, the words spill out in a whisper:

“i’ve missed you so much.”

he looks at you for a moment, something in his eyes shifting. then, without warning, he’s leaning in, closing the space between you. his hand, warm and gentle, finds its way to your cheek, and your breath hitches at the contact. his touch is familiar and new, like coming home but also like discovering something thrilling and unknown all at once.

you don’t even realize you’ve closed your eyes until you feel him so close, his breath mingling with yours, his lips almost brushing your skin. you can feel the thrum of your pulse in your throat, the way the air feels thick between you, charged with everything unspoken, everything you’ve been holding on to for so long. 

his lips, when they finally meet yours, are soft and hesitant at first, like he’s testing the waters, unsure if you’ll pull away or if you’ll let him stay. and when you don’t—when you lean into him, your hands trembling as they rest against his chest, your lips responding with a quiet urgency—it’s like something clicks into place, something that had been waiting all along, just beneath the surface. his kiss deepens, letting you both catch up to the months that have slipped by, all the letters and all the silences. his fingers tangle gently in your hair, tugging you closer, and you lose yourself in the feeling of him—his warmth, his presence, his everything. it’s like coming home, but it’s also like a brand new beginning.

when you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, you don’t open your eyes right away. you stay there, just for a moment, feeling the soft brush of his nose against yours, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. there’s a peacefulness to it now, something that wasn’t there before, something that feels right in the way the world has fallen away.

for a few minutes, neither of you says anything. the silence between you is comfortable, filled with everything that’s unsaid but understood. and then, just when you think you can’t feel any more overwhelmed by the weight of it all, he pulls back a little, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

“you’re... real,” he murmurs, as if it’s just occurred to him. “this whole thing... you’re really here.”

you smile, a little breathless, still floating in the aftershock of the kiss. “i could say the same about you.”

he shakes his head softly, his eyes full of wonder. “no. i mean... i really missed you. i’ve been... so stupid not to just come here sooner.”

“it’s okay,” you say, gently. “you’re here now. that’s all that matters.”

he smiles, a little sheepish, and you can’t help but lean in for another kiss, slow this time, just a soft press of lips as if to say everything you haven’t yet. he kisses you back just as gently, and for a moment, you feel like you’ve finally found the place where you both belong, tucked away under the cherry blossoms, where time feels endless and the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

that week unfolds like a secret you get to keep.

spring break in 1991 feels like borrowed light—just warm enough for jackets to hang open, just cool enough for coffee to still feel necessary. the campus empties a little more each day, the sidewalks quieter, the dorms thinner with sound, and you and jay exist inside it like the only ones left.

you meet him every morning at the little café just off campus. he always gets the same thing: black coffee, extra strong, and a cinnamon roll if they haven’t sold out by ten. you try something new each day, let him steal bites, press your knees together under the table when no one’s looking. he watches you talk with his chin propped on his palm, like you’re something out of a song he’s only now learning the words to.

you walk everywhere. to the used bookstore with the creaky wood floors and the cat that sleeps in the poetry section. to the park with the duck pond, where you both pretend not to care that your hands brush more than once. to the laundromat even, where you sit on top of the machines with a bag of shared chips, watching the clothes tumble, talking about nothing and everything.

one afternoon, you take him to the record store a few blocks away. the bell above the door jingles when you enter. he goes quiet in that way he does when he’s really happy, thumbing through crates like he’s handling treasure. you wander into the second-hand tapes, until you feel his hand slip into yours.

“you’re wearing it,” he says.

you look down. the braided thread bracelet he made you is snug around your wrist, a little frayed from time.

“of course,” you say, like it’s obvious.

he smiles, and it’s soft in a way you almost never see. “i didn’t think you still would.”

you roll your eyes. “you underestimate me.”

“no,” he says. “i think i just miss a lot of you.”

you find a dusty smiths vinyl in the back corner. he insists on buying it, even though you argue it’s too expensive for a college student who already works two jobs. he tells you you’re worth overpriced music and more.

you listen to it later in your room, the both of you stretched out on your bed, sharing a single pillow. you press your foreheads together and try not to think about how fast the week is going. you trace the freckles on his arms like constellations and wonder how long you’ll get to keep this version of him—warm, present, real.

some nights you stay out late, sitting under the cherry tree, shoulders pressed close in the quiet dark. other nights, you fall asleep in the common room watching movies from the campus video library, wrapped in the same scratchy blanket, popcorn spilled everywhere.

you don’t talk about what you are, not exactly. but he always finds your hand first. he always walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street. he kisses your forehead like a promise.

and every day, you feel it more: this thing between you, still unnamed, but steady. something building. something real.

one night, you lie on the floor of your dorm room, your legs tangled, his head resting on your chest. you read aloud from your book until your voice gets soft and slow. when you pause, he murmurs, “don’t stop,” like he’s afraid silence will mean goodbye. you read until you can’t keep your eyes open, and when you wake up the next morning, his hand is still in yours.

the day before he’s supposed to leave, you take him to the park. you take him deeper in, where the trees open into a wide clearing and the lake stretches out like glass, catching pieces of the sky. you brought a blanket in your tote bag, and you spread it over the grass with shaking hands, not from nerves, but from how full your chest feels just having him beside you again.

he whistles low when he sees the view. “you’ve been keeping this place a secret from me?”

you smile, sitting cross-legged on the blanket. “figured i needed to impress you with something.”

he grins as he drops down beside you, close enough that your knees touch. “mission accomplished.”

you both fall quiet, watching the sun glint on the water, the way the wind ripples across it like someone brushing their hand over silk. 

“you remember,” he says, eyes on the lake, “the first time we kissed?”

you look at him. he’s got that look on his face—the one he gets when he’s remembering something that still stings a little. “of course i do.”

he laughs softly, and there’s color rising in his cheeks. “god, i was such a mess that day. i think i was sweating through my shirt.”

“you were,” you say, biting back a grin. “you looked like you were gonna faint.”

“i almost did.”

you lean your head on his shoulder. “you still kissed me, though.”

“yeah,” he says, quieter now. “best decision i ever made.”

for a while, you just sit like that, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the wind in the trees and the distant sounds of kids playing somewhere far off. 

“i wanted to tell you something,” he says eventually, shifting slightly so he can see you better. “about the band.” you straighten a little, curious. “we’re gonna start playing more. not just on campus, but local shows. house parties, bars, that kind of thing. one of the member’s cousin knows a guy who books gigs.”

“jay,” you say, your voice light but sincere, “that’s amazing.”

he shrugs like it’s nothing, but his smile gives him away. “we’re getting paid too. not a ton, but enough to cover meals, gas, maybe even some rent if we play enough.”

“i’m proud of you,” you say, and you mean it. “i always knew you’d do something with that music.”

he turns to you again, his eyes soft. “we’re playing in two weekends. it’s a friday night set, off-campus, but not far. if you came... i’d really like that.”

“i’ll try,” you say. “really. i will.”

“you’d probably hate the crowd,” he says. “everyone’s a little drunk and way too into themselves.”

“i don’t care about the crowd,” you say. “i’d be there for you.”

he smiles again, but this time it fades a little faster, like something heavier is sitting behind it.

“i’ve been thinking,” he says, slower now. “about us.” 

you nod. you’ve been thinking about it too. every day since he got here. every letter, every night you read them under your sheets like prayers. “i don’t want to hold you back,” he says. “i mean it. i don’t ever want you to feel like you have to wait around for me.”

your chest tightens, but you don’t look away. “i never felt like i had to,” you say. “i wanted to.”

he exhales, eyes flicking to the ground. “it’s hard, being far. i hate not knowing when i’ll see you next, if your letters are gonna come this week, if you’re okay.”

“it is hard,” you say. “but not harder than not having you in my life.”

that gets him.

he looks up at you, and his eyes are full, like he’s carrying the weight of something he’s been holding back for too long. but they’re steady too. there’s no hesitation in them. no fear. just the quiet conviction of someone who has finally found the right words and the right moment to say them.

“i love you,” he says.

not softly. not tucked behind nervous laughter or hidden in a passing joke. he says it plainly, like it’s always been true. like it’s not a question or a gamble, but a fact of who he is.

you go still. not because you didn’t want to hear it, but because you did. you’d been dreaming about hearing it. you’d written it in letters you never sent. whispered it to your pillow on nights the silence felt too loud. but now that it’s real, that it’s here between you, it takes your breath away.

your heart is beating too hard. your chest feels tight in the best and worst way. it’s like you’re floating and anchored all at once.

“i love you too,” you say.

the words fall out soft, but certain. no tremble. no second-guessing. it feels like unlocking something that’s been waiting inside you for months. and he smiles. not his usual grin. this one is slower, quieter. full of something tender and wrecked and entirely sincere. he lets out a shaky breath, like hearing it back made something loosen in his chest.

he reaches for your hand, threads his fingers through yours, and holds on like he’s scared you might disappear.

“i didn’t know if i should say it,” he admits, voice low. “i didn’t want to make this harder.”

you shake your head, blinking fast again. “you didn’t.”

he watches you, eyes glinting in the light fading over the lake. “i know we don’t have answers yet. i know we’re not in the same place. but i love you, and i don’t want to pretend i don’t. not anymore.”

you nod, and your throat feels too tight for a second to speak. but then you do. “thank you for saying it.”

he presses his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes. the wind brushes over your cheeks. “i want to do this right,” he whispers. “i want to keep showing up. even when it’s messy. even when we’re apart. i’ll write, i’ll call—whatever it takes. i just want you to know that i’m yours.”

you feel like crying again, but it’s the good kind. the overwhelming, grateful kind. “you already are,” you whisper back.

he kisses you then. slow and certain, like he’s been waiting to show you just how much he meant every word. you kiss him back with everything you have. every letter you never sent. every weekend you spent missing him. and for a little while, it feels like you’re in the exact right place, with the exact right person, and the rest can wait.

because now you know. and now he knows. and for now, that’s everything.

the sky is gray when you wake up. not stormy, just still. the apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the radiator. you make coffee without asking, and toast because it's simple. neither of you says much while you move around the kitchen. it's not awkward. it's just early, and this kind of morning carries its own language. when you finally sit down across from him, he offers a small smile and reaches for your hand across the table. his thumb brushes over your knuckles like he's grounding himself there. you want to ask him to stay, just one more day, but you know how it works. time doesn't pause just because you want it to.

“thank you,” he says, voice low. “for everything. for this week.”

you nod, not trusting yourself to say much more. “me too.”

you finish breakfast slowly, letting the minutes stretch. when it’s time to go, you both move a little slower than usual. jackets, shoes, keys—everything done with quiet care. on the walk to the train station, the streets are calm. a few shops are just opening. jay looks at all of it like he’s trying to take a piece of the city with him.

at the station, the platform is mostly empty. his train isn’t there yet. he sets his bag down and turns to you, both hands in his pockets, like he’s unsure of what to do with them. you take one of them in yours. “i’ll write,” he says quietly, steady.

you nod, trying not to let it show on your face, how much you want him to keep that promise. “you better,” you say, your voice soft but certain.

he smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes in a way that makes your chest tighten. there’s something steady in him, something quiet and real, like he’s trying to memorize your face without making it obvious. then he steps forward and pulls you into a hug. his arms fold around your back, warm and familiar, and you press your face into the space between his shoulder and his neck. you close your eyes. breathe in. it still smells like his soap and the coffee you shared earlier and something that’s just him.

it isn’t a desperate hug. it’s not rushed or falling apart. it’s slow, like neither of you wants to risk breaking whatever this is. he doesn’t hold you too tightly, and you don’t cling, maybe because you both know that if you do, it might unravel you. instead, you just stand there, holding each other like you’re saying something that can’t be said out loud.

when he finally pulls back, he looks at you for a second longer. his eyes move over your face like he’s trying to remember it exactly—every freckle, every line, every part that makes you, you. then he leans in and kisses your cheek, warm and slow, and you think that might be enough. but then he hesitates, just a beat, and his eyes flick to yours, asking without words. and you answer by closing the distance.

he kisses you, soft and steady. not rushed, not messy, just something quiet and sure. it feels like something you’ve been holding in for too long, and now that it’s here, neither of you pulls away too fast. you hold his jacket in your hands and try not to think about how long it might be before you get to do this again. his hands settle at your waist, his thumbs brushing the hem of your sweater. for a few seconds, the station disappears.

when the kiss breaks, your foreheads stay pressed together. both of you quiet. both of you trying to hold the moment still.

the train pulls into the station with a low sound, wheels scraping gently against the track. you both glance at it, then at each other again. he gives your hand one last squeeze before picking up his bag. the straps are worn, one of the buckles is broken, and you think about how far that bag has already traveled. 

“you should go,” you say, finally, your voice low. he nods, but he doesn’t move yet. just gives you one last look, and it holds more than words could.

“take care of yourself, okay?” he says. you nod. “and write to me. even if i’m slow sometimes.”

“i always do,” you say.

this time, you do say goodbye. both of you.

“bye, jay.”

“bye, love,” he says, just as soft.

jay walks toward the train with slow steps, one hand gripping the strap of his bag, the other shoved in his pocket like he’s not sure what to do with it. you stay where you are, not trusting yourself to move. your fingers are clenched around the edge of your sweater, the morning air crisp and dry around you, the sound of the platform soft and distant.

he doesn’t look back right away. just keeps going until he reaches the open door, and then he pauses, just for a second, and turns. your eyes meet. he doesn’t smile this time, doesn’t say anything, but the look is enough. it holds everything neither of you could say, everything you might’ve said if there were more time.

he steps onto the train. you watch him through the window as he walks down the aisle and finds a seat near the middle. he sets his bag down carefully, then turns to face you again. he presses his hand to the glass, palm open. you do the same. for a second, it feels like you're right there with him.

the train jolts once, then starts to move. slow at first. you walk alongside it for a few steps, matching its pace, not ready to let go. he watches you the whole time. he lifts his hand in a small wave. you don’t wave back, but you hold his gaze until he’s out of sight.

the platform feels too quiet after. the tracks stretch out in front of you, empty now. there’s a chill in the air, but you don’t feel it yet.

you stand there for a while, not really thinking, just feeling the space where he used to be. something in you knows this isn’t like the other goodbyes you’ve had before. it’s heavier. it settles deep.

that was the spring of 1991. and that was the last time you saw jay park in years.

author's note: first of all IM SO SORRY for leaving y’all hanging at the end like that 😭 but if people end up loving this story, i promise i’ll write and post part two. pinky swear.

this fic means a lot to me. i’ve always wanted to write something set in the late 80s / early 90s and finally getting to do it with jay as the main character felt really special. btw this is my first long jay fic ever, so i really hope the jay utteds out there enjoy it 🫶

also, in case it wasn’t obvious, just like heaven by the cure is my favorite song of all time :)

thank you so much for reading!!!! <3

UPDATE: part 2 is out now, read here <3

my masterlist <3

perma enha taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @jayparked

[dksfml]

LOVE 119 [PART II]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. masterlist.

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: enemies at work, lovers at home. secret dating. jungwon is hot when jealous, suggestive, fluff summary: your coworkers think that you and niki look cute together while jungwon, your boyfriend is literally standing next to you and it's driving him insane. word count: 3.5k author's note: hey everyone! as promised, i'm here to serve another paramedic jungwon brainrot because it's not fair to just devour this cutesy alone. enjoy and leave some notes <3 read part 1 first and reply if you want to get tagged for the next parts!

You’re midway through a lukewarm coffee in the hospital cafeteria when your coworker leans in, voice low and eyes gleaming with intrigue. “So…” she starts, drawing the word out slowly, “who’s the lucky guy?”

It takes you a second, but the question sinks in just as she tilts her head, nodding toward your neck with a smirk. Your hand instinctively rises to the spot Jungwon’s lips had claimed last night, right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder—a parting gift as you’d curled up together, something you didn’t think twice about until now.

A blush surges to your cheeks. “What? Oh, no, that’s… I scratched it too hard,” you say quickly, heat rising not only from the surprise but the memory of last night—Jungwon’s sleepy grin, the way he’d pulled you close, whispering in your ear as he pressed soft kisses down the curve of your neck.

“Sure you did,” she teases, crossing her arms as her smirk widens. “You’re going to need a better excuse than that. So… is it Niki?”

“What?” you laugh, the idea so out of the blue it’s almost comical. “Niki? Why would you even think that?”

She shrugs, the smugness on her face never faltering. “You always have a soft spot for him. You never scold him like the rest of us. Plus, everyone’s seen the way he hovers around you in the halls, he’s clearly smitten.”

Your eyes widen at the notion. Niki, your young, eager junior who fumbles his way through shifts and who you can’t help but look after because he’s new and a little too starry-eyed for his own good? It’s laughable. “It’s not like that,” you manage, shaking your head. “He’s just… young, that’s all.”

“Mhmm,” she says with a knowing chuckle. “Sure, if you say so.”

Before you can protest further, your phone vibrates. Glancing down, you find a message from Jungwon: a photo of his lunch, neatly arranged with a sweet message beneath it. “Eat well, ily.”

The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip, and you feel an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You quickly swipe away the notification, hoping she didn’t see the smile or the faint hearts in your eyes.

The day unfolds in the usual rush of patient check-ins, chart updates, and emergency calls. You busy yourself to the point where the cafeteria conversation drifts from your mind—until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the break room mirror and spot the faint outline of that now-infamous hickey, the concealer having barely managed to mask it. You tug your collar higher, hoping to hide it through the rest of the shift.

The afternoon in the ER has been a blur of movement and urgency, leaving you barely a moment to breathe. Every time an ambulance pulls up, your heart skips a beat, half-hoping, half-dreading that it’ll be Jungwon walking through those doors.

But each time, it’s someone else, and you return to the steady rhythm of your work, instructing Niki at your side as he follows your lead. Despite the tense environment, he’s attentive and focused, learning from you as he manages each step of the patient’s treatment with remarkable ease.

Afterward, you and Niki head back to the department office, the adrenaline settling as you both chat lightly, unwinding from the chaotic pace. As you enter, you spot Jungwon down the corridor, heading the other way with a stack of documents.

It’s almost comical how, even amidst the bustling hospital, his presence stands out so starkly to you. For a split second, he glances your way, and the fleeting moment feels charged, pulling your attention and making it impossible to look away. But as soon as your eyes meet, you glance down, hoping no one notices how that brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

Once back at your desk, you feel your coworkers’ eyes on you, their curious glances flickering between you and Niki. You try to brush it off as nothing, settling into your usual seat, with Niki across from you. Just as you’re starting to sift through some files, Jungwon’s familiar stride enters the department office.

His easy confidence fills the room, and he greets everyone with that understated charm, heading to a nearby colleague to ask for specific documents. You’re not even looking at him, but his presence is impossible to ignore. You focus on your papers, hoping that looking busy might steady your nerves, but the pages blur in front of you, your mind too distracted by the fact that he’s just a few steps away.

Then, just as you’re juggling a pile of documents, you accidentally knock over your iced coffee. The mostly empty cup clatters over, spilling what’s left onto your coat. The moment the coffee splashes onto your coat, Niki and Jungwon are both at your side in an instant. Niki’s quick to pull out a box of tissues, while Jungwon silently holds out a pristine handkerchief, a touch of annoyance already flickering in his gaze.

Caught off-guard, you instinctively reach for Niki’s tissues, leaving Jungwon standing there with his handkerchief, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches you dab at the stain.

Your coworkers notice the scene and immediately latch onto it, their laughter filling the room. "Oh, come on, you two," one of them teases, grinning at the pair of you. "Why don’t you just date already?”

Another chimes in, "Yeah, it’s obvious there’s something going on. I mean, look how attentive Niki is—always ready to help you out."

You wave them off, laughing it away, but the teasing only grows louder. Someone else playfully nudges Niki. "What’s next, bringing her coffee in the morning?"

Niki laughs, scratching the back of his head, visibly flustered. "Come on, guys, we’re just… coworkers," he insists, though his blush only adds fuel to the fire.

Meanwhile, you can feel Jungwon’s gaze on you, sharper and more intense than ever. His silence speaks volumes; the usual relaxed confidence he carries seems to be tinged with something harder, a jealousy that simmers just beneath the surface. It unsettles you, tugging at something guilty inside as the teasing around you grows.

Suddenly, Jungwon steps forward to you, interrupting the chatter with a clipped tone. "Enough with the tissues,” he says, leveling his gaze at you, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Stop fussing with that coat—you’re only making it worse. Change into something clean, or the smell will stick with you all day.”

The room falls silent, your coworkers exchanging amused glances. You roll your eyes, unwilling to let him get the last word.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Practicality. I can handle a few drops of coffee,” you retort, folding your arms and meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of your chin.

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

"Right, because dealing with a coffee stain is something you’re well-prepared for," he says dryly, folding his arms to match yours. "Clearly, practicality isn’t your strong suit."

You scoff, refusing to back down. "And since when did you become an expert in coffee stain management? It’s barely noticeable, and I’m perfectly fine with it."

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, the challenge sparking between you both as he leans in just a fraction, his voice lower. "Just because you’re fine with it doesn’t mean everyone else is." His eyes flick down to the stain and then back up to yours, a knowing glint in them.

Your coworkers are watching with raised brows, amused but also visibly intrigued by the tension between the two of you. "Are we interrupting something?” one of them jokes, breaking the silence. "Honestly, the way you two bicker is like a married couple."

The comment makes you blush, but Jungwon doesn’t flinch. Instead, he holds your gaze, his smirk deepening. "At least one of us knows how to handle these little emergencies,” he quips, voice steady, though there’s a hint of something raw behind his eyes—a hint of jealousy that only you can catch. The way he’s looking at you, there’s no mistaking it: he’s anything but amused by the teasing around Niki.

But before you can respond, Niki steps forward, awkwardly placing his coat over your chair. “Um, here,” he says, clearly trying to ease the tension. “You can wear mine for now if the coffee’s bothering you that much.”

The room erupts into more laughter, someone nudging Niki with a grin. "See? He’s a gentleman. Really, you two should just make it official."

Another coworker teases, "Or maybe they already have, and they’re just not telling us."

Jungwon’s expression hardens as he watches the exchange, his eyes narrowing. His gaze flickers from Niki to you, a frustration simmering beneath his calm facade.

You feel the tension growing, an almost tangible weight of jealousy in the way his jaw clenches, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

Finally, he speaks up, cutting through the laughter with a controlled but slightly irritated tone. "Enough of the matchmaking." His gaze falls pointedly on you, something possessive flickering there, though he masks it quickly. "And you should change. That coffee smell won’t just vanish."

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to back down. "If it bothers you so much, why don’t you bring me a change of clothes yourself?"

"Thanks," he says shortly, taking the stack of paperwork with a polite nod. He turns back to you and your coworkers, offering a quick, “See you all later. Take care, everyone.” His voice is casual, but as his gaze lingers on you for a fraction of a second longer, you feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

With that, Jungwon strides toward the door, his usual self-assured calm back in place. You watch him leave, but just as he reaches the exit, your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, your pulse quickening as you read the message from him:

“I have something you can change into in the back of the car.”

It’s simple, yet there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You glance up just in time to catch Jungwon’s silhouette disappearing down the hallway, feeling the tension of the moment linger in the air long after he’s gone.

The rest of your shift rolls by with its usual demands, and you brush off the incident from earlier, deciding against getting the change of clothes Jungwon offered. By the time you finally clock out, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the nearly empty parking lot. Just as you step out of the hospital doors, Jungwon’s car pulls up in front of the exit.

You feel a small smile tugging at your lips as you walk over and slip into the passenger seat. “Hey,” you greet him, but his focus remains straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel, his paramedic uniform clinging to his form. The sight of him in that navy blue uniform, complete with the badge and patches, usually makes your heart race, but today his expression is unreadable. A flicker of surprise hits you. Jungwon, who is usually quick with a playful remark, doesn’t even turn his head as you settle in, leaving you feeling a bit deflated.

You tilt your head, watching him closely, noticing the slightest crease of annoyance in his brow. With a slight pout, you try breaking the ice, “So, how was your day?”

He answers, but his tone is clipped, barely more than a few words. "Busy. The usual."

You blink, feeling a hint of tension in the air. Normally, he’d be cracking jokes or filling the car with easy chatter, but now he’s focused on the road with a seriousness that feels almost uncharacteristic.

Leaning back in your seat, you give him a sideways glance. “Is this about the clothes?” you finally ask, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Are you upset I didn’t change into them?”

A quick denial. “No,” he says, a bit too fast, but still refusing to look your way.

You can’t help but smile a little, noticing his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t sound like you’re not upset,” you tease, leaning forward to get a better look at his face.

“I’m not upset,” he repeats, but he’s biting his lip, eyes fixed stubbornly ahead as if he’s hyper-focused on the road. His brow furrows, and he lets out a soft sigh.

“Come on, Jungwon, it’s cute when you sulk,” you say, your smile widening at the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly, revealing his irritation in the most subtle way.

This finally gets a reaction. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing just a little. “I’m not sulking,” he mumbles, but the denial lacks its usual conviction.

“You look pretty sulky to me,” you murmur, enjoying the rare moment of catching him off guard.

Just then, the car comes to a stop at a red light, and you glance over to find him holding a long breath, his expression somewhere between frustration and fondness. The tension in the air shifts slightly as he turns his gaze towards you, and in that moment, you feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his right hand gently on your lap, rubbing small circles with his thumb. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, igniting that familiar spark between you two. It’s a simple gesture, yet it feels so intimate, especially with the way he’s staring at you as if he’s trying to convey everything he can’t say out loud.

He resumes driving as the light turns green, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his voice softens, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the usual bravado. “I’m not upset,” he assures you, though the sincerity behind his words hints at something deeper, something he’s wrestling with beneath the surface.

You can’t help but smile at him, the weight of his earlier mood lifting slightly. “Then what’s with the whole silent treatment? You know you can just tell me, right?”

Jungwon shakes his head, a faint smile creeping onto his face despite his mood.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, his voice maintaining a lightness that’s undercut by an earnest edge. “I don’t want to be the guy who gets all worked up over people assuming you and Niki are a thing.”

You bite your lip, the realization sinking in that his jealousy is more about their perceptions than the spilled coffee earlier.

“Well, I’m definitely not dating Niki,” you reply softly, trying to ease his tension. “He’s just a good coworker. You know that.”

He glances at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile as he focuses back on the road.

“Good,” he mutters, his hand still gently rubbing your thigh, sending tingles coursing through you. The intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race.

He passes another intersection and accelerates, the car moving smoothly through the streets.

“But you know,” you continue, trying to keep the mood light, “if you were just a little quicker with your offer, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this teasing.”

Jungwon lets out a soft chuckle, the tension in the car easing slightly. “I thought I was quick enough,” he says, a playful tone returning to his voice. “How was I supposed to know you’d be so stubborn?”

“Stubborn? Me? Never,” you tease, rolling your eyes dramatically.

He shakes his head with a laugh, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh, a subtle reminder of the unspoken bond between you two. As he navigates the streets, the silence stretches comfortably, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic.

“Hey, you should know,” you add after a moment, “if you want to make sure I’m not wearing Niki’s clothes, maybe you should just… keep me in yours.”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Is that your way of saying you want me to dress you?”

“Maybe,” you reply coyly, biting your lip again, the playful banter making you feel bold.

He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls into a quiet parking lot. “You really know how to make me feel like I’m the jealous one, huh?”

“Just speaking the truth,” you say, leaning back into the seat, enjoying the rhythm of the moment.

As he turns off the engine, the atmosphere shifts slightly, the playful banter fading into a more intimate silence. Jungwon finally meets your gaze, his expression earnest. “Just so you know, it’s not about Niki. I just…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I want to be the one you lean on, the one you trust.”

Your heart swells at his confession, a warmth spreading through you. “You are, Jungwon. You’re the one I always want to lean on.”

He smiles, a genuine light returning to his eyes, and in that moment, everything feels right.

When you arrive at your apartment, Jungwon opens the door for you, the familiar scent of your space washing over you. As soon as you step inside, he follows closely behind, and before you can even set your bag down, he closes the door and turns to face you.

In an instant, the air between you shifts. Jungwon steps forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. You barely have time to react before he captures your lips with his in a deep, passionate kiss that takes your breath away. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you and the electric tension that crackles in the air.

His lips move against yours with a fervor that surprises you, and you feel your heart racing, responding instinctively as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, his mouth coaxing yours open as he explores the sweetness of your taste. It’s intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the moment, your worries and doubts melting away.

In the midst of the kiss, he breaks away for just a moment, breathless and looking down at you with those soft eyes. “I can still smell the coffee,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You giggle, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the reminder of the earlier incident making you giddy. “Well, I didn’t exactly plan for that to happen,” you reply, your voice teasing but breathless.

“Maybe I should get you a proper change of clothes next time,” he quips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. But then he adds, more seriously, “You should probably take those off; the smell will cling to you.”

His suggestion sends a thrill through you, and you find yourself biting your lip in excitement. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want me to take them off?” you tease, your heart racing as you lean closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

He chuckles softly, but there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. “Okay, maybe it’s a little selfish,” he admits, his breath ghosting over your skin as he moves in even closer.

With a playful grin, you decide to indulge him. “Fine, but only if you do too,” you say, your fingers finding the buttons of his uniform. You start to unbutton it, your hands trembling slightly with anticipation. Each button that comes undone reveals more of his toned physique, and your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him.

As your fingers glide over the fabric, Jungwon watches you, his expression a mixture of desire and admiration. “You know, this might be the best idea you’ve ever had,” he murmurs, his voice low and enticing.

You finally push the uniform off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. In that moment, the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intimate. He captures your lips again, and you feel the heat between you both intensify as you pull away the last barriers that had been keeping you apart.

Just when you think it can't get any more intense, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he admits, his breath mingling with yours, creating a palpable tension that thrums in the air.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, your voice teasing yet filled with warmth.

“You know I can’t let everyone find out I’m dating the hottest doctor in the hospital, or else…” he argues, a playful grin breaking through his earlier seriousness.

“Oh, please,” you bite back with a smirk, playfully nudging him. “Like they wouldn’t notice that the ‘sexiest and charming paramedic’ is completely smitten.”

With a smile that could light up the room, you lean in for another kiss, feeling the world around you fade away once again as you get lost in him.

masterlist.

[mi55delulu]

movie goers

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

synopsis: starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.

genre: enemies to friends to lovers (e2f2l)

wc: ~16.4k

cw: not so cute meet, slice of life, slight angst, fluff, mature language, mean jk and mean oc — they get better though, cheating (not main characters), fwb (not main characters), mutual pining, oc is lowkey a hopeless romantic, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, smut, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, love love love. if i got any rules/regulations wrong, i didnt. leave me alone, it’s fanfic 😇✨also written in lowercase bc that’s just how my phone setting is and i’m too lazy to go back to capitalize … ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

a/n: yuh … inspired by real life events. anyways, this is the first time i’ve posted a fic on this page. i’ve been an avid reader (still am) but i’ve been wanting to put something out too. so here’s my gift to close out 2024. also, i miss jk. I MISS BANGTAN. ;-; enjoy and lmk your thoughts!

—

if you had to describe your ideal neighbor in three words, it’d be: mindful, quiet, and kind. cause that’s what your neighbor, mrs. lee, was to you in the last three years you’ve lived in this apartment complex. she kept to herself, walked her small crusty (but cute) senior white dog, and brought you leftover cookies when she baked too much for her grandkids. you always had a feeling she made just the right amount with you in mind, but of course she’d never tell you.

so when she broke the news that she was going to move into her son’s home because they’ve been worried about her living alone, you were happy for her — happy that she’s going to get taken care of, but sad that you’ll be losing a great neighbor.

you tell her whoever moves in after her probably won’t be as good of a baker. she simply laughs and tells you to be nice.

three months pass and you hear footsteps outside your door one afternoon. when you try spying through your peephole to get a glimpse of the commotion, you see boxes stacked on the side of apt# 305.

finally, someone was moving in.

some of the boxes were spilling onto your welcome mat, but that didn’t really bother you. you were more curious about your new neighbor … er, perhaps neighbors. so any clue on whether it was going to be an individual or a family moving in would give you an idea of who you’ll be living next to.

unfortunately for you, all the boxes were neatly sealed off.

“dang it.” you mutter to yourself while squinting at the labels on the boxes. clothes, kitchen, shoes … workout? well, okay no indication of toys so you can safely assume there aren’t any kids … yet.

you look at your clock, it’s about time you head out to get your mail anyways. maybe you’ll bump into your new neighbor(s).

except, it wasn’t as easy to spot who exactly was going to be moving in with all the different movers. you sigh and sift through your mail as you walk up the stairs to your apartment. most of the boxes that were outside had already been moved inside the apartment by the time you returned from the mailroom.

as curious as you were of who your new neighbor could be, you had better things to do … like binge watch your kdramas before your shift starts. maybe if you’re feeling extra nice … you’ll say hi later. no one wants to start off on a bad foot with their neighbor. you fumble around your pockets for your keys and eventually hear your locks click open when you’ve successfully unlocked your door.

“hey, neighbor.”

you turn. now, in all your 28 glorious years of living, you can easily count the times you’ve been starstruck on one hand. seeing the northern lights by accident on your way home in 2024, meeting your favorite youtuber at a late night diner when you were 15 years old, and being noticed by one of the highest ranked players in maplestory’s world chat.

the person in front of you? a sight to behold. tall, killer smile, numerous piercings, and a forearm adorned in tattoos. yeah. you don’t think starstruck would fit for this occurrence, but what you do know is that they’ve gotten you tongue tied.

“welcome!” you blurt out and give a tight-lipped smile before barreling through your entryway. you don’t give yourself another second to study his expression once the door shuts behind you. were you lame to run away from your new neighbor? sure. will you regret this? well, the cringe is already seeping in. you’re probably branded as the weird girl now … whatever.

what’s done is done.

you don’t know if 305 is mindful, quiet, or kind.

but fuck, he’s hot.

—

305 was not quiet.

you know it’s a housewarming party with a couple of his friends. he didn’t have to tell you … you heard them loud and clear through the walls several times as they clinked their shot glasses for the 11th time that evening.

you’re texting your frustrations to dohwan, your boyfriend (?) er … someone you’ve been talking to (and fucking) these last 2 years. he hasn’t quite put a label on the relationship just yet and claimed that he is only seeing you. labels didn’t really matter to you but as time grew, you’ve come to like him a lot and wished for something more. he’s career-driven, great in bed, and knows how to whip up a good breakfast the morning after he stays for the night. he was supposed to come over tonight, but told you he got caught up with work. it’s times like these where you feel a level of uncertainty with dohwan. you spiral and don’t feel as secure as you want to be.

you shouldn’t feel hurt or disappointed … but you do, because hell, alright … maybe you didn’t just like him.

you love him.

you’re not embarrassed that you told him 9 months into seeing each other. has he said it back? no, but that’s okay! everyone has a different timeline when it comes to feelings. you could only hope he meets yours soon enough. why else would he stay for this long?

back to the situation at hand.

you’re not an irritable person, but the least 305 could’ve done was given you a heads up that he was going to have a celebration. you would’ve asked to stay over at dohwan’s in that case.

another round of laughter erupts through your walls and you grit your teeth in annoyance.

“fuckin’ hell,” you throw the covers off your body and march out of your apartment. you find yourself glaring at 305’s door — a juxtaposition from how you usually looked when mrs. lee used to reside here.

god, you missed her.

you knock on the door a few times, taking note how the chattering from the inside decreases and some footsteps grow close to the door.

again, you almost want to want to run back to your apartment when you’re face to face with 305’s handsome confused face.

realizing it’s you, 305 smiles, “oh, hey—“

“it’s nearly 12 a.m. do you mind?” you cut him off.

his smile drops and he leans one shoulder on his doorway.

“sorry,” he says, “we’ll wrap up soon.”

you’d usually drop something this trivial by now, but you’re in a foul mood. unfortunately for 305, this is will be his official first impression of you.

“how much longer is ‘soon?’ it’s been like this for 4 hours,” you really don’t mean for it to come out that way, but the damage is done.

little did you know, 305 wasn’t going to backdown either. he may be new to this complex, but he’s not privy to obnoxious neighbors. the only difference is that he thought you were going to be quiet and shy, much like the first meeting.

“don’t know.” he shrugs.

“i really don’t want to involve property management.” you cross your arms. it’s a half threat — you’ve never called because you never needed to … but you’ll flip through your 50 page rental agreement if you have to.

he mirrors your stance and looks out to your apartment’s door.

“well, sorry to burst your bubble, 307.” he says and you see red, “but management is aware of my get together. it’s not my fault they didn’t inform the other residents.”

“asshole.” you mutter under your breath.

he smiles again, a little less friendly and more condescending this time, “we’ll finish soon, 307. good night.” he shuts his door on you before you can formulate a sentence and you’re left outside in the dark.

—

“yo, jungkook … were we being too loud?” hoseok asks while popping a handful of m&m’s into his mouth.

“yeah, cause your laugh can be heard from all throughout korea,” jimin mocks, earning him a shove from hoseok.

“nah, don’t worry about it. just my neighbor saying hi.” jungkook plops down on the sofa with the rest of his friends.

“oh? should’ve invited them in. we have enough pizza to feed a village.” taehyung nudges his side.

jungkook laughs and shakes his head, “just scale down on the volume and we’ll be golden.”

jungkook loves good company, having lived with his friends for most of his college years, he was a bit reluctant to move out. it’s a little bittersweet, but all his friends are happy for him and his new journey in adulthood. he won’t have to deal with messy roommates and random guests … vice versa. as fun as it was to live in a house full of your best friends, at the end of the day, men will be men. gross, loud, and obnoxious.

not jungkook though, so he thinks.

“ha! called it,” jimin snorts, “you were being too loud, hyung.” this earns jimin a punch to the arm and hoseok’s booming laugh when jimin dramatically falls off the chair.

jungkook knew it was useless to request this of his friends, so he took it upon himself to give the property manager a heads up. lucky for him, the lady seemed more than happy to accommodate. she even left her business card with him after he signed the lease … something about calling her if there’s ever an issue with the apartment — any time of the day.

weird.

what’s weirder was his neighbor. from running away during the first meeting to demanding he end his housewarming on the spot. okay, to be fair, you didn’t, but you might as well have. it didn’t help that jungkook was hotheaded and gets a little irrational when something involved his friends.

so what if he thought you were pretty in your black pajama set? you called his friends loud, when in honesty, they could’ve been much worse. seriously. he knows jimin’s taunting held some truth. hoseok has been responsible for some noise complaints in the past. so this was considered manageable. plus, it’s not like he’ll be inviting them over every weekend.

but if it meant pissing you off, he might consider it.

alright, he wasn’t that cruel and he definitely doesn’t want to make living next to you unbearable. he’ll apologize first thing in the morning tomorrow, but for now, he just wants to enjoy his time with his best friends.

—

jungkook was going to murder you.

not literally, but he could if it wasn’t for the major hangover holding him back. he blinks twice, looks at the clock on his nightstand, reads 7:01am, and lets out a big sigh after another round of drilling vibrates against his wall.

fuckin’ hell.

it feels comical now that he’s in front of your apartment, face still swollen from sleep, but so visibly upset at being woken up at the ass crack of dawn.

“are you serious?” he asks, voice still laced with heavy sleep.

you, on the other hand, look put together and almost too happy this early in the day. jungkook can only rule you out as a psychopath — a pretty psychopath. your hair all in place, lashes kissing your cheeks when you smile at him, and not a single wrinkle on your clothing in sight.

“what’s up,” you peer outside your door just as he did last night, “305?”

he wants to let out a groan, but that’d give you too much power.

“drilling at 7 in the morning? that’s gotta be a violation.” his voice still laced with sleep, though, he’s sure to sound assertive.

“nope! here,” you smile and pull out your phone, the level of brightness makes jungkook squint, “county regulations allow work as early as 6:30am.”

“yeah, if there’s justification. there’s no reason for you to be drilling this early.” jungkook argues back.

you pout, evidently not sad at that revelation, “but my mental health. i was kept up all night by my neighbor and his friends … i need some wall decor to cheer me up. surely you could sympathize, right?”

you don’t allow him to formulate another thought as you’re shutting the door, “i’ll be done soon, have a good day!”

jungkook almost wants to laugh at how irritated he is, but all he can do now is try to get some shut eye before his shift starts. that is, if he can even go back to sleep.

should’ve asked his friends for some earplugs as a housewarming gift.

—

the drilling eventually came to a stop. only because you could not be bothered to wake up earlier than you had to and you think you made your point pretty clear to your neighbor — don’t fuck with me.

honestly, you’re not sure what came over you. you never liked causing issues for people and you’re also well liked by your work peers and friends, so this was out of character of you. it also didn’t help that your friends spurred you on and praised you for one upping him. as the rage dissipated from your system, you’ve come to the conclusion of why you acted out.

your new neighbor was a conventionally attractive man. he probably knows this too judging from the way he spoke to you — like you’d back down just because he said so. he probably was able to schmooze the lease manager into giving him a better rent deal and get pardoned for all the noise he made during his housewarming party. sucks for him; you’re not a fan of pretty privilege.

you had to set him straight, so drilling into a random piece of wood every morning right near his bedroom wall was the perfect revenge. you expected some backlash from him; surprisingly, he didn’t say a word to you after his first confrontation. so, you stopped the antics after the third day.

weeks later, you learned his name is jeon jungkook. not through a formal introduction … only because his mail got mixed in with yours and you tossed it onto his welcome mat. he eventually came to realize your name through the same way too.

though, he’ll always be 305 to you and you’ll always be 307 to him.

that’s fine.

you’ll scowl every time you see him and he’ll stick a middle finger up to you as well.

the feeling was mutual.

“so, are you still battling it out with your new neighbor?” dohwan asks one evening. his head was actually between your legs at the moment. you like having random conversations during sex, but talking about your annoying neighbor wasn’t on the top of your list.

“mm, yeah,” you moan lowly when he flicks his tongue on your clit. “well n-no, not anymore.” you correct yourself, “oh fuck, keep going.”

“good, i’m tired of hearing about him,” he chuckles against you and continues his ministrations between your folds. if you were caught off guard by his comment, you weren’t anymore. the pleasure coursing through your body is enough to make your head spin.

he moves away from your body once you’ve come by his mouth. without warning, he slips inside you and you hiss from the overstimulation, still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“gonna fuck you so well.”he’s thrusting relentlessly, “it’s what you need, huh princess?”

you nod, too overcome by the power of his thrusts hitting all the right spots. dohwan is a little more vocal tonight — it makes you feel special but you’re also a little self conscious about your nextdoor neighbor hearing things. you’ve always kept it down even when mrs. lee lived next door, jungkook would be no exception.

people fuck, it doesn’t mean you can’t be courteous. you sure as hell don’t want to hear your neighbor fucking given that you’ve seen him bring back several different girls to the apartment these couple of weeks.

one thing you’ll commend jungkook for is not being a loud fucker in the bed.

“baby,” you whine as he pauses a little to listen to what you have to say, “we should keep it down.”

he tilts his head, reaches in between your bodies and circles slowly on your clit with his thumb while he resumes rocking into you. you keen and almost let out a moan.

“why? let the asshole hear.” he grunts when he picks up the pace again. dohwan kisses down your neck and leaves a red hickey on your collarbone. you let out a pretty sigh and wrap your legs around his waist.

“y-you,” he moans particularly louder and it throws you off slightly, “saw the way he looked at me today, right?”

you didn’t, but you definitely saw the way dohwan glared at jungkook and tightened his hold on your waist before entering your apartment. meanwhile jungkook had just come back from his evening run — at least that’s what you assumed since he was wiping away his sweaty hair from his flushed face coming up the stairs.

“baby, are you really going to talk to me about another man while we’re fucking?” you laugh and cup his face in your hands. he huffs in frustration but his eyes soften, it’s opposite to the brutal pace he’s set on your pussy.

“sorry,” he continues fucking into you and the room is filled with wet noises and his panting once again. even though he apologized, he does nothing to lower his volume.

knock-knock. the sound definitely did not come from the frontdoor, it was far too close to hear.

another series of knocks come and you realize it’s your bedroom wall. dohwan pays no attention to those sounds and is far into chasing his own high, but you move your hands over his mouth to muffle his grunts.

jeon jungkook is knocking on your wall.

he knows you’re having sex and you’ve become that obnoxious neighbor. if that wasn’t enough of an instant mood killer, you hear him blasting one of akon’s featured hits “i just had sex” to mock you and dohwan.

yeah, sexy time is over. you push dohwan off you and head into the bathroom to nurse your embarrassment.

shortly that night, dohwan leaves and it’s the first time you’ve gotten into an argument with him where you think he’s in the wrong.

—

people find it daunting to go to the movies alone. you’d agree until you were forced to go alone after no one wanted to go watch twilight with you in high school. it was awkward at first, but once the light dimmed and the movie started, no one cared about their surroundings.

that’s why you liked going alone. no one will pay attention to how alone you were. everyone in there will be focused on the big screen in front — you included. there was always something liberating about doing things alone too. ‘like yeah, stick it … i don’t need anyone.’ kind of energy.

the only thing you wished was to have someone to discourse with after the movie ended. it’s not a dealbreaker though. you could have easily asked dohwan to come with you, but you’ve been ignoring him since last week after the loud sex fiasco.

regardless, you’re watching moana 2 today. you’re sure it’s going to be a full house given that it’s the opening week. you can only pray that you won’t be surrounded by snotty (literally) kids. nonetheless, you’re excited and the theater was getting filled up as more movie goers come in during the preview. your row was nearly full, saved for the single empty seats on your left and right side.

score, no seat partners or snotty kids. you’ve won this time around.

you’re texting your friends and telling them your luck—

“ahem.”

you look up and you see two people standing in front of you. you’re sure it’s for the seats on your left and right side cause you double checked your ticket before sitting down and everyone else in your row has been seated for quite some time.

“can you move?” one person asks. weirdly enough, the voice is familiar.

even though the lights are low in the theater, you can see that it’s a man and a woman. and when you squint a little more at their figure, that’s when something catches your eyes. a tiger lily tattoo, the same one that your neighbor has.

no fucking way.

“hello?? can you move?” he asks again a little more aggressively. there’s no way he can’t recognize it’s you being that the movie screen is bright enough to shine a light on you. doesn’t matter. you weren’t going to move before and you definitely aren’t going to move now. hell, you’ve been asked plenty of times to move by both families and couples in the past — the difference was that they asked nicely. some were generous enough to offer you snacks when you did move for them.

jungkook? nah. no thank you. you’ll stay right where you are.

“nope.” you hold out your ticket to show your seat number and refocus back on the previews playing.

the girl behind him grabs his arm and gently asks him what seat numbers he got.

“k11 and 13.” he mumbles.

yeah, cause you had bought k12.

“oh, um, it’s okay! we wouldn’t even be talking during the movies anyways,” she reassures with a kind smile. “let’s sit so that we’re not blocking anyone?”

jungkook gives her a tight lipped smile and plops down on k11 while the girl takes k13.

“you’re fucking annoying for that.” he says only loud enough for you to hear. he’s angrily eating his popcorn and it makes you want to laugh mockingly. he’s dressed in all black with a silver chain dangling loosely around his neck. his hair is neatly styled and he smells nice. perfect for a first date … minus you being the factor to ruin it.

“i’m not the one that booked shit last minute. do better.” you shrug.

the previews are still playing and you look over at the girl. she’s so pretty and probably too sweet for jungkook’s good based on how she handled the seating situation.

you feel a little guilty, but that feeling leaves you the moment jungkook hands over the popcorn to the girl, spilling a couple on your lap. you glare, he smirks, and the girl unknowingly takes the bucket from him.

well, two can play that game.

“your nails are so cute, where’d you get them done?” you ask.

she beams and shows you her set, “a little shop called banger nails down myeong-dong! they’re great.”

“oh, your nails are so pretty though. where do you get it done?”

truth be told, you haven’t had your nails filled in over 3 weeks … you know they look rough, but you assume she’s just trying to maintain a conversation being that her actual date was a seat away.

you tell her your shop and she tells you she’ll definitely try out that location when she has the chance. she offers you some popcorn and you unashamedly take some, making sure jungkook sees.

he clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes, but makes no move to turn to your direction.

“oh, how rude of me. what’s your name?” you reach out to shake her hands.

“nayeon,” she answers and takes your hand in hers, “you?”

you tell her your name and she nods with a sweet smile. yeah, she’s definitely too good for jungkook.

the movie starts and you’re whispering commentaries and giggling with nayeon. you both held hands during the intense scenes and teared up at the ending. it felt really nice to connect with someone like this right off the bat. she was kind and funny throughout the entirety of the movie too.

you can’t say the same for jungkook. he had his arms crossed with a deep frown stamped on his face for two whole hours.

when the movie credit rolls, jungkook stands up and holds out his hand to help nayeon up. huh, chivalry isn’t dead you suppose. nayeon stands up and waves at you.

“it was so nice meeting you! we should definitely hang out. here, let’s follow each other on instagram!” she fumbles through her purse for her phone and you notice how jungkook closes his eyes in frustration behind her.

you and nayeon exchange contacts and as you’re reclining your seat upright, you hear jungkook ask her, “would you wanna get some froyo? my treat for messing up on the tickets.”

“aw, it all worked out though! i met a new friend,” she gestures over to you. jungkook doesn’t really acknowledge nor claim he has already met you.

why would he?

“i’m glad,” he replies, “still though, i feel bad that we didn’t really hang out. still up for that sweet treat?”

nayeon nods and looks back at you, “would you like to join us?”

unbeknownst to nayeon, jungkook looks at you in desperation this time and shakes his head pleadingly. you think you’ve tortured him enough this evening and you don’t want to subject yourself to hanging out with jungkook. seeing the couple link hands in front of you, you’re sorta missing dohwan a little now … so you’ll reach out to him and see what he’s doing.

“no, it’s okay. you both should enjoy that sweet treat together. i’ll text you on instagram!” you wave and jungkook lets out a breath of relief.

“let’s go?” now, what shocks you is his soft smile towards nayeon. it’s almost a 180 to the attitude you’ve experienced with him. then again, maybe it takes a special kind of person to bring that side out of you. nayeon can definitely do that.

she waves at you again and this time jungkook also waves at you (begrudgingly) too. it’s not a goodbye, but a ‘see you later … unfortunately.’ type of wave.

—

you come back from dohwan’s place a little after midnight.

nothing special happened, just hung out like normally. he didn’t bring up the argument and you didn’t feel like talking about jungkook either. this was a regular occurrence in your relationship with him. fights were always difficult, but the mend was easy … cause you guys tend to just sweep the issue under the rug.

clean slate.

“jesus christ!” you jump at the sight of a tall dark figure when you reach the top of your floor. your hand flies to your chest to hold down your hammering heart.

“relax, 307. just me.” jungkook says.

“scared the shit out of me.” you murmur to yourself. you proceed to open your door just as jungkook gets his keys out too.

“fitting for a piece of shit like yourself.”

“excuse me?” you raise your brows in question.

“you heard me,” he steps back out from his door, “loud for no reason, fuck like you’re the only one in the complex, and don’t even have the decency to move a seat over. it’s no wonder the previous resident moved away.”

you really want to argue back, but he read you for filth. you really have been an asshole, still, the comment about mrs. lee hurt. you’re not what jungkook makes you to be, but you’ve given him every reason to perceive you in this manner.

“look, i’ll apologize—“

“nah, save it. i’m tired of being nice too. have the night you deserve.” with that, he goes into his apartment and you’re left contemplating how you let things get this bad and awkward with your new neighbor.

there’s no point in trying to talk to your neighbor now. it’s late. you’ll process everything first and try talking to him tomorrow.

—

the talk never happened.

because for the next 27 days, you’ve been woken up by a blender at 5 a.m. you let that slide for the first 5 days thinking it was jungkook’s way of venting out his frustrations, but by the end of the week, you were back on hating your neighbor.

today marks day 28. you’ve had a long day at work and dohwan has been dodgy with you this week. you call him during lunch to ask him why he’s been so distant and he immediately goes off on you saying that he feels suffocated and that he likes his space. it hurts. because you thought that when you really like someone, all you want to do is fill your day with them.

it’s the evening after your shift and you barely make it up the top of the stairs before you sit down and cry into your hands. it’s so fucking embarrassing crying over a man, especially for one that you really like. majority of the time, he really does make you feel like you’re on top of the world, but then take you down to the pits of hell.

highest of highs, lowest of lows.

it fucking hurts, but you also don’t want to be more alone than how you are.

you hear footsteps come closer and you immediately wipe away your tears and look to the other side of the railing. the person coming up doesn’t stop and walks up past you.

you know them. you know it’s him. you can tell by his cologne and the black converse he fancies.

when you think he’s far enough and in his apartment, you let yourself cry some more.

little did you know, jungkook stands at the top of the stairs, contemplating on whether he should talk to you. he thinks you’re crying because of the blender. or maybe you’re crying because you have to go home to a shitty neighbor. feels bad and guilty. hates to see women cry or anyone cry for that matter …

you hear footsteps from behind and sniffle into your hands.

“uh, 307?”

“what?” your tone is biting but that’s understandable. you’ve been under a lot of stress.

he sighs, sits down right next to you on one of the steps. his legs are long so his knees fan out a little to brush yours. you scoot away and look at him with your bloodshot eyes.

ah, shit. he feels even worse.

“i know i’ve been a dick to you from the start.” he begins.

you scoff and look away.

“you didn’t make things easy either, okay?” he rolls his eyes, “but if you’re crying about the blender …”

“oh for fuck’s sake! no, this isn’t about the blender, 305.” you huff.

“ah.” he opens his mouth and closes it to think what to say next, “lemme guess … boy trouble?”

“shut the fuck up.”

he does so this time for a few minutes until you start talking.

“look, i’ve been meaning to say this but i’m sorry for being an asshole to you. you’re new here and i gave you a bad impression of me. i don’t want to continue making this a hostile living situation for the both of us.” you meant every word you said and whether jungkook accepts your apology, that’s for him to decide. at least you were the bigger person to apologize and take accountability.

“thanks. i’m sorry for being rude too. clean slate?” he reaches his hand out for you to shake. you look at his tattooed hand and a part of you feels relieved at the prospect of a resolution. you shake his hand in agreement. his hand was warm, a little calloused, but the hold was firm and promising.

“you’ll stop with the blender now?” you muse.

“aw man, i was getting used to the daily fresh green smoothies … but i think the blender is on its last leg. i’ll spare you for now and buy premade smoothies,” he grins and winks jokingly. his smile was friendly, similar to the one he gave to nayeon that one date. speaking of which, you’ll have to text her when you get home … she’ll definitely want to hear this update. you’ve been religiously in contact with her since the movie date and she’s been your person when it came to complaining about jungkook.

you and jungkook stare out at the sunset and breathe in the autumn air. it’s nice and just what you needed.

“hey, 307?” jungkook breaks the silence after a while and you hum in response, “for what it’s worth, he sounds like a dying gorilla when he fucks.”

it was the first time you laughed all day.

—

things have gone back to normal between you and dohwan surprisingly. he apologized to you the next day and said he acted out because work has been on him lately. you accepted his apology.

on top of that, you and jungkook are … getting along? he’s actually not that bad. he greets you every morning and makes small talk with you about the weather when you are both at the mailroom.

oh, and the blender at 5 a.m. have stopped completely. he does complain that he misses his green smoothie, to which you reply that he can still make it … just not when you’re still in deep sleep.

“no thanks, the prep is annoying.” he brushes it off.

so one morning after grocery shopping, you pick up a cup of green smoothie from your favorite shop and drop it off at his door before he’s back from his usual run.

‘drink up, 305. - your lovely, sweet, favorite neighbor 307 ♡’

to which, he dropped off a matcha pastry to you the next day after you mentioned how you’ve been craving it lately.

‘peace offering to the demon. ps. you’re my only neighbor LOL - 305’

needless to say, this started a ritual between you and him dropping off snacks and drinks to each other.

so yeah, things have been good.

tonight, dohwan is taking you out on a movie date to watch wicked. it’s not your first choice, but you love a classic so you’re open to see this modern-day remake. plus, he’s been extra sweet to you too.

you’re standing near the ticketing area waiting for dohwan to get snacks when you suddenly hear, “307?”

you turn your head and it’s jungkook with a girl you’ve never met before. he waves and asks what you’re watching.

you point at a nearby wicked movie poster and he nods.

“we’re seeing the same movie too. sorry, forgot to introduce you both — this is jinah,” he gestures at the girl next to him and she nods at you in acknowledgment, “and this is my neighbor.”

“ohhh the one that drilled for a week?” she marvels at you and you flush at her question.

“three days,” he corrects, “but felt like an eternity.” jungkook looks back at you like it’s an inside joke and you feel warm under his gaze.

“he’s exaggerating. eternity is waking up to a blender for almost a month.” you fire back casually and it earns a laugh from everyone.

“well, you’re here with someone this time right?” he teases since he notices your makeup is done extra nice tonight and you have on a shorter beige skirt that cuts right at the top of your thighs. you looked beautiful whether or not this was for an actual date.

anyways, it’s all said in pure jest and he knows you take no offense in it when you laugh. knows he can joke around with you now — you’ve both established a good rapport.

“mhm. you bought tickets right next to each other this time?” you retort and he snorts at your question.

jungkook stares off from a distance and his gaze changes. he takes hold of jinah’s hand in front of you.

“i’ll catch you later, 307. enjoy the movie, ‘kay?”

“oh, okay,” you stare at jungkook in confusion, “it was nice meeting you, jinah. hope you both enjoy the movie.”

they both turn and head to the the concessions first and you’re back waiting alone again, but not for long.

a hand touches your lower back and you know it belonged to dohwan.

“ready?” he hands over your drink and you both head to the screening auditorium.

there’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you push it away once you’ve found your seats.

—

jungkook feels sick.

he’s seated behind you and dohwan. that was fine — wasn’t the problem.

the issue was seeing him be overly affectionate to you once he took notice of jungkook outside the auditorium. he doesn’t want to assume, but that’s the energy he gets from dohwan. it’s too much. though perhaps that’s how he usually was to you — he should be doting to you as someone you’re romantically involved with.

jungkook has a bad feeling about him.

jungkook has been on multiple dates this year, nothing ever leading to more because there wasn’t a spark beyond physical attraction. he doesn’t want to waste anyone’s time or hurt someone in the process if he were to continue something he sees no future with. which brings him to wonder why you still entertain that man when he clearly comes and goes as he pleases.

the sex can’t be that good … based on what jungkook was forced to hear that one evening. plus, he made you cry. that man can’t be good.

well, what does he know about relationships? he’s the “serial dater” while you’ve been with the same person. obviously jungkook is doing something wrong. maybe jungkook was just projecting.

he lets out a sigh when dohwan slips his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

“you good?” jinah whispers.

“yeah, sorry. didn’t realize how long the movie was. ass is starting to go numb,” he smiles apologetically.

she nods and refocuses back to the big screen. jinah was nice, but a little too uptight for his liking … she would stare back blankly at him when he tells a joke and it makes him question his own humor. he’s sure he’s a funny guy — you always seemed to laugh at his remarks.

shit.

why was he thinking about his neighbor when he’s on a date with another person?

he shakes away those thoughts and zones in on the movie. just a couple more hours till he can go home and relax. a bitter part of him hopes he doesn’t have to see you and dohwan enter your place together tonight.

—

you and jungkook have this thing where you go on walks and get your mail at the same time on fridays. that’s the day you work from home and he’s off.

you never liked walks but jungkook called you out one day for walking extra stiff up the stairs. you can’t help it … sitting for long hours at a desk job wasn’t ideal for your body, but it got the bills paid. by the end of your shifts, you’re too burnt out to do anything. you’re not like him who goes on routine runs at the ass crack of dawn. not everyone was fortunate to have a … wait, you’re not sure what he really did for work.

“305.” you deadpan, trying to maintain your big steps to match his long strides.

“hm?” he takes notice of your walking form and slows down his pace so that you can catch up. his dimples are on full display when he looks at you and it nearly makes you forget what you were going to ask him.

“what do you do for work?”

“what’s it to you, 307?” his brows raise in question and he chuckles when you scowl.

“just wondering. you seem to have a good work-life balance.” you shrug. he has to be making some form of income to afford the cost of living in this part of the city, so if it’s not an office job like yours, you’re curious what his line of work could be in.

“currently a tattoo apprentice, but i do art commissions on the side.”

“oh?” it makes sense. he had this artistic aura to him … tattoo apprentice also made sense too with his sleeve of tattoos. you wonder how many of those he designed himself.

“that’s very cool,” you mean it. you wish you could draw but your art skills could only rival a preschooler at best.

“yeah?” he scratches his behind his head, a habit you’ve noticed he does when he gets a little shy or flustered. “parents were super against it up until they saw what i made on my first commission.”

“it’s always like that with parents, huh? if you’re not a doctor or lawyer, nothing is ever enough for them,” you shake your head. it’s a small revelation, but jungkook feels the weight of your words. he can relate.

“you like what you do?” he tries to change the topic.

“it’s okay, gets the bills paid but honestly i’m developing a shrimp back from sitting at the desk all day.” you confess.

“good thing we’re going on these walks, miss hunchback.” he quips and nudges your arm with his elbow.

you stick your tongue out at him and his smile widens. jungkook takes out his phone and shows you some of the tattoos he’s assisted with on some clients these past months. you zoom in and stare in awe — the line work and colors were beyond beautiful and clean.

“they’re amazing, jungkook.”

his nose crinkles when he smiles at your compliment and cheeks flush at the usage of his real name.

“whenever you’re free, you can come over to check out my commissions.” he offers.

“yeah? you promise this isn’t some secret invitation to get murdered?” you smile cheekily at him and he playfully rolls his eyes.

“no promises,” he says and grins when you dramatically stop in your tracks.

“come on, 307. your lunch break is almost over and i gotta get my mail.”

—

you and jungkook return from the mailroom with stacks of envelopes and coupon advertising from random companies.

he’s behind you looking through his stack. among his many bad habits, one is not having the patience to open his mail in the comforts of his own home. typically by the time you both get to your respective doors, he already has the majority of his envelopes torn open.

men.

you stick your key into your door and hear jungkook gasp.

“shit!” he lets out a string of curses and you glance over where he’s at in front of his door … absolutely decked out in glitter.

“what the hell is this?” he’s dusting himself off, but that only serves to worsen the damage.

all the lights in your head go off. fuck. you had forgotten about the glitter prank order you made during the time jungkook was being a little shit with his blender. you totally forgot to call the company to cancel it …

you feel bad, but you can’t help but let out a series of giggles.

“oh my … jungkook, i’m so sorry,” you say in between your fits of laughter.

he looks at you in confusion but it doesn’t take long for him to piece things together. he tips his head back and looks at you incredulously.

“you did this? 307 … this is too much. how the fuck am i gonna get rid of all this glitter?” he opens his arms out and it makes you laugh even more to see him in this state.

“‘m sorry, i …” you try to catch your breath, “forgot to cancel the request and you were being such a dickhead that time.”

“i fuckin’ look like edward cullen.” he groans, looking at you with a serious expression and that has you doubling over.

he eventually joins you in your laughter, hands clutching his stomach.

“h-here,” you say in between tears, “i’ll help you.”

you dust off some flecks of glitter on his shoulders and reach up to smear it over his cheeks. this has got to be the highlight of your week.

jungkook pulls away and laughs at your antics.

“you think this is funny, huh?” he opens his arms again and you nod while stifling away your giggles, but your demeanor changes when he smirks deviously.

his arms circle around you and presses your face into his hard chest. jungkook is cackling just as hard as you are. he’s rubbing his body on your frame and you’ve accepted your fate cause you’re no match for his strength. you’re both even now. all glittered up, laughing, and having so much fun with this “misfortune.”

you won’t admit you’re enjoying his embrace. you won’t admit you fancy his cologne and aftershave. you won’t admit how you feel so soft against the hard ridges of his torso.

you definitely won’t admit how starstruck you got when he finally lets up and stares at you cheekily, unknowing of his doings and how pretty the glitter flecks frame his cheekbones and nose bridge.

he really was perfection.

little did you know, jungkook was also completely enamored by the way your eyes sparkle despite the crazy amount of glitter now stuck on your face and body.

did time freeze? no one has said a word but you can hear and feel your hearts pounding against each other in this close proximity.

“what the fuck?” a voice pulls both you and jungkook out from that dream-like state.

you look and it’s dohwan. confusion and anger is etched and evident on his face. he’s holding a bag of takeout, for what you assume was going to be your lunch. he stalks over and grabs your wrist and yanks you away from jungkook.

“hey man, it’s not what it looks like.” jungkook says. jungkook’s expression is neutral with a hint of annoyance in his tone. dohwan pays no attention to him and looks at you instead.

“are you cheating on me?”

“the hell, dohwan?” you stare back in shock at his accusation.

realizing how awkward this situation was, you start pulling dohwan towards your apartment. you quickly turn to jungkook where he was still standing, he looks concerned for you, “sorry, jungkook. uh, i’ll catch you later.”

he nods and moves around you and dohwan to get to his apartment door.

when you and dohwan are finally in the privacy of your home, you turn and he’s setting down the takeout on your coffee table. you can tell he’s still upset because he makes no move to sit down — he leans against your wall with his arms crossed.

“well?”

“well, what? it really wasn’t what it looked like, dohwan.” you roll your eyes, making your way to your sink to wash off the glitter on your skin. glitter was a bitch to get rid of, but you’ll do just about anything to distract you of dohwan’s awful attitude. you have about 10 minutes till you have to get back to work and don’t have the time to be arguing.

“don’t fucking lie. you’re always raving about how nice he is to you now. and i’ve seen the way he looks at you. that’s not some ‘friendly neighbor’ shit,” dohwan raises his voice in frustration.

you toss the kitchen rag onto your counter and turn, “what’s so wrong about me talking about how someone is nice to me?! at least you know about the people in my life, but i don’t know jack-shit about yours. i don’t know what you’re insinuating, but you need to check yourself.”

“don’t try to spin this on me. whatever is going on with you and your neighbor, needs to stop.”

“literally nothing is happening between us??” you run your hand over your face, “i can pick and choose who stays in my life, dohwan. you can’t control that.” you try to level your breathing. you hated feeling like your partner laid claim on you as if you were some sort of property and had ownership.

don’t cry. don’t cry. don’t cry.

his eyes soften after realizing what he implied and he comes closer to you. he rubs your forearms and pulls you in for a hug. you let the tears fall now.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it like that. it’s just … i was insecure.” he confesses.

you sniffle into his chest, “why?”

he chuckles, “my girl hanging around a good looking dude? who wouldn’t be insecure?”

his girl.

“wasn’t aware i was your girlfriend.” you pull away from his warmth and regret seeing the glitter you’ve transferred onto his clothing in the process.

“well … i mean, you’re technically not. who needs labels?” he brushes you off and sits on the couch now. you’re left standing there, another wave of uncertainty washes over you. 5 minutes till you need to start working … do you really want to open the can of worms right now?

fuck it.

“i don’t know. people who love each other?”

he snorts then rolls his eyes when he realizes you’re back in serious mode.

“here we go again. we’ve been through this plenty of times—“

“do you even like me?”

“yes, of course.” he answers quickly.

“do you love me?”

he’s silent.

“then what are we doing, dohwan?” the real question was … what were you doing? it’s hitting year three of this situationship and nothing more has progressed.

“hey, hey … i thought you enjoyed spending time with each other … we agreed that it was just me and you,” he comes close to you again, but you hold a hand out to keep some distance.

“i need to get back to work. can you give me some space?” you mumble, “thanks for the food.”

—

the fallout between you and dohwan was anything but amicable.

you both boiled it all down to two things: you want more. he wants things to remain the same.

you requested for space and a break in the meantime while you figure things out. during that time, you felt yourself distancing from jungkook too. he tried to greet you like normally after dohwan’s confrontation, yet every time you see him, you make a beeline into your apartment.

guess old habits die hard.

you took this time to focus on you. you spoke to a therapist, got in contact with some girlfriends, visited your family, and busied yourself with work. self improvement, if one could call it. your therapist recommended to decentralize men in your life for a while so that you can focus on yourself. which meant no dohwan.

… and no jungkook.

you’ve been keeping nayeon posted on your life and she calls you out for being inconsiderate to jungkook. funny, because she was on your side when he was being rude to you and immediately ghosted him after the movie date (you still haven’t told jungkook you’ve been in contact with nayeon because things have gotten a little crazy). you promised to her you’ll talk to him soon though. he was just unfortunately caught in the crossfire of your messy relationship.

honestly? you missed your neighbor — your friend. but you needed to get your head sorted out and you’d be terrible company either way.

jungkook didn’t deserve that.

the break between you and dohwan meant that you don’t talk to each other till you figured things out.

breaks meant for a reset.

he kept texting you and telling you how much he missed you.

you had to keep reminding him of the boundaries.

he eventually obliged.

thinking you were finally ready to talk weeks later, you went over to his place after work, only to find him in shock, hair disheveled, red scratch marks all over his chest and shoulders.

“oh, um, i—“ you panic, feel your heart drop to your stomach when the realization settles in after you hear another voice call out his name from behind.

dohwan took that break and fell into bed with another woman.

“w-wait, let me explain,” he follows you out his door and nearly topples over you when you turned abruptly to face him.

you feel betrayed — so much for ‘me and you.’ the anger bubbling in your chest has a way of migrating through your body. you tremble, tears threaten to fall from your eyes, and your teeth dig hard on your bottom lip … you can taste metallic.

“we’re on a break,” he says as if you weren’t aware of the terms you originally initiated.

“okay? so that means you go and fuck someone else?” your voice is shaky but you push on, “you cheated.”

“no! i mean, fuck, what did you expect me to do? we stopped talking and it was fucking lonely … i— you can’t put all the blame on me,” he stammers.

so, it was your fault?

“i didn’t make you sleep with someone else. a-all—,” you choke on a sob, “all i asked was for some space and time. you couldn’t even give me that.”

the thing is, dohwan hasn’t given you anything beyond what he was willing to get from you. he liked your company, thought you were a sweet and funny girl, and god were you good in bed. he didn’t feel ready to settle down in a relationship … felt that being with someone officially took the spark out, but he also wasn’t willing to let you go.

so he held out for as long as he could. as a result, you did too in hopes that he could find it in himself to change his feelings for you.

love is patient, love is kind.

you’ve been patient, you’ve been kind. if this is love, why does it break you down?

maybe this love wasn’t for you; but rather, he isn’t for you no matter how long you wait and the number of pennies you’ve thrown into the wishing well.

“goodbye, dohwan.”

—

jungkook hates overly loud sex.

it’s the reason why he takes the extra precaution to put socks on his bed frames to muffle any potential noises. if his partner was a huge moaner, he’d do what any sensible person would … stuff his fingers into their mouth. what? the girl usually doesn’t mind and it minimizes the noises. plus, it was hot.

win-win.

sex didn’t have to be over the top to show that you’re passionate. jungkook knows that very well.

it’s also why he originally lost a lot of respect for you when he overheard you and dohwan having sex that one time. well, mainly dohwan.

fuckin’ gorilla.

jungkook has been worried for you ever since that awkward glitter situation. he wanted to apologize and even talk to dohwan if it’d make things less stressful on your end.

you’ve ghosted him for weeks. no more walks, small talk, snack trades, or trips to the mailroom.

he has a feeling it has something to do with dohwan.

just like how he knows the sobs emitting through his walls tonight has something to do with him.

jungkook hates overly loud sex, but more than that, he hates the sounds of your cries.

—

‘cheer up, 307. you deserve some sweetness in your day. ps. i’m gonna make you run if you keep missing our walks. also? stop avoiding me, it’s annoying - jk’

you smile and sip the banana milk jungkook left outside your door.

he always had a way with cheering you up despite being a headache for some time in your life. your therapist recommended to decentralize men from your life for a while … sure, jungkook fits in that category, but he’s also your friend.

you slowly let him back in.

he’s been good to you. though, you can’t say the same for yourself. you’ve been a shitty neighbor and a shitty friend.

yet jungkook shrugs it off and treats you normally.

you’ve been mending a broken heart and jungkook has been a great company meanwhile.

“you really need to work on your conflict avoidance, 307.” jungkook says one evening. he’s sprawled out on your couch with a bag of chips in his hands. it’s movie night — a tradition he forced upon you because you’ve apparently never watched the movie trolls.

you peel your eyes from the screen and tilt your head, “what do you mean?”

“any time something gets tough, you run away. gotta stop that, say what’s on your mind and work it out.”

“hm.”

“what?” he presses.

“nothing.”

“see? you’re doing it again. just say what you wanna say,” jungkook rolls his eyes.

“fine,” you chew on your bottom lip, “i hate this movie.”

jungkook had picked trolls 2 and it was so much more awful in comparison to the first one you were forced to watch last weekend.

“fuckin knew it. you’ve been spacing out all night,” he laughs, “see, doesn’t it feel good to be honest bout your feelings?” he reaches for your remote to switch to another movie. you watch him. really take him in and almost want to laugh at how horrible your first couple of months was with him and now he’s in your apartment watching awful movies with you to nurse your brokenheart.

you really had read jungkook wrong. he wasn’t just some conventionally attractive man that used his pretty privilege to get his way. he was genuinely a good person.

which makes you think … why the fuck is he hanging around someone like you on a friday night? he could be hanging out with some friends or going on a blind date with a pretty girl. better yet, why isn’t he in a relationship with someone?

was he just like you?

his voice brings you out of your thoughts, “alright, spill it 307. you look like you have something else to say.”

you sigh.

“how are you still single? just … i know you’re always dating different people. it can’t be that bad for you right? i mean, if you’re struggling … i feel kind of hopeless for myself.”

jungkook looks at you, dimples on display as he contemplates on what he wants to say next. the thing about jungkook is that he looks like he belongs in your circle — fits perfectly, actually. has a way of making you feel safe and comfortable about asking hard questions. he may tease you, but he’ll never judge you.

he ruffles your hair.

“just haven’t found the right one. it takes time and i’m in no rush. you shouldn’t either.” you feel yourself soften from his remarks until, “or else you’ll end up with a gorilla again.”

—

jungkook is treading in dangerous territories.

aside from trying to potty train his new doberman puppy, bam, he’s faced with another issue.

he may have developed a small crush on his neighbor. he can’t pinpoint exactly when he started getting that fuzzy warm feeling around you. it was a telltale sign when he’d wake up and sleep to the thought of you.

you can’t really blame all of this on him though. you’ve been a little more open about hanging out with him since your breakup with dohwan. jungkook has gotten used to your presence as a result. some people would see it as using jungkook as a rebound, but he feels anything but that.

you’re a breath of fresh air to hang around after a long day of work. which is funny cause there was a period of time he considered hexing you. now? he longs to see you and fill in gaps of his day with you. when he doesn’t see you, he thinks of you.

that just might be his demise.

even bam has taken a liking to you and often refuses to let you go back home when you are over.

like dog, like owner.

“aw bammie,” you kneel down, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

bam whines and follows you to the door.

“you can stay if you like, the guys won’t mind.” jungkook reasons. he’s having a small get together with some of his friends and extended the invite to you. you declined, telling him you don’t want to intrude and he should spend some quality time with them.

“just say that you want to be with me 24/7 and go,” you joke. jungkook won’t admit to you he does.

“nah, just need someone to watch bam while i have some bro time.” he teases back.

“hire a dog nanny then,” your hands automatically reaches down to scratch behind bam’s ear. there’s no need to hire one cause you’d willingly take care of bam for free. it’s all fun and jokes, jungkook knows this. he laughs and holds bam back from following you out the door.

“be on your best behavior tonight for your daddy, ‘kay?” you talk to bam like you’re his mom and jungkook’s stomach does flips at the mention of ‘daddy’ leaving your lips, “if it gets too much, you can sleep over at my place.”

bam has a sleeping mat at your place too. you’ve gotten it for him when jungkook comes over to watch movies — insisted that the pup should have a comfortable space in your home.

jungkook feels like he’s sharing custody with you. everything feels more domestic and it’s fucking with jungkook’s head and heart. which is why he asked you to dog sit bam while he goes on a date next weekend with some client’s friend he met at the tattoo parlor. thinks this date would be a good reset from you.

you wave goodbye to him, a playful grin adorning your lips, “have fun tonight, 305. if it gets too much, you can also come to my place too.”

he hates when you tease like this. makes him feel like he holds a space in your life more than he already should. knows you’re joking, but can tell there’s some truth in your statement. you’re attached to him just as much as he is to you.

“also, try not to be too loud tonight.”

“no promises,” he laughs, “hobi-hyung will be over.”

you giggle, you’ve met hoseok in the passing and also teased him too for causing a ruckus at the housewarming party. all his friends like you — it’s no surprise jungkook would eventually too.

so yeah, he’s treading in dangerous territories.

—

you’ve really been focused on yourself and your friendships. on your hardest days where you yearn for intimacy, you force yourself to be okay with the idea and concept of being alone. there’s a lot of bad days, but they get better.

it’s not always about being in isolation though.

it’s about not being dependent on someone to fill a void.

with dohwan, you realized you fell in the pattern of needing to be around him and when he wasn’t there, the world crumbled beneath your feet. over time, you realized he wasn’t good for you.

wrong person, wrong time.

because the right person will always make you feel safe and seen.

jungkook was right. it’ll take time to find that person — there’s no rush.

yet, you have this disquieting feeling when you see him rustling through his home to get ready for his date tonight. what do you do when you feel like the right person might be slipping away under your nose?

right person, wrong time, you suppose.

bam, his not so small puppy, lays his head on your lap and would occasionally lift it when jungkook walks close. if bam is doting with you, he’s completely devoted to jungkook.

doesn’t realize that his dad is gonna leave you both until he puts on his shoes at the door.

“ah-ah, bammie, stay,” you hold him and he whimpers for jungkook.

“well? how do i look?” jungkook does a quick 360 and you wanna poke fun at him, but you can tell he’s on edge for whatever reason. he has no reason to be. he’s charming, handsome, and knows exactly what to say or do to make someone’s heart skip a beat as he’s done so to you numerous times — you’d never admit it.

he’s your neighbor and most importantly, your friend. it’s a sacred relationship and boundary you’re hesitant to break. so you swallow down whatever you’re feeling and smile reassuringly to him, “you look great, jungkook.”

he beams and extends his hands out for a high-five, “thanks, wish me luck.”

your hands make contact with his and it feels electrifying.

“no luck needed, mr. 305 worldwide.” he absolutely hates the new nickname you’ve given him, doesn’t argue back though, simply scoffs and looks at the time on his phone.

“now go before you’re late and bam bolts out the door for you.” you shoo him out his own apartment.

he reaches down to pat bam on his head and give him some tender smooches.

“call me if there’s an emergency or if you’re bored.” he tells you with his hands shoved in his pockets and some of his bangs fall onto his forehead. there’s something so boyish about his mannerisms … you swallow thickly when you feel the knots tighten in your stomach. a part of you wonders if you tell him to bail on the date, would he? you’re not cruel enough to do that to him and his date. they could be soulmates for all you know.

“and what? you’ll come entertain me?” your eyes squint, “go enjoy your date, 305. we’ll be here.”

before you know it, he’s out the door and you’re left wondering what if.

—

jungkook didn’t realize how much of a disaster the date was going until his date seated across from him rolls her eyes.

“i’m sorry … am i boring you with my story?” he was telling her how he had to help you break into your own apartment because you forgot to bring your keys in the middle of the night.

“it just seems like you’re wasting both our times.” she says and places her drink down. her red manicured fingers circle the rim of her cup.

he’s confused. jungkook has been doing his best to keep the date afloat by talking and asking questions. he thought it’s been going well, minus the couple of times he checked his phone to see if he got any emergency texts from you about bam.

“i mean, why are you here when you clearly like someone else?”

“i don’t get—wait, what?”

“your neighbor 007 or whatever.” she says. it’s the wrong number and she knows it, but wants to see if jungkook reacts, “you’ve been talking about her all night.”

has he? he was just making light conversation … you’re a part of his life so slipping your name here and there feels natural.

“look, you seem like a nice guy. you’re obviously good looking too. if you’re not looking for anything serious, we can go back to my apartment right now for some fun. but long term? it feels like you have someone waiting at home for you.”

and the mood goes sour. jungkook is used to this. used to his dates objectifying him as a quick and good fuck — granted, he’s played this to his advantage when he was younger. now? it feels meaningless. he isn’t upset at that.

it’s the utter realization that he does have someone special to him and you’ve been right under his nose all this time. he’s always telling you to be honest with your feelings, yet he can’t even bring himself to uphold that advice for whatever reason.

jungkook apologizes to his date again, pays for the tab, and rushes home.

—

home can be a place, but for jungkook, it’s seeing you on his couch and greeting him with a sleepy smile.

bam jumps off your lap to nudge jungkook’s leg for attention.

“has he been good?” jungkook asks while scratching bam’s head, though he stops momentarily at the sight of you stretching and your shirt lifts a little to reveal the curves of your hips.

“mhm, an angel. how was the date?”

he contemplates on lying, but knows better. needs to practice what he preaches.

“bad.”

“oh? wanna talk about it?”

“uh, i kinda fucked it up,” jungkook toes off his shoes and avoids your eye contact.

“classic, first impressions have never been your strongest suit.” you put on your jacket and jungkook panics at the thought of you leaving early. he exhales a breath he’s been holding when you plop back down on his couch where he soon joins you.

“i’m not always that bad.” he mumbles.

“i know, i’m just teasing you.” you reach over to pinch his cheek.

when he doesn’t reply, it gets you a little worried. you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.

“sorry—“

“i kept bringing you up during the date.” he cuts you off.

“oof, no girl wants to hear about another girl …” technically, you’re hoping jungkook doesn’t talk about this one … let alone his previous dates or exes.

“i know,” he murmurs, leans his head back, and sighs, “she … called me out on it.”

“good, as she should.”

jungkook hesitates with his next words, but pushes forward, “said it’s cause i liked you.”

you pause. you could hear a pin drop in the room, minus bam’s paws making contact with the hardwood floor.

“oh … um,” you’re not dumb, you understand what he’s implying. you just don’t know how you’re going to run away from this conversation.

“i know you’re already planning your escape, 307,” he chuckles. his laugh sounds a little melancholy and an instant flood of guilt rushes through you.

“what! no! i-i just don’t know what to say,” you nibble on your lips. you’re fucking scared for what’s to come.

“just hear me out, okay?”

you nod, listen to him clear his throat and exhale a shaky breath.

“i’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. maybe it’s cause i’m a creature of habit or whatever … well no, i don’t think it’s that. i like being around you and i’m thankful you’re in my life.” he looks and smiles at you fondly, as if he is preparing himself for the biggest rejection, “i like you … a lot. you don’t have to accept my feelings nor do anything with it. these feelings are mine and i just wanted to be honest with you. at the end of the day, i’d still like to remain friends as long as you’ll allow me.”

you want to fucking cry. he’s always been better at words and expressing himself. you see it in how he treats his friends, his dog, his profession and art … most importantly, you. you also want to be honest with him, but it already seems like he’s accepting the fate of nothing more.

you owe him the truth at least.

“jungkook … i—“ you begin, “i like you a lot too.”

jungkook lets out an exasperating grunt — he thinks you’re pitying him.

“please don’t feel the need to sugarcoat, 307. i just wanted to be—“

you press your lips to his. the kiss was too quick for anyone to process anything. you’ll remember though. you’ll remember his strawberry flavored chapstick, the cold lip piercing barrels, and the way he leans in slightly to chase after your lips when you pull away too soon. jungkook’s eyes widen at the realization that you just kissed him. all too short and he doesn’t think he can stop thinking about you after this anymore even if he tried.

“your feelings are yours,” you hold his hand, “but these are mine too.”

he whispers your name lowly and you shake your head.

“i’m no good with words,” you confess, “i just know that i like you too. but … i’m also a fucking mess, jungkook.”

“huh? no, you’re—“

“yeah, i am. i just got out of something long term … it wouldn’t be good for me to jump into another relationship. i don’t think it’s fair for you to deal with all my baggage when i haven’t sorted myself out.”

he nods, a little dejected but he understands what you mean.

right person, wrong time.

“okay,” he finally says, “nothing will change. friends?”

“friends,” you agree.

it’s a promise out of respect for you. will you regret this? possibly. though, everything feels normal when he walks you to your door later and wishes you a goodnight.

“don’t be fucking weird after tonight. if you avoid me, i’m making you run 10 laps every friday, 307.”

“rude,” you roll your eyes, “i should be saying that to you. don’t be fucking weird or else you’re getting another glitter bomb in the mail.”

“that shit was the worst to get off.”

“funny as hell though.”

“yeah, for you.”

everything feels so natural and safe with jungkook. how he looks at you, laughs at your jokes, eyes twinkle when you do the same for him. you don’t need the night sky when you got galaxies staring back at you.

—

“with all due respect, you’re being stupid.” nayeon says through the speaker.

“how? we both agreed that staying friends would be the best.” you reply a little louder over your sink. your kitchen was overdue for a cleaning and the weekends were the perfect time to catch up on chores.

you’re on the phone with nayeon and it’s a good distraction while you busy yourself with other things at the same time. though, you’re sort of regretting the call now with nayeon berating you for your decision to remain friends with jungkook a month ago.

“people can still date and work on themselves. it’s not a linear thing.”

“yeah, but—“

“you’re just scared. i know you.”

“nayeon …”

“jungkook and dohwan aren’t the same. anyone can get hurt in a relationship, but you shouldn’t deny yourself of something out of fear.”

“yes, but … i don’t think i’d be able to face jungkook if something bad does happen.” you’re serious. running away is your strong suit and you’d move out immediately if shit hits the fan.

“so you’d have no regrets staying like this?”

you don’t reply and that was an answer in itself.

“why are you so hellbent on me and jungkook? i thought you hated him …” it’s sort of funny to be talking to nayeon of all people about jungkook. hell, it’s thanks to jungkook’s mess up on their first tinder date that helped you land your friendship with nayeon.

everything happens for a reason.

“i only hated him cause you did. that’s what friends do, silly. also, if you’re feeling awkward because he and i dated … don’t. there wasn’t anything more. anyways, stop avoiding. you always do this.” she’s right. you’re the queen of avoiding hard conversations.

“i don’t want to lose a friend, nayeon.”

“you won’t. but you’ll lose your chance at experiencing something beautiful, sweetie,” she says, “you owe it to yourself. but hey, i gotta go to my pilates class. i’ll text you later, okay? i love you!”

“okay, love you too. i’m sorry for being difficult. don’t pull a muscle in class!”

“if i do, will you give me a massage?” she laughs, “and no, you’re never difficult. just you being you.”

the call ends and you’re left alone once again with your thoughts. things haven’t really changed between you and jungkook. he’s still his chipper self. you just yearn for more time with him these days. every subtle touch … whether it be his hand on your lower back guiding you upstairs, his fingers brushing yours during the walks, or when he massages your feet upon request sends you into a place where you feel yourself succumbing to your deepest desires.

you want more.

you can tell jungkook does too. he’s unashamed in his affections towards you but he’ll never pressure you or cross that boundary you’ve set.

you realize it hurts to deny yourself of wanting someone who wants you just as equally.

—

you’re at jungkook’s place again one evening. bam is all tuckered out from his walk and jungkook is fixing a bowl of popcorn to snack on while you search through netflix for something to watch.

it’s your pick tonight and you wanted to watch a crime documentary. ghost and thrillers don’t interest you, but crimes? yeah, full body chills because they’re real.

you turn to see jungkook in a big white t-shirt with grey sweats — he looks so comfortable. he’s seasoning the popcorn and catches you staring at him. he shakes his head and smiles back down bashfully at his bowl.

he looks like home … no, he feels like home.

fuck.

you really are torturing yourself.

when jungkook settles onto the couch and the documentary starts, you scoot closer to him. you don’t know if you’re making a fool of yourself, but jungkook pays no mind. his arm circle around you effortlessly and you nestle your cheek into his chest.

so warm — he smells so nice. jungkook sports on a lax expression, yet you can feel and hear the rapid thumps of his heart.

“you sure friends cuddle when they watch shit together?” he mumbles, eyes trained on the television.

“no,” you look up at him, “do you not want to?” you start to move away, but jungkook holds you in place.

he feels your smile through his shirt. yeah, you’re torturing him and he’s enjoying it.

as the documentary plays, jungkook gets immersed in the story. he looks a little silly with his big eyes and mouth slightly ajar as he soaks in all the crime details and backstory. his hand involuntarily moves to massage your scalp and you feel yourself lulled to sleep under his touch.

after a while, he calls your name and gently shakes you awake.

“hey sleepyhead. had a good nap?” he muses.

“mhm, sorry … was so tired from work. did i miss a lot?” you look at the dark television screen and feel guilty.

“just the entire documentary,” he teases, “it’s alright, you wouldn’t be traumatized like me now. i know i’m going to be having nightmares.”

“‘m sorry,” you snuggle closer to him and his breath hitches, “anything i can do to help?”

“hmm …” he holds his thinking pose, “i don’t know, maybe a kiss?”

“just kidding, 307. it’s late, so let’s get you hom—”

“yeah? think a kiss will make you feel better?” you press on.

you knew he was joking, but there’s a surge of confidence coursing in you when you push up on him and he swallows hard. he says your name in warning but he makes no effort to move or push you away. he wants this badly too. been thinking about you and your lips since you last kissed him — never stopped.

“don’t do something you’ll regret.” his hand cradles your cheek.

“i’m not,” your nose brush against his, “i wanna kiss you. please, will you let me?” you ask with pleading eyes and jungkook lets out a shuddering breath and nods.

you look down at his parted lips and back at his hooded eyes. you’re not sure who moved first — it doesn’t matter.

when your lips meet, it’s like heaven and hell collided and made earth — waves crashing onto land, blue horizons, and the smell of pinewood after rain. you don’t think you can let go of this feeling any time soon and when you finally do give into your longings, life feels a little more salvageable … freeing.

jungkook slots his lips between yours, pulling you up to straddle his lap. he moans when your hands tangle in his hair and pulls you in closer if that was even possible.

you lick into his parting mouth when he pants, indulge in the way he sounds as he’s kissing you back. the kiss is hard and passionate — so much more different than the first one you had. there’s a sense of urgency here … like there’s a time constraint or limitation to your affections. you wish you could reassure him; though the best you can do at this moment is to drink him in as much as he allows you to. his hands roam all over your body and you shiver in pleasure when one of his hand travels to the front of your throat possessively. there’s no pressure in his hold, but it’s telling you that you belong here with him.

when you finally do pull away, you plant dainty kisses on the corner of his lips and jaw. he giggles at the tickling feeling and brings your face back to his to give you a much gentler kiss. though you are no longer kissing, your foreheads stay connected in place.

“there, much better, right?” you say breathlessly.

“mhm,” he replies, “should’ve used the trauma card earlier if i knew i’d be getting free kisses.”

your brain is going a mile a second, but you’re sure of this.

“you don’t need to,” you say a little uncertain. jungkook straightens himself in his seated position when he realizes you’re about to say something serious.

“you can kiss me whenever you want … if you want! i know i said we should stay friends, but i think i like you too much to just stay that way. i want to see where things go and i’m fucking scared. i mean, fuck, am i making any sense? please say something,” you’re rambling and jungkook can only smile as you unravel through your confession.

of course he wants more with you.

“just say you want me and go, 307.” he laughs when you pull away cutely. he has no intentions of letting you go and you had no intentions of leaving. it’s too comfortable in his embrace.

“we’ll take things slow, okay?” he kisses your nose in reassurance.

“okay.”

—

fast forward three months, you and jungkook have been dating each other — slow and steady as promised. no official title (yet) but you know he’s exclusively seeing you. you’re enjoying his company and there’s no rush. when there’s something special and secure, it’s all smooth sailing and calm tides. you never have to guess with him.

he feels the same with you.

this marks the 13th weekend date with you and he’s going to do it. jungkook is going to ask you to be his girlfriend. he’s fucking nervous … has a whole date planned: dinner, movies, then back to his place where he’ll officially ask you.

part of him wants to wait for the next weekend because the number 13 was bad luck, but he’s felt nothing but luck with you. luck in the chances of meeting you in this apartment complex, luck in your friendship, and now luck with the prospect of love.

so when your door swings open to reveal you in a short black satin dress, hair done prettily, and your skin dewey and sparkly from your makeup, he knew was going to make 13 lucky no matter what.

“you look beautiful,” jungkook compliments and holds out his hand to walk you down the stairs.

“you don’t look half bad too,” you taunt, taking his warm hand. there’s no malice cause jungkook knows how you feel about him. notices how your eyes rake over his form, has caught you checking him out plenty of times before, felt the way your lips moved on his skin to praise how hot he looked one evening despite him coming back looking like a sweaty hog that’s been run over by a train.

if you’re curious … aside from making out and heavy petting paired with some dry humping sessions here and there, no, they haven’t had sex. probably for the better, it’s already hard enough to separate from each other after every hangout.

slow and steady. you are both fine with that.

“sooo, you gonna tell me where we’re going or is this where you murder me?” you check your lip gloss in the rear view mirror. jungkook’s right hand naturally find its way to your thighs while he drives.

“you’ll find out soon,” he gives you a little squeeze and it sends a little tingle to your core.

—

it’s going terribly.

traffic was absolutely ass for no reason, so they get to their first destination 45 minutes later than anticipated. the restaurant he had reservations for let him know that the kitchen caught on fire the moment he parked in the lot.

okay, fine. to the movies it is.

except, the movie stopped halfway through due to some technical difficulties. he was going to lose his mind, but you were a good sport through it all. jungkook still had one final trick up his sleeve for you.

when you both finally get back to his place with bags of takeout, jungkook lets out a wail of frustration.

“bam, no!”

all the balloons he blew up have been popped. you look past his shoulders to see a torn up sign with the words: wil u e my fren?

bam prances to you and jungkook with his wagging tail, unaware of jungkook’s inner anguish and turmoil. jungkook runs his hands over his face and freezes in place.

“aw baby,” you try comforting jungkook, “it was an accident. bam didn’t know.”

“i know, i just … fuck, gimme a minute.” jungkook stalks over to his bedroom and closes the door. you place the bags of food on the dining table and crouch down to pet bam.

“you really upset your dad, bammie. he worked really hard on this,” you know bam doesn’t understand a single word you’re saying, but you’re disappointed for jungkook too. jungkook really put in the effort and you’re touched by it all. he really wants you and you want nothing more than to be his.

you feed bam his dinner and set the takeout in the fridge, unsure of when you and jungkook will be ready to eat.

hesitantly, you knock on jungkook’s door. know you don’t need his permission to come in — you’ve slept over plenty of times, but still do it out of courtesy.

“can i come in, kook?”

a moment of silence ensues before you hear a little, “… yeah.”

jungkook was on his bed, feet still on the floor with his arms sprawled out. poor boy.

you climb onto bed next to him and lay your head on his shoulder.

he’s visibly upset — not at you of course. he just wanted to make this special.

“that was fucking cute. no one has ever done that for me before.” you say. the best you got from dohwan were a bouquet of roses sent to your workplace. jungkook’s efforts superseded your expectations.

“which part? no dinner, no movies, or the shit show of a sign?”

“all of it.”

“pff, don’t lie.” he sulks.

you throw your leg over his torso to straddle his waist.

“i’m not! you’re so fucking sweet,” you move down to kiss his cheek when he doesn’t look up at you.

“come on, don’t you want my answer?” you place his hands on your hips, wanting him to touch you somewhere.

he cocks his brow at you, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“fine fine, i’ll be your ‘fren’ if that’s what you want.”

he covers his face in embarrassment, “ugh, that shit was so humiliating. bam isn’t getting any treats for the next three days.”

“hey! don’t punish my baby. it was an honest mistake.” you reassure him, “plus, i gave him an earful.” yeah, and his dinner right after. it’s no wonder bam likes you a lot more these days.

“okay, okay … i’m still sorry about today. nothing went accordingly.” jungkook sighs and rubs soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“you’re not allowed to punish yourself either,” you say a matter of fact, “did you mean it though?” you look at him through your lashes.

“hm?”

“want me as your girlfriend?” when you finally say those words, it sets off a bundle of butterflies in your stomach.

jungkook quickly sits up, holding you securely so you don’t topple over, “of course, i do. just wanted to make it special for you.”

you felt fucking special.

so fucking special in how you said yes, saw how he beamed at your answer, kisses you silly, tongue running down your neck, the little bites on your collarbone — you’re on cloud 9.

he involuntarily drags your hips over his clothed length and you whimper upon contact.

“you hungry, baby? we didn’t have dinner yet,” jungkook asks innocently through his heavy breaths, but you’re too busy trying to unbutton his dress shirt. how could he possibly think about food at a time like this? then again, you have to remember he’s the biggest foodie known to earth. he’s caring of your wellbeing so of course he’d worry if you’re hungry.

he’s also your boyfriend now.

you shake your head. you don’t just want him — you need him.

you slide off of him and are on your knees in between his legs. he looks at you through his heavy lids when you clock your head to the side, waiting for the green light to take off his pants.

“you’ve been so good to me, planning this date … lemme show you how thankful i am.”

jungkook loves being praised and rewarded. he especially loves it even more coming from you. he lets out a moan when you run your hand down his clothed bulge. yes, jungkook has had sex before — honestly, don’t ask him about his body count … he’s not sure either. what he’s sure is that he loses all senses when you touch him — like a virgin touched for the very first time.

his pants are down and kicked off to the side, shirt unbuttoned haphazardly, and head thrown back when you settle between his legs to give his hard length a squeeze.

he’s so fucking big in your hand and your mouth nearly waters at the sight of his precum leaking from the slit of his cock. fuck, you don’t know how he’s going to fit in your mouth, but it doesn’t matter. you’re going to make him come undone one way or another.

“baby, i’m literally going to nut if you keep squeezing me like that.”

you laugh, “how long are you going to last inside me then?”

“fuck, you can’t say shit like that.”

“why not?” you press a small kiss on his hip bone and pump his cock with your hand. his eyes closes and mouth drops open at the change of movement.

“gonna nut even faster,” he chuckles.

jungkook hisses when you lick a long stripe underneath his shaft without warning. one of his hand reaches behind your head for support while the other one grips his bedsheets.

“oh god,” he lets out a small moan when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and begin to bob your head at a pace that has him seeing stars.

his cock was lathered with your spit and his precum. the sounds you made while you sucked him off were nearly pornographic. his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head when his cock hits the back of your throat.

“shit, oh f-fuck,” his fingers are caught in your hair and your moans vibrate against him when he gently pushes your head down while he fucks up into your mouth.

if you keep going like this, he wasn’t going to last long and he really wants to … can’t bring himself to cum in your mouth just yet. he really wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to nut quick, so he pulls you away when he nearly cums. you breathe heavily through your swollen lips. jungkook runs his thumb on your cheeks where some mascara has smeared as a result of your doing.

you’re still so fucking perfect.

he lifts you from your kneeled position back onto his lap and kisses you slow and tenderly. jungkook whines into your mouth as he tastes himself on your tongue. your dress has ridden up on your waist, the the thin straps are loose and off your shoulders.

“i somehow fucked up the entire night and you still decided to give me the best head? must really like me or something,” jungkook looks at you endearingly and takes notice of how you’re rutting yourself onto his length.

“you know i do. my boyfriend deserves the best.” jungkook’s heart soars at hearing the word boyfriend leave your lips.

yes, he’s yours.

you shake in pleasure as you roll your hips deliciously slow on him. you’re practically soaked through your thin panties.

“did you get this wet just by sucking me off, baby?”

you nod and trail kisses on his cheeks and jaw, “all for you, kook. you always make me this wet.”

he takes so much pride in how he’s able to get you all worked up like this.

jungkook wasn’t expecting to have sex with you tonight, but it’s like you said … it’s special. the rest of your clothing join his in a pile on the ground. he rolls you onto your back and drinks in your naked form. you shy away from his stares and kiss up at him.

your hand reach between you both while he continues to kiss you and you position his still-hard cock in between your folds for that additional friction. the wet clicks mixes in with both your pantings and synchronized moans. every time the head of his cock slides and catches onto your swollen clit, you shudder and arch your back in pleasure.

“want you to fuck me,” you kiss his pouty lips and down his neck, “please?”

jungkook leans back a little, sits on the heels of his feet, and pushes your thighs close to your chest. the angle lets him move and slide your hips up and down his length even more. you gasp and call out his name in wanton.

he drops your legs down and closes the distance between you both again. his bare chest brushes against yours and he lines his cock at your entrance.

“you’re so perfect,” his breath fans over your face, “so lucky to have you.” jungkook swoops his arms under you in a tight embrace. you look at him through your glassy eyes and wrap your arms around his neck.

your heart swells at his words.

there’s little to no resistance when jungkook finally enters you.

it’s a mixture of sweet, nasty, loving, and primal desire how jungkook fucks you into his sheets. he hates loud sex, but he wants to hear all of you. the way you mewl, whimper, cry, and breathe — all of it.

and when you wrap your legs around him and coax him into cumming inside you while your fingers trace the planes of his back, he knows he’s done for.

you giggle, nudge your forehead on his, hold his hand, and kiss all over his face. the afterglow on you both is stunning.

“you’re right, you didn’t last long at all.” you hum. jungkook raises one of his eyebrows and smiles mischievously. it’s a fucking lie since jungkook knows he made you cum at least twice in the span of fucking you, but who would you be if you didn’t try challenging him a little?

he doesn’t have to say anything before slipping down your body and burying his face in between your legs. he licks up your slit tentatively, watches your brows furrow and mouth part, and moans into your heat when your hand travels to his head to push him down as he did to you.

“don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere,” jungkook means it both literally and figuratively. doesn’t understand how anyone could part from you. it’s their loss.

he continues lapping up your mixed essence, nipping at your inner thighs on occasion when your hips jerk away from the pleasure.

“kook, mmph- yes! just like that,” you encourage when he wraps his lips around your clit. he sucks, soothes, and makes out with your messy cunt. he wanted to draw out the night longer, toy and dangle your pleasure in front of you as a punishment for your teasing. knows he’s the reason you’re this wet, can’t bring himself to edge you on a special night like this — maybe another time when he’s feeling more mean. he has all the time in the world with you; there’s no rush.

tonight is all about you, his girlfriend — his.

“so close, baby,” you look down, hips stuttering under his hold as he doesn’t let up with his ministrations on your clit. he trails his fingers at your entrance, coating them with your juices before entering you slowly.

“yeah? won’t you give me another one? come on, i know you can do it,” he says between bated breaths. you shake and arch your back, mouth parts open but no sound comes out as you let the waves of pleasure ride over. the squelching sounds increase as his fingers fuck into you faster.

“i-i’m fucking cumming,” you cry out and jungkook nods in acknowledgement, moaning with you to draw out your orgasm. when you come for the third time that night, he wants to paint the image in his memory and revisit it on a rainy day. no promises that he won’t sport a hard on every time. the sight of you quivering, hands squeezing your chest and rolling your nipples between your fingers to prolong the pleasure, has his head spinning. jungkook trails kisses down your pussy, takes his fingers out and licks them clean before spreading you wider to clean you up with his tongue. he only part ways with your cunt when you whine for him.

he comes back up your body slowly, presses his lips on your tummy and giggles when you squirm from the sensation. however, when he is finally face to face with you again, jungkook has on this determined look.

he can’t seem to get enough of you and your body. addicted, he is.

“you’re not done with me, aren’t you?” you give him that pretty post-orgasmic smile.

never, he thinks.

jungkook was about to reply until the rumbles of your stomach cuts through the silence. it should be embarrassing but you feel close enough to jungkook that you both laugh at how unserious the situation is.

“come on baby, let’s go eat our dinner.” he pulls you up and puts you in one of his oversized t-shirts.

you still believe your ideal neighbor should be mindful, quiet, and kind. jungkook was certainly not mindful, quiet, or kind with how he entered into your life.

though, he wasn’t just someone who’d be your neighbor by the law of attraction and the cosmic pull of the universe.

love is patient, love is kind.

you know you’ve found your home — you just never expected it to be right next door.

fin.

—

a/n: tadaaaaaa. what’d you think? 😜