the one where you visit your best friend jungkook on tour in vegas, finally give in to three years of wanting, and learn the hard way that what happens in vegas definitely does not stay in vegas.
pairing: idol!jungkook x fem!reader
genre: friends to lovers au, porn with plot, angst, smut (mdni!)
word count: 10,145
warnings/tags: 18+, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, best friends to lovers, pining for three years, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), ball sucking, nipple play, clit stimulation, fingering, grinding and dry humping, cum play (he eats his own cum from her, spits it in her mouth), hair pulling, hickies/marking, fingering, missionary, cowgirl, doggy style, jungkook and reader get into a fight, vegas hotel aesthetic, backstage access, the morning after, viral vlog gone wrong, reader is from los angeles, reader is nicknamed la and sunshine
a/n: hi everyone! I'm so excited to have finished this story, I've been working on it for a while trying to make it perfect!!! I had so much fun writing it ++ any vegas jungkook look always ends up being my favorite so I had to write something for it. vegas air x jungkook is definitely a dangerous combo!!! anyway, I hope you guys like my fic. I'm thinking of opening a taglist?? comment if you want to be tagged for any of my future works. tysm for reading... don't forget to reblog ⋆. 𐙚 ˚<3
The flight from LAX to LAS takes just over an hour, but you have been awake since four in the morning, watching the dark ceiling of your apartment, listening to the distant hum of the freeway. You told yourself you weren't going to do this. You told yourself you were going to be mature, respect the boundaries of his tour, let him have this without you hovering at the edges like some ghost of Los Angeles past.
But then you saw his story. Posted at 2 AM, the timestamp glowing accusatory in your dark bedroom. Backstage at Allegiant Stadium, the concrete corridors painted that particular shade of industrial beige that exists in every venue in every city in the world. He was holding that stupid vintage camcorder he insists on using for everything, the one that makes everything look like a memory even as it's happening, and he was complaining about the dry Vegas air, about how his skin feels tight, about how he misses the humidity of Seoul, of home, of-
Of you. He didn't say it. But you heard it anyway.
You booked the ticket before the video looped a second time. You packed a bag with clothes you didn't bother to fold, just stuffed them in like you were running from something, and you drove to the airport with the windows down, the Los Angeles winds whipping your hair into a frenzy, the city sprawling behind you in its perpetual golden-hour haze.
Now you are standing in the loading dock of Allegiant Stadium, ducking under yellow caution tape that says CREW ONLY in letters that have faded from sun exposure. The desert heat hits differently here, drier, more aggressive, sucking the moisture from your skin the moment you step out of the rideshare. You can hear them - distant, muffled, the thump of bass vibrating through the concrete bones of the building, the soundcheck for a show that won't happen for hours.
You should have told him. You know you should have told him. But there's something delicious about the surprise, about the look that will break across his face when he sees you, about the possibility that he might be as hungry for this collision as you are.
The security guard starts toward you, hand raised, mouth open to tell you to leave, but you flash the laminate that Hoseok sent you three hours ago in a text that just said come with seventeen exclamation points. The guard squints at the pass, squints at you, and waves you through with a shrug that says he's seen stranger things in this city.
Backstage is a labyrinth. You move through it like you're dreaming, past roadies coiling cables with practiced efficiency, past catering tables laden with fruit you know no one will eat, past the wardrobe racks that smell like dry cleaning and sweat. You find the corridor that leads to the stage-left wing, the one he's posted from, and you press yourself against a concrete pillar that is cool against your spine, and you wait.
The music stops. Starts again. Stops. They're running 2.0 now, you think, or maybe it's Aliens, the melody distorted through the walls, stripped of vocals, just the skeleton of the song. You check your phone. One hour until doors, three until showtime - an eternity.
You watch the makeup artist - Miyoung, you remember her name from his stories - touch up a dancer's jawline with a small brush, precise and unhurried. You drift toward her like you're caught in her orbit, and she looks up, recognizes something in your face, maybe, or just sees another lost girl in a venue full of them.
"You look like you need coffee," she says, not unkindly.
"I look like I need a lot of things," you reply, and she laughs, a bright sound that cuts through the industrial hum.
"Sit," she says, patting the chair next to her station. "I'll fix your face. You look like you flew in this morning."
"I did."
She makes a considerable noise and tilts your chin up with gentle fingers. The brush is soft against your skin, cool, soothing. She works in silence for a while, dusting something golden across your cheekbones, lining your eyes with a precision you could never manage yourself.
"You're the LA girl," she says finally. It's not a question.
You freeze. "He talks about me?"
Miyoung smiles, something knowing and soft. "He talks about the weather in LA. About the traffic. About this coffee shop near your apartment that he wants to try. About how the light looks different there, how it makes everything look like a movie." She steps back, assesses her work. "There. Now you don't look like you just survived a redeye."
You look in the mirror. You look like yourself, but sharper, more luminous, like someone worth flying for.
"Thank you," you say, and she squeezes your shoulder before turning back to her kit.
Time moves strangely backstage. You help a roadie tape down a cable. You accept a bottle of water from a staff member who doesn't ask your name. You watch the dancers stretch, their bodies bending in ways that seem to defy physics, and you think about your own body, about the way it feels heavy with wanting, weighted down by all the things you haven't said.
And then soundcheck ends. The distant thrum of voices, seven of them overlapping, laughing, complaining about the monitors, about the heat, about the dry air that makes their throats scratch. You press yourself harder against the pillar, heart hammering against your ribs, and you wait for him to appear around the corner.
But it's Namjoon first, tall and tired, glasses slipping down his nose, still in his rehearsal clothes. He sees you before you can decide whether to hide or run, and his face shifts from confusion to recognition to something like delight.
"LA?" he says, and his voice carries.
You push off the wall, suddenly nervous, suddenly aware of every hour of sleep you missed, every reason this was a bad idea. "Surprise?"
Namjoon crosses the distance between you in three long strides and pulls you into a hug that lifts you slightly off your feet, that smells like his cologne and the faint metallic tang of the venue. "You're insane," he says into your hair, but he's laughing. "He's going to lose his mind."
"I wanted to-"
"Surprise him," Namjoon finishes, setting you down but keeping his hands on your shoulders, studying your face with that particular intensity he has, the one that makes you feel like he's reading the footnotes of your thoughts. "I know. I can tell." He squeezes once. "Be gentle with him. He's been... he's been looking at his phone a lot."
Before you can ask what that means, there's a whoop from down the corridor, and Hoseok is running toward you, arms windmilling, grinning so wide it looks like it hurts.
"You came!" he shouts, and you brace yourself as he collides with you, spins you, sets you down only to step back and present his cheek with theatrical expectation.
You laugh, the sound surprising you, and you give him a light slap - firm enough to sting, playful enough to mean nothing - before pulling him into a hug that smells like sweat and peppermint gum. "I came," you confirm.
"Jungkook-ah doesn't know?"
"Not yet."
Hoseok's eyes gleam with mischief. "Oh, this is going to be good. This is going to be so good."
The others filter past - Jimin with a wave, Taehyung with a curious tilt of his head, Yoongi and Jin with nods that somehow feel like approval. They don't question your presence, or if they do, they keep it to themselves. You're part of the furniture here, part of the landscape of Jungkook's life that they've all learned to navigate around.
And then, there he is.
He's at the end of the corridor, still holding that camcorder, the one with the duct tape on the side where he dropped it in Tokyo. He's talking to it, narrating his life in that soft, sleepy voice he gets after he sings, something about the venue, about the soundcheck, about how the dry air makes his throat feel like sandpaper.
He doesn't see you at first. He's looking at the lens, at himself, performing even when he thinks no one is watching. You have time to study him - the way he has slimmed down since the last time you saw him, all sharp angles and new edges, the way his forehead is finally visible again with this haircut, the one you told him suited him best, and the tiredness in his shoulders that he carries like a secret, like something he's ashamed of letting show.
You step out from behind the pillar.
"LA?"
Your name hangs in the air - the nickname he gave you three years ago in Budapest, then cemented during those long weeks in Los Angeles when they filmed the album, when you were around so much you became part of the furniture, part of the language. They say it like a word, like a place, like something that means her and home and the one who keeps leaving all at once. The camcorder lowers slowly. His face shifts through seventeen emotions: confusion, disbelief, hope, fear, sunlight breaking through clouds.
"You're not-" He stops. Steps forward. "You're actually here."
You shrug, missing casual by miles. "You said you missed humidity."
He stares. The camcorder hangs forgotten, still recording. You see the pulse in his throat, his hand tightening on the strap until his knuckles whiten.
Then he's moving.
He crosses the space in a rush that feels gravitational, arms around you, lifting you off your feet, spinning you once, twice, laughing into the curve of your neck. He smells like rehearsal - sweat and cologne and something uniquely him, the fabric softener you bought him last Christmas.
"You're insane," he says, setting you down but not letting go, hands gripping your waist like you'll evaporate. "When did you- how did you-"
"Hoseok," you admit. Hoseok cackles behind you.
"Hoseok," Jungkook repeats, but he's not angry, only present, eyes scanning your face like he's memorizing it, like he's been starving and you're the first meal. "I can't believe you. I can't believe you're here."
"Surprise," you say softer, and his expression shifts, becoming tender and vulnerable.
"Yeah." He breathes. "Surprise."
He doesn't let go. The camcorder bumps your hip. He looks down at it, forgotten, then back at you with a question.
"Keep filming," you say.
He lifts the camera, captures both of you in the frame. You see yourself on the small screen - flushed, bright-eyed. See him looking at you instead of the lens.
"Day three in Vegas," he says, voice rough. "Soundcheck finished at Allegiant Stadium. We ran 2.0 and Aliens and-" he glances at you, swallows, "-LA is here. She just showed up. Like a ghost. Like a miracle."
"Not a miracle," you protest, smiling.
"Miracle," he insists. He turns the camera off, pulls you back into his arms, face buried in your hair. "Stay," he mumbles.
"I'll stay for now," you say, and he exhales like you've granted him something precious.
The hours blur. You find your place at the end of the southwest walkway, pressed against the scaffolding where the lights don't reach, where the curtain hangs heavy and dark between you and the world. Through the screen you can see them - seven figures moving through their formations on the central stage, then dispersing down the four walkways that stretch like arms reaching for the crowd.
From here the stadium opens up around you, three hundred sixty degrees of screaming, of light sticks creating oceans of color, of faces tilted upward like they're looking at something holy. You watch him move down the northeast walkway, then the northwest, then back to center, and you can imagine the sweat on his brow, can see the way he scans the crowd between lyrics, the way his shoulders relax when he finds your shadow in the wings.
You watch them run through Into the Sun - his voice rising through his verse like something carved from light, like a prayer offered up in a language only the faithful understand. He sounds angelic, truly, the kind of voice that makes you understand why people build religions around beauty, why they kneel before things they cannot comprehend. Through the screen his face flickers, close-up, ethereal, and you think of Hungary, of that bar in Budapest where you met, where he was just a boy with a pretty smile and you were just a girl who didn't know enough to be impressed.
He thought you were cute. You thought he was funny. The night ended in laughter and phone numbers exchanged on a napkin you still have somewhere, pressed between the pages of a book you never finished.
Now thousands of people scream his name, reaching toward the walkway like they could pull him down and keep him. You watch girls cry, boys scream, bodies pressed against barriers, living for this moment, this proximity to something they've only ever seen through glass.
And you realize - with something that feels like vertigo - that you are living someone's dream. That the boy they're screaming for is the same one who texts you memes at 3 AM, who sends you voice notes complaining about his laundry, who fell asleep on your couch last November and drooled on your throw pillow.
The thought makes you feel strange, temporary, like a glitch in the system. Like eventually the universe will notice and correct its error.
But then he's moving toward you, down the southwest walkway, and through the distance you see his eyes find yours, and he smiles - not the performance smile, but something smaller, real, meant only for you.
For a moment, the stadium fades. It's just his face - looking at you like you're the only person in the room.
Then the song ends, and he's turning, and the crowd roars, and you're just a shadow in the wings again, watching someone else's miracle from behind a curtain.
After, when the lights go down and the crowd roars and fades, you find yourself swept up with the others, with pizza that tastes like cardboard and the chaos of post-show adrenaline. You're part of the furniture here - helping Namjoon find his glasses, listening to Hoseok complain about his feet, letting Yoongi show you a meme.
"Where's Jin?" you ask at one point, noticing the empty chair.
"Asleep," Taehyung says, scrolling through his phone. "Said he's going to sleep for a year. So tired."
You laugh, and Jungkook watches you from across the room, eyes following the shape of your smile.
It's barely past eleven when Namjoon stretches, joints popping. "Food," he announces.
"That bar in the hotel, the one with the good sliders. Who's coming?"
"I'm in," Hoseok says, already reaching for his jacket.
"Me too," Jimin adds.
Taehyung looks at you, then at Jungkook, something knowing in his expression. "LA? You hungry?"
You are, suddenly - starving in a way that has nothing to do with food. You look at Jungkook. He's watching you, waiting.
"Yeah," you say. "I'm coming."
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The bar is in the lobby of their hotel, some trendy spot with leather booths and neon signs that look vintage but aren't. It's nearly midnight but Vegas doesn't sleep, the place half-full of tourists in sequins and people who lost money and are drinking their way back to even.
You slide into a booth after Namjoon, and Jungkook slides in after you, thigh pressed against yours in a way that feels deliberate. The others arrange themselves - Taehyung and Jimin on one side, Hoseok beside Namjoon - and a waiter appears with waters and menus.
He's tall, dark-haired, the kind of handsome that moves through spaces like he owns them. His eyes find yours immediately, skipping over the five famous faces at the table like they don't register, like you're the only one in the room.
"Can I get you anything else?" he asks, but he's looking at you, his smile slow and deliberate. "Another drink? Something... special?"
You order another gin and tonic, and he touches your hand when he takes the empty glass, his fingers warm, lingering. "Excellent choice. I'll make sure it's perfect for you."
You feel Jungkook shift beside you, his thigh going rigid against yours, his arm pressing harder into your shoulder.
"Thanks," you say, and the waiter smiles again, all teeth, before finally turning away.
"Friendly," Taehyung observes, his eyes amused, watching Jungkook."Very friendly," Jimin adds, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.
"He's just doing his job," you say, but under the table Jungkook's hand finds your knee, his grip tight, his thumb pressing hard enough to make you look at him.
"What?" you mouth.
He shakes his head, jaw tight, reaching for his water with his free hand. "Nothing."
But his hand doesn't move from your knee, and when the waiter returns - your drink balanced on his tray, his smile even wider - Jungkook's fingers dig in just slightly, a warning, a claim.
"Here you are," the waiter says, setting the glass down, his hand brushing yours as you take it. "Made it just for you. Extra lime, like you asked."
"You remembered," you say, surprised.
"I pay attention," he says, his voice dropping, intimate in the noise of the bar. "To things worth remembering."
Jungkook makes a sound, low in his throat, almost a growl. The waiter glances at him, finally, recognition flickering - oh, that’s Jeon Jungkook - but he doesn't back down. If anything, his smile widens, a challenge in his eyes.
"Anything else I can get you?" he asks, but he's looking at you, only you.
"We're good," Jungkook says, his voice flat, final, his hand sliding from your knee to your thigh, his palm hot through your jeans, claiming territory. "Thanks."
The waiter nods, slowly, his eyes lingering on you one last time before he turns away.
"Possessive," you murmur, not looking at Jungkook, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Not," he lies, his hand staying on your thigh, his thumb tracing patterns that feel like writing, like spelling something out in a language only you two speak.
"You literally just-"
"Drink your gin," he interrupts, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on the waiter's back across the bar. "Before I do something stupid."
"Like what?"
He finally looks at you, his expression dark, his pupils blown wide in the dim light. "Like go over there and explain that you're not... that he shouldn't..."
"That I'm not what?"
He stares at you, his jaw working, his hand tightening on your thigh. "Available," he says finally, the word torn out of him. "That you're not available."
The silence between you stretches, filled with the noise of the bar, the laughter of his friends, the weight of three years of pretending.
"Am I not?" you ask, your voice quiet, barely audible.
His eyes search yours, desperate, hungry, all the things he's never let himself show you. "Are you?"
You don't answer. You can't. But you don't move his hand from your thigh, and when the waiter passes again, you don't look up, and Jungkook's fingers relax, just slightly, like he's breathing again.
"So," Jimin interrupts the two of you, leaning forward, eyes bright with mischief. "LA flies to Vegas unannounced. This is a rom-com plot."
"It's a horror movie," you say. "I'm the ghost who haunts his tour."
"You're not haunting," Jungkook says, "You're... visiting."
"Visiting," Taehyung repeats, tasting the word. "Very casual. Very normal."
You kick Jungkook's ankle. He kicks back, grinning.
The conversation moves around you - tour logistics, the venue tomorrow, Jin asleep upstairs dreaming of hibernation. You eat a slider that tastes like salt and grease and watch Jungkook from the corner of your eye. He's animated, hands moving as he talks, but every few minutes his attention drifts back to you, checking, making sure you're still there.
Hoseok orders a third plate of sliders. He eats them with the focus of a man possessed, and when he finally sits back, patting his stomach with a groan, he stretches his arms over the back of the booth and sighs, long and loud.
"God, I love Vegas," he says. "No consequences. What happens here, stays here, right?"
He says it with a grin, rubbing his stomach, and you realize he's talking about the sliders - about the gluttony, the grease, the way he's going to feel this in the morning. It's a joke about guilt, about indulgence, about pretending the things you do in this city don't follow you home.
But Jungkook looks at you, and you look at him, and for a second the noise of the bar fades out entirely. His eyes are dark in the dim light, and you know he's thinking about all the things that could happen here, all the things you've never let happen anywhere else.
You look away first. Take a long sip of your drink.
"Speaking of," Namjoon says, and his voice is careful, deliberate, breaking the spell.
"We should head up. Early call tomorrow."
"Already?" Jimin whines, but he's already sliding out.
"Come on," Hoseok says, standing. He looks at you, then at Jungkook, and his smile softens into something almost gentle. "Don't stay out too late."
They leave in a cluster, Taehyung waving over his shoulder, Jimin making a kissy face that Jungkook flips off. And then it's just you and him, alone in the booth, the neon buzzing overhead.
"You didn't have to stay," you say, tracing a water ring on the table.
"I wanted to." He pauses. "I have stuff for you, actually. Merch. The good stuff. It's in my room."
"In your room," you repeat.
"In my room."
You look at him. He's watching you carefully, no smile now, just open want and the fear that you'll say no.
"Okay," you say.
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The elevator ride is silent. The corridor is silent. His room is on the thirty-fourth floor, corner suite, Vegas sprawled out below like a circuit board, like a promise.
You stand at the window while he dumps his bag on the bed, spreads out offerings - a hoodie that smells like him, a hat, stickers, a photocard.
"Here," he says, patting the space beside him.
You sit. The bed dips. You're close enough to feel his heat, see the tiredness in his eyes, feel your hand trembling when you pick up the photocard.
"Someone had a fan tonight," he says, and his voice is casual, too casual, the way it gets when he's hiding something sharp.
You blink, looking up from the photocard you've been turning over in your fingers. "What?"
"At the bar." He doesn't look at you. He's arranging the stickers in a neat row, aligning their edges with precision that feels like avoidance. "The waiter - he couldn't stop looking at you."
You laugh, surprised, the sound bright in the quiet room. "Are you serious? You had like seventy-two thousand people screaming your name tonight."
"Seventy-two thousand and one," he corrects, and there's a smirk tugging at his mouth, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "But I'm serious. The waiter, Sunshine. He was into you."
"I didn't notice." You set the photocard down, reach for the hoodie, bring it to your nose to breathe in the smell of him-fabric softener and something else, something warm. "I was too busy watching you eat like you hadn't seen food in a week."
"Of course you didn't notice." He says it softly, almost to himself, and something in his tone makes you look up.
"What?"
"Nothing." He stands suddenly, moves to the window, his back to you. "It's just... you never do. Notice things."
You frown, the hoodie forgotten in your lap. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you fly in, you fly out, and you act like you're just passing through." He's still not looking at you, his reflection fractured in the glass, doubled by the city lights behind him. "Like this-" he gestures vaguely at the space between you, at the room, at everything "-like it's just... convenient. Like I'm just convenient."
"Jungkook-"
"Three months." He turns now, and his face is carefully blank, the mask he wears for interviews, for cameras, for strangers. "Three months since you were in Seoul. And you didn't even tell me you were thinking about coming tonight. Hoseok knew before I did."
"I wanted to surprise you-"
"Surprise me," he repeats, and there's a note in his voice you can't name. "Or keep your options open? In case you changed your mind?"
You stand up, blood starting to rush in your ears. "That's not fair."
"Is it?" He takes a step toward you, then stops, like he's afraid of what he'll do if he gets closer. "Last time you were in Tokyo, you left early. Said you had work. But I saw the pictures. You were at the beach with friends. You just... didn't want to stay."
"That was different-"
"Was it?" Another step. His hands are fisted at his sides. "Or the time before that, in New York? You said you'd come to the show, but you got 'caught up' with your ex-"
"He needed help moving-"
"And you needed to be there." He's close now, close enough that you can see the pulse hammering in his throat, the flush high on his cheeks. "You needed to be there for him, but you can't be here. Not really. Not when it counts."
"That's not-" You shake your head, defensive, confused by the velocity of this, by how fast the ground is shifting beneath you. "I'm here now. I flew here. For you."
"For now," he says, and his voice cracks, just slightly, just enough. "For tonight. And then what? Tomorrow you'll be back in LA, and you'll text me when you're bored, when you need a distraction, when you want to feel like someone wants you-"
"Stop-"
"But actually showing up?" He's not yelling, but his voice has gone tight, strange, the way guitar strings sound before they snap. "Actually staying? Letting this be real? You'd never risk it. Because then you might have to want me back. You might have to need me. And god forbid, Sunshine-god forbid you ever need anyone."
The words hit like a slap. You stare at him, breathing hard, the makeup Miyoung applied feeling suddenly like a mask, like armor you don't know how to remove.
"That's not fair," you whisper, but your voice breaks.
"Isn't it?" He turns away again, paces to the window, and his reflection is fractured, doubled, and you can't tell which one is the real him. "At least the waiter looked at you. At least he saw you. You act like I'm invisible unless you need something. Unless you're lonely, unless you're sad, unless you want someone to tell you you're pretty at 3 AM-"
"Fuck you," you say, louder now, anger rising up to meet the hurt. "That's not- I'm not-"
"What?" He spins around. "What are you, Sunshine? Tell me. Because from where I'm standing, you're the girl who keeps me on a shelf. Who takes me down when she's bored and puts me back when she's done. And I keep letting you. I keep waiting by the phone like some fucking-"
"Stop it!" You grab your bag from the chair, hands shaking. "I'm not doing this. I'm not-"
You get three steps toward the door before his hand closes around your wrist.
"Let go."
"Why?" His grip tightens, not hard, just enough to stop you, enough to make you feel the heat of his palm against your pulse point. "So you can run again? Back to LA, right? Back where it's safe? Where you don't have to feel anything?"
You wrench your arm, but he doesn't let go. You're facing each other now, breathing hard, inches apart, and you can see the shine in his eyes that he won't let become tears, can see the way his jaw is clenched so tight it must ache.
"Say it," he says, low, rough. "Say you're running."
"I'm not-"
"Say it."
And you can't. Because you're not running, you've never been able to run from him, not when he's looking at you like this - like you're breaking his heart and saving it all at once.
"I hate you," you whisper.
"No, you don't," he says, and then his mouth is on yours.
It's hard and desperate and tastes like years of waiting, and for a moment you melt into it, your body betraying you, your hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer. But then your brain catches up, the words he just threw at you still sharp in your chest, and you push against his shoulders, breaking the kiss with a gasp.
"Wait," you breathe, your lips tingling, your heart hammering. "Wait, you don't get to do that."
He's breathing hard, his eyes dark, his hands still gripping your waist. "Do what?"
"Blame me," you say, your voice shaking. "You don't get to tell me I never stay, that I never risk anything, and then just kiss me like that fixes it. Like I'm the only one who messed this up."
His jaw tightens. "That's not what I-"
"It is," you cut him off, pushing against his chest until he steps back, giving you space. "You want to talk about me leaving? About me not expressing my feelings? Well what about you, Jungkook? When have you ever told me to stay? When have you ever actually said what you want?"
He stares at you, chest heaving, and you see something flicker in his eyes - hurt, defensiveness, the mirror of your own accusations.
"I've been here," he says, his voice low, dangerous. "I've been right here, watching you date assholes who don't deserve you, watching you leave and come back and leave again. What was I supposed to do? Beg you?"
"Yes!" you shout, the word tearing out of you. "Maybe! Or at least tell me! Tell me you want me to stay instead of just letting me go, letting me think you don't care-"
"I care," he snaps, stepping toward you again, crowding you back against the wall. "I care so fucking much it makes me sick. Is that what you want to hear? That I've been in love with you for three years and I've been dying every time you walk away?"
Your breath catches. "Then why didn't you say-"
"Because you were always leaving!" He's close now, so close, his hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in. "And you seemed fine with it. You seemed fine with whatever we are."
"I'm not bored," you whisper, your voice breaking. "I was never bored. I was scared. I'm still scared."
"Of what?"
"Of this," you say, gesturing between you. "Of wanting you this much. Of needing you and having you leave instead."
"I'm not leaving," he says, his voice softer now, raw. "I've never left. You're the one who-"
"Because you never asked me to stay," you interrupt, and there are tears in your eyes now, hot and humiliating. "You never said don't go. You just let me."
He stares at you, his expression shifting, softening, the anger draining out of him like water. "I didn't think I had the right," he admits, quiet. "I didn't think you wanted me to ask."
"Well I did," you say, your voice small. "I do."
He leans in then, slow, giving you time to pull away, and brushes his lips against yours - softer this time, questioning. You don't pull away. You kiss him back, tentative, tasting the salt of tears you can't tell are his or yours.
"Stay," he whispers against your mouth, his hands moving to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. "Don't go back to LA. Not yet. Stay with me."
"You don't mean that," you say, but you're kissing him again, deeper now, your hands sliding up his chest.
"I do," he insists, breaking the kiss to look at you, his eyes fierce. "I've never meant anything more. Stay tonight. Stay tomorrow. Stay-"
"Stop talking," you breathe, and pull him back to you, your mouth crashing against his, hungry, desperate.
He groans, his hands dropping to your waist, lifting you, and you wrap your legs around him, the friction of him against you making you both gasp. He walks you backward toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, and then you're falling, hitting the mattress with him on top of you, settling between your legs with a weight that feels perfect, inevitable.
"Wait," you gasp, tearing your mouth away, your head spinning. "Wait, I'm still mad at you."
"Good," he growls, his mouth moving to your neck, sucking hard enough to mark. "Be mad. Yell at me. But don't leave."
"I'm not-" you break off with a moan as he grinds against you, his hips rolling in a way that makes you see stars. "I'm not leaving, but you- you have to-"
"Have to what?" He lifts his head, his eyes dark, challenging. "Tell me what you want, Sunshine. Use your words."
"I want you to stop talking in circles," you manage, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him back to you. "I want you to show me. Show me you want me."
He kisses you again, hard, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, and you meet him with equal fervor, your teeth clicking, your breath mingling. He pulls back just enough to strip your shirt over your head, and you help him, your bra following, and then you're bare and he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world.
"Beautiful," he breathes, and then his mouth is on your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, and you cry out, arching into him.
"Fuck," you gasp, your hands tangled in his hair, holding him there. "Jungkook-"
He switches sides, his hand replacing his mouth on the first breast, pinching and rolling your nipple while he sucks hard on the other, and you're whimpering now, your hips bucking up against him, seeking friction.
"Still mad?" he asks against your skin, his voice smug, teasing.
"Yes," you breathe, but you're pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. "Take this off. I want to feel you."
He sits back, stripping his shirt off, and you sit up too, reaching for him, your hands running over his chest, his shoulders, the ink on his arms. He shivers under your touch, his eyes falling closed, and you lean in, pressing your mouth to his collarbone, his throat, biting gently at his jaw.
"Tell me," you whisper against his skin. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," he says, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips. "I want your mouth on me. I want to be inside you. I want everything, Sunshine, I've wanted everything for so fucking long-"
You push him back, guiding him until he's sitting on the edge of the bed, and you sink to your knees in front of him, your hands working at his jeans. He lifts his hips, helps you strip him, and then he's naked in front of you, hard and thick and straining toward you, and you want him in your mouth more than you want to breathe.
"Fuck," he breathes as you wrap your hand around him, stroke him once, twice. "Sunshine, you don't have to-"
"I want to," you say, looking up at him through your lashes. "I've wanted to. Tell me to stop and I will."
"Don't stop," he groans, his head falling back. "Please, god, don't stop-"
You lean in and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock, from base to tip, and he shouts, his hips jerking forward. You take him into your mouth, sucking lightly, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head, and his hands are in your hair, not pushing, just holding, his fingers trembling.
"Your mouth," he pants, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, your mouth, I've thought about this-"
You take him deeper, inch by inch, until he's hitting the back of your throat, and you swallow around him, hollowing your cheeks. He cries out, a raw, guttural sound, and you pull back slowly, letting him feel every inch, then sink back down, finding a rhythm.
"So good," he babbles, his hips stuttering. "So fucking good, you're perfect-"
You pull off with a wet sound, catching your breath, and he whines at the loss, his eyes opening, fixed on you with desperate hunger. You meet his gaze, then lower your head to his balls, heavy and drawn up tight. You lick at them, soft and wet, and he groans, long and low, his knees spreading wider.
"Sunshine- fuck, that's- don't stop-"
You take one into your mouth, sucking gently, rolling it on your tongue, and the sound he makes is inhuman, a broken moan that echoes off the walls. You lavish attention on them, sucking one and then the other, taking them both into your mouth and rolling them gently, and he's babbling now, incoherent, his hands tight in your hair.
"I'm gonna come," he warns, his voice strained. "Fuck, I'm close, please-"
You pull off with a wet sound, denying him, and he whines, high and desperate, his hips chasing your mouth.
"Not yet," you say, your voice filthy, and you start kissing your way up his body - his hip bone, the sharp line of his stomach, the ridge of his ribs. You push him back onto the bed, your hands firm on his chest, and he goes willingly, sprawling back against the sheets, his cock twitching against his stomach, wet and aching.
"Sunshine," he groans, his voice wrecked. "Please, I need to-"
"You don't get to finish yet," you interrupt, straddling his thighs, pinning him down. "Not when you've been such an ass."
"Then punish me," he challenges, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. "Go ahead."
You lean down, your mouth finding his nipple, and you suck hard, teasing with your teeth, and he shouts, his back arching off the bed, his hands flying to your hair. "Fuck- fuck, that's-"
He snarls, flipping you over suddenly, his strength surprising you, pinning you beneath him. You gasp, your back hitting the mattress, and he's between your legs, his hands rough on your thighs, spreading you open.
"My turn," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You got to play. Now I get to taste."
He doesn't wait for permission. He dives in, his mouth hot and filthy on your cunt, licking a broad stripe up your folds that has you screaming, your hands fisting in the sheets. He groans against you, the vibration making you see stars, and then he's spitting on you, wet and obscene, rubbing it into your clit with his thumb before he goes back to sucking you into his mouth.
"Look at you," he murmurs, lifting his head just enough to speak, his chin wet with you, his eyes fixed on your face. "Look how fucking desperate you are. Grinding on me like you couldn't wait to get this pussy on my tongue."
"Jungkook-" you whimper, your hips bucking up, seeking more.
"You want me to eat you out?" he asks, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "You want me to make you come all over my face? Say it."
"Yes," you gasp, your face burning, your body aching. "Yes, please, eat me out, I need it-"
He goes back to work with a vengeance, his tongue circling your clit before he sucks it hard into his mouth, his fingers sliding into you, curling to find that spot that makes you cry out. He's messy, filthy, spitting on you again to make you wetter, his fingers fucking you in time with the suction of his mouth, and the sounds he's making - groaning like he's the one being worshipped-are driving you insane.
"So fucking sweet," he pants against your thigh, his fingers never stopping, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. "Tastes so good. Been dreaming about this, dreaming about having you like this, making you scream-"
"Don't stop," you beg, your voice breaking, your hands in his hair, holding him there. "Please, don't stop, I'm so close-"
"Come for me," he demands, his tongue flat against you, licking broad and filthy. "Come on my tongue, Sunshine. Let me drink you down."
You do. You let go, and the orgasm crashes through you, violent and overwhelming, your back arching, your vision whiting out, your body clamping down around his fingers in rhythmic pulses. He doesn't stop, keeps licking you through it, drawing it out until you're whimpering, oversensitive, trying to close your legs.
"Can't take it," you gasp, pushing at his shoulders. "Too much-"
He crawls up your body, his face wet with you, and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself, filthy and perfect. You can feel him, hard and thick against your thigh, already ready again, desperate and throbbing.
"Let me get a condom," he mutters against your mouth, his hand reaching toward the nightstand.
You catch his wrist, stopping him, your heart hammering against your ribs. "No," you breathe, your voice raw, desperate. "Please. I want to feel you. Just you."
He freezes, his eyes snapping to yours, dark and blown wide. "Sunshine," he warns, his voice rough, strained. "You sure? I can't- fuck, I need to be careful with you-"
"I'm sure," you insist, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, your heels digging into his lower back. "I'm on the pill. And I trust you. I want to feel you come inside me, Jungkook. Please."
He groans, a broken, guttural sound, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his whole body trembling against you. "Fuck," he whispers, his voice wrecked. "You can't say shit like that. You can't-"
"Then do it," you challenge, rolling your hips against him, feeling the hot, hard length of him slide against your wetness. "Fuck me bare. Fill me up. Show me you mean it."
He snarls, his restraint snapping, and then he's pushing into you, slow and deep and completely unhindered, and the feeling is overwhelming - hot and thick and perfect, skin against skin with nothing between you. You both cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck," he pants, his eyes rolling back, his jaw clenched tight. "Fuck, you feel- you're so hot, so wet, I can feel all of you-"
"Move," you beg, your voice breaking, your legs tight around him. "Please, Jungkook, move, I need you-"
He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in, hard and deep, and the sound that tears from your throat is primal, needy. The friction is perfect, intense, every ridge of him dragging against your walls, and he's groaning with every thrust, his head thrown back, his chest heaving.
"So good," he grits out, his hips snapping against yours, setting a brutal rhythm. "So fucking good, you're taking all of me, fuck- you're so tight around me, squeezing me-"
"Yes," you gasp, your head thrown back, your back arching off the bed. "Yes, just like that, don't stop, harder-"
He gives you harder, his hips pistoning against yours, the bed creaking beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall. He's hitting something deep inside you, a spot that makes your vision blur at the edges, and you're clawing at his back, your legs wrapped tight around him, pulling him deeper with every thrust.
"Touch yourself," he demands, his voice ragged, his rhythm faltering slightly as his own pleasure mounts. "I want to see you touch yourself while I fuck you."
You slide your hand between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit, swollen and sensitive, and you rub tight, desperate circles. The added sensation is too much, just enough, and you're climbing again, the pleasure building in waves that crash higher and higher.
"Jungkook," you warn, your voice high, broken. "I'm gonna- I'm close-"
"Not yet," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing rhythm as he chases his own release. "Not yet, I need to feel you from behind, need to see that ass while I fuck you-"
He pulls out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, and he flips you over with rough hands, pulling your hips up until you're on your knees, your face pressed against the mattress. He spreads you open with his hands, groaning at the sight of you, wet and open and waiting for him.
"Fuck, look at you," he breathes, his hands gripping your hips, his thumbs spreading your folds. "Look how fucking wet you are for me, dripping down your thighs-"
"Please," you whimper, pushing back against him, seeking friction, seeking him. "Please, Jungkook, I need you inside me-"
He pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, deeper from this angle, hitting places that make you scream into the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets. He's groaning, long and low, his grip on your hips bruising as he pulls you back onto his cock, meeting his thrusts.
"So deep," he pants, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, you're so deep like this, taking all of me, fuck-"
He sets a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room, wet and filthy. He's hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, the one that makes your legs shake, your vision blur, and you're pushing back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, desperate for more.
"Touch yourself," he demands again, his hand coming around your hip, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing rough and filthy. "Come for me, Sunshine. Come on my cock while I fuck you like this-"
"Yes," you gasp, your voice muffled against the mattress. "Yes, don't stop, I'm so close-"
He doesn't stop. He fucks you harder, his fingers working your clit in tight, desperate circles, and you're climbing, climbing, the coil tightening, tightening, until-
You come with a scream, your back arching, your body clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses that draw out his own climax. But he doesn't stop, keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out until you're whimpering, oversensitive, your body trembling.
"One more," he growls, his voice strained, his thrusts becoming jerky, desperate. "One more position, I want to see your face when I come-"
He pulls out, flipping you over again, and pulls you up until you're straddling him, your hands braced on his chest. He guides himself back into you, his hands on your hips, and you sink down onto him, taking him deep, so deep you feel impossibly full.
"Ride me," he demands, his eyes dark, his jaw clenched. "Ride my cock, Sunshine. Show me how much you want it-"
You do. You roll your hips, finding a rhythm, your hands bracing on his chest, your nails digging into his skin. He's groaning, his head thrown back, his hands gripping your waist, guiding you, lifting you and pulling you back down onto him.
"Fuck," he grits out, his hips bucking up to meet you, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing rhythm. "You're so fucking beautiful like this, taking my cock, fuck- I'm close, I'm so close-"
He groans, long and low, and then he's coming, his whole body tensing, his cock pulsing inside you, hot and thick and filling you completely. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, his forehead pressed against your chest, his breath hot and fast against your skin.
"Fuck," he pants, still twitching inside you, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, Sunshine, I wish you could taste me inside of you."
You whimper at the thought, at the filth of it, but before you can respond, he's flipping you onto your back, spreading your legs wide, and diving between your thighs. You gasp, shocked, as he licks at your folds, messy and desperate, gathering the wetness of you both on his tongue.
"Jungkook-" you breathe, your hands flying to his hair, but he's relentless, lapping at you with long, filthy strokes, his tongue delving inside to taste where he just filled you, where you're still warm and full of him.
He lifts his head, his chin wet, his eyes dark and fixed on yours, and then he's crawling up your body, his hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back. He leans down and spits into your mouth, the taste of you both mingled on your tongue, warm and filthy and intimate, and you moan around it, swallowing, your whole body trembling.
He kisses you then, hard and desperate, his tongue sweeping through your mouth, sharing the taste, the intimacy of it overwhelming, perfect. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his hair, holding him to you, tasting yourself and him together, the most vulnerable thing you've ever shared.
When he finally pulls back, he's breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching your face like he's memorizing you.
"Stay," he whispers, his voice rough, his thumb brushing your swollen lower lip. "Not just for now. Stay."
You close your eyes, your heart hammering, and for the first time, you let yourself want it too. "Okay," you whisper. "I'll stay."
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The Vegas sun is too bright. It cuts through the gap in the curtains like a warning, landing directly on your face, and you groan, pulling the sheet over your head. Your body aches in places you forgot existed. Your mouth tastes like him, like the filthy things you said to each other in the dark.
You become aware, slowly, that you are not alone in the bed.
He's awake. You can tell by the quality of the silence, the way he's holding himself still, pretending to sleep. You can feel his eyes on you even through the sheet.
"Stop staring," you mumble, your voice wrecked.
"I'm not staring," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm admiring."
You peel the sheet down just enough to glare at him. He's on his stomach, chin propped on his hands, the blanket low on his hips, the ink on his arm shifting as he breathes. He looks annoyingly perfect. Rested. Like he didn't spend hours fucking you until you couldn't remember your own name.
"You're too smug," you say, pulling the sheet back up. "This is weird."
"What's weird?"
"This." You gesture vaguely at the space between you, at the wreckage of the room, your clothes scattered like evidence. "Weird."
He laughs, soft and warm, and reaches out, his hand finding your hip under the sheet. "It's not weird. It's us. Just... finally."
"Don't say finally like that. Like it's inevitable. Like you knew."
"I did know," he says simply, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. "I've known for three years. You were the one who needed convincing."
You bury your face in the pillow, your face burning. "I hate you."
"You don't." He tugs at the sheet, trying to pull you closer. "Come here."
You let him pull you, let yourself be arranged against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on your head. You breathe him in, memorizing this, knowing you shouldn't.
"I have to go back," you say, the words quiet, into his skin.
He goes still. "What?"
"To LA. My flight's at noon."
"Today?" His voice changes, something cracking. "You just got here."
"I know." You close your eyes, your heart hammering. "But I have work. I have... I can't just stay, Jungkook. I can't just-"
"Can't you?" He pulls back, his hands finding your face, tilting it up to look at him. His expression is wrecked, all the softness gone, replaced by something desperate. "Can't you just... stay? For once?"
"I can't." Your voice breaks. "I want to. God, I want to. But I can't."
He stares at you, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, his eyes searching yours like he's looking for something to hold onto. "So that's it? We do this, we finally do this, and you just... leave?"
"Jungkook-"
"Don't." He lets go, rolling onto his back, his arm thrown over his eyes. "Don't say my name like that. Not if you're going."
The silence stretches, heavy and awful, filled with the hum of the city below, the reality of morning after.
"I'll be back," you whisper, not sure if it's true, not sure if you're promising something you can keep.
"When?"
"I don't know."
He laughs, but it sounds broken. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
You sit up, the sheet pooling around your waist, your chest tight, your eyes burning. You should get dressed. You should leave. You should do what you always do.
But you can't move. You can't make yourself stand up and walk away from this, from him, from the only thing that's ever felt like home.
"Look at me," you say, your voice rough.
He doesn't. He keeps his arm over his eyes, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating hurt.
"Jungkook. Look at me."
Slowly, painfully, he lowers his arm. His eyes are red-rimmed, wet, and it breaks something in you to see it, to know you put that there.
"I'm not running," you say, the words careful, deliberate. "I'm not... this isn't me leaving because I don't want this. I want this. I want you. But I have things I can't just drop. You know that. You have things too."
"So what do we do?" he asks, his voice small, younger than you've ever heard him.
"I don't know," you admit. "But... we figure it out? Together?"
He stares at you, his expression shifting, hope warring with fear. "Together," he repeats, like he's testing the word.
"Yeah." You reach for his hand, your fingers interlacing with his. "I'm not good at this. I'm going to mess it up. But... I want to try. If you do."
He doesn't answer immediately. He looks at your joined hands, at the morning light catching on your skin, at the wreckage of the room around you.
"There's a show in LA," he says finally, his voice quiet. "In three months."
Your breath catches. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He looks up at you, his expression softening, something like a smile touching his mouth. "Maybe... maybe you could be there. In the audience. Not backstage, not hiding. Just... there. Watching."
"I could do that," you whisper, your heart hammering.
"And after," he continues, his thumb brushing your knuckles, "maybe we could get dinner. Somewhere public. Where people might see."
"Jungkook-"
"I want people to see," he says, his voice firmer now, his eyes holding yours. "I want them to know. I'm tired of hiding this. I'm tired of pretending you don't matter."
You stare at him, this boy who waited, who wanted, who finally let himself have you only to watch you leave. You think of three months, of phone calls and time zones and the particular ache of missing someone who exists in a different world.
"Okay," you say, the word barely audible. "Okay. I'll be there. Front row."
"Please," he counters, a ghost of his smirk returning. "I want to see your face when I sing."
"Deal."
You lean down, kiss him slow and careful, tasting the salt of tears neither of you shed, the promise of something you don't know how to keep. When you pull back, he's smiling, sad but real, his hand still holding yours like he's afraid to let go.
"Go," he says softly. "Before I convince you to stay."
"I don't need much convincing."
"Yeah," he says, his voice rough. "That's what scares me."
You dress in silence, wearing the hoodie he gave you last night, your clothes scattered like breadcrumbs, evidence of what you did here. He watches from the bed, the sheet wrapped around his waist, his eyes following you like he's memorizing you, like he's already missing you.
At the door, you turn. He's still watching, his expression open, vulnerable, nothing like the boy who performs for millions.
"Three months," you say.
"Three months," he echoes.
You smile, small and real, and walk out the door before you can change your mind.
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The camera wobbles as he adjusts it on the hotel dresser, angling it toward the bed. He's shirtless, hair messy, eyes soft with sleep and something else, something sated and sad all at once. The morning light filters through the curtains, golden and lazy, illuminating the wreckage of the room - clothes on the floor, sheets tangled, evidence of a night he can't talk about.
"Morning routine," he says, his voice rough, still sleep-thick. "Vegas edition."
He moves through the room collecting things - his phone charger, a water bottle, the vintage camcorder he uses for everything. He doesn't make the bed. He doesn't notice the white bra peeking out from beneath the rumpled white sheets, the strap just visible, the lace detail catching the light.
He sits on the edge of the bed, the camera still rolling, and runs a hand through his hair. "Good show last night," he says, his smile small, private, meant for someone who isn't there. "Really good night."
He stands, stretches, his back to the camera, and the sheets shift, the bra sliding more fully into view - delicate, feminine, utterly wrong for a hotel room where a boy band member sleeps alone.
"Anyway," he says, turning back, oblivious. "Day four today, I'll see you all very soon." He reaches for the camera, hand covering the lens. "Cut."
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The video is everywhere within minutes. Screenshots, zoomed-in crops, slow-motion replays. The hashtag starts trending before lunch.
@/kookielover97: um. um. UM. WHAT IS THAT IN THE BED????
@/bangtantheories: THE SHEETS ARE WHITE. THE BRA IS WHITE. HE DIDNT EVEN NOTICE. HE POSTED THIS. HE ACTUALLY POSTED THIS.
@/jungkookbiased: zoom in. zoom in on the bed. second frame from the end. that is NOT a tank top. that is NOT his. WHOSE IS THAT
@/rkivesarchive: ENHANCE. ENHANCE. the lace detail. the strap width. that's a WOMEN'S bra. a women's BRA.
@/kookenthusiasts: he slept in that bed. someone else slept in that bed. HE SMILED LIKE THAT AND SOMEONE SLEPT IN THAT BED.
@/jimingotjams: the bra appears to be a standard white t-shirt bra, possibly Calvin Klein or similar mid-range brand. not expensive. not fancy. someone PRACTICAL was there
@/seokjinsfishingrod: practical. someone practical. someone who doesn't need to impress him. someone who already KNOWS him.
@/theorythread: let's analyze the timeline. he posted the vlog at 11am vegas time. his flight was at 2pm. that means he filmed this MORNING. after someone LEFT. the bed is unmade. the bra is UNDER the sheets. they SLEPT there. together
@/kookielover97: IM SO JEALOUS
@/bangtantheories: the smile. watch the smile again. that's not a performance smile. that's a "i got laid and i'm sad about it" smile. that's a "someone left me" smile. WHO LEFT YOU JUNGKOOK???
@/armydetective: the hoodie he was wearing in his last story. the oversized one. the MERCH one. someone was wearing it. someone was wearing HIS hoodie. and left their BRA.
@/tatasandtaetas: SHE TOOK THE HOODIE. SHE LEFT THE BRA. THIS IS CINEMA.
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The text comes through as you're above the clouds, the plane humming around you, his hoodie still soft against your skin. You pull out your phone, expecting a goodbye, a safe flight, something sweet.
Instead: a photo. His hand. Your bra - the white one you couldn't find this morning, the one you left behind in your hurry - wrapped in his fingers, the comments visible on his laptop screen in the background. No words. Just proof.
Then another text.
JK: 2.7 million views
JK: They found you
Your stomach drops. You open the link he sends and there it is - the vlog, the screenshot, the zoomed-in crop of white on white, your bra visible in the wreckage of the bed you shared. The comments are already endless. Bra girl. Who is she. Find her.
You: oh my god
You: jungkook you didn't notice???
JK: I noticed now
JK: I'm keeping it
JK: let them look. let them wonder. I know who you are
You stare at the screen, your heart hammering against your ribs, the hum of the plane filling your ears. Somewhere below, the internet is on fire. Somewhere behind you, he's holding onto the only piece of you he has left, refusing to let go.
JK: three months
JK: front row
JK: I'll see you there
You close your eyes, the phone warm in your hand, his words settling somewhere deep in your chest. Outside the window, clouds stretch endless and white. Ahead, Los Angeles waits. And three months from now, so does he.
The Grumpy Girlfriend Protection Program | One-shot
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre: sunshine bf x grumpy gf, golden retriever! jungkook, black cat! reader, office worker! reader, veterinary student! jungkook, fluff, comedy, thriller, mystery (slight), action, angst.
Summary: Jeon Jungkook has always been the sunshine in every room; warm, kind, and completely oblivious to danger. Luckily, you, his grumpy, overprotective girlfriend have made it your personal mission to keep him safe. But when the threat shifts to you instead, Jungkook proves that even sunshine can scorch, and for you, he’d burn.
Word count: 22.8k+
Warnings: reader is very protective, themes of stalking and obsession, usage of drugs (not reader or jungkook), fight scene, violence, multiple flashback scenes.
MOODBOARD
A/N: hugeeee thanks to my dear friend sy (@btswit7 ) for going through my fic and suggesting edits! ilysm. sorry this took so long for me to write. i swearrr this fic was supposed to be fluffy, cute and around 10k words but I got carried away 😔 (not sorry for that). i might've absolutely butchered the tattoo shop scene pls forgive me (I've never been to a tattoo shop before idk how it works) this is also my first time writing an action scene it prolly sucks but wtv.
The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, casting a golden glow over the city. A gentle breeze drifted through the streets, the warmth of the morning wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, just the right kind of day that practically demanded an escape from the ordinary. And what better way to spend it than sprawled out on a checkered blanket, a basket full of food beside you, and your ever-so-enthusiastic boyfriend, Jungkook, grinning at you like this was the best idea in the world?
That’s right. It was picnic day. After a gruelling week at work, all you wanted was to stay in bed, sleep until the afternoon, have a late lunch, and then (ideally) go right back to sleep. But Jungkook, being the ever-optimistic, early-rising, productivity-loving man that he was, thought weekends were best spent on morning picnic dates at whatever random park he had decided on that week.
There was nothing you hated more than disappointing your sweet boyfriend, so cancelling the picnic dates altogether wasn’t an option. After extensive negotiations (read: you groggily whining while he laughed and refused to budge), you managed to compromise—morning breakfast dates became brunch dates. Because let’s be real, every extra second of sleep counts.
On the way to your picnic, you were stopped by a teenage boy, probably 17 or 18, who practically shoved a clipboard into your faces. With the practised enthusiasm of a seasoned salesman, he introduced himself, flashing a grin as he extended a hand in greeting. Then came the pitch.
“Donations for a local animal shelter,” he announced, voice laced with urgency. A shelter you had never heard of.
“The puppies and bunnies are all sick, sir, and the kittens are underfed,” he continued, his face contorting with the sheer heartbreak of it all. The kind of expression that would probably work on unsuspecting souls. Jungkook, being Jungkook, was already pulling out his wallet. And you were having none of it.
Before he could hand over a single bill, you yanked the wallet straight out of his hands. Jungkook blinked at you, stunned.
“Did you even check if it’s a real shelter?” you asked, unimpressed.
Jungkook glanced at the boy, then back at you. “Looks pretty real to me.” You sighed, taking a look at the "official website" the scammer eagerly pulled up on his phone. One glance was all it took.
“That’s a Wix template, you dumbass,” you deadpanned, shooting Jungkook a look. And to drive your point home, you dialled the actual shelter’s number. A moment of silence.
Then, like clockwork, the boy’s phone started ringing. The scammer stiffened, eyes wide with panic. And then, without as much as another word, he bolted down the street before you could report him to someone.
Jungkook pouted, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. You rolled your eyes. “I can’t believe you almost fell for that.”
“One of these days,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “you’re gonna stop me from donating to a real shelter.” You snorted, nudging his shoulder as you started walking again. “Yeah, well, until that day comes, I’ll keep saving you from getting scammed by guys who probably spent five minutes on Google slapping together a fake charity.”
Jungkook huffed, kicking a loose pebble down the sidewalk. “He had a clipboard. People with clipboards always seem legit.”
“Oh, right, because clipboards are the universal sign of trustworthiness,” you deadpanned. “Next time, I’ll be sure to scam you with one myself.”
He shot you a playful glare. “I’d see through you in a second.” You smirked. “Would you, though?”
Jungkook opened his mouth, then shut it again, squinting at you like he wasn’t entirely convinced. You just grinned, patting his arm. “Exactly.”
You sit cross-legged on the checkered blanket, arms crossed, watching as Jungkook digs through the picnic basket like a child on Christmas morning. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, pulling out sandwiches, fruit, and what looks like an obnoxiously yellow thermos you don’t remember packing.
You squint. “Did you sneak in banana milk?”
Jungkook pauses, looking entirely unrepentant. “No.” You stare. He stares back. The thermos stares between you, the undeniable evidence of his crime.
Finally, he grins. “Okay, maybe.”
You let out a slow exhale, reaching for one of the sandwiches while he happily pours himself a cup of his beloved banana milk.
“I don’t get how you function sometimes,” you mutter, unwrapping your food.
“I function beautifully,” he corrects, flashing you a smile that’s far too bright for someone who just lied to your face. “You’re just too grumpy to appreciate it.”
You roll your eyes. “Right. Because nothing screams ‘functioning adult’ like getting scammed five minutes before a picnic.” Jungkook gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “I was being charitable!”
“You were being a prime target,” you deadpan. He huffs dramatically, taking an exaggerated bite of his sandwich as if it’s the ultimate form of protest. Cheeks puffed out like a bunny, he mumbles through his mouthful, “You stress too much.”
You raise a brow. “I wonder why.” He ignores your sarcasm, swallowing before continuing, “Maybe if you—” He suddenly stops, mid-thought, his eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief.
Oh no. You’ve seen that look before. It never leads to anything good.
"You should feed me."
You nearly choke on your drink. Coughing, you set your cup down with a thud and blink at him. “What?” Jungkook leans forward, resting his chin in his palm with the most infuriatingly smug expression. “You know,” he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows, “since you like taking care of me so much.”
You stare at him, unamused. Then, without breaking eye contact, you take the smallest, most unimpressive bite of your sandwich—just to spite him.
Jungkook groans, slumping back. “You’re no fun.”
“You knew that when you fell in love with me.”
His lips curve into something thoughtful, eyes flickering over your face like he’s considering something. Then, in one swift motion, he reaches over and swipes a strawberry from your plate, popping it into his mouth before you can react.
You gasp. “Jungkook!”
He grins, entirely unapologetic. “Yeah, but I like a challenge.” Without hesitation, you swat his hand, aiming for another grab. He yelps, laughing too hard for someone who just got smacked, dodging your next attempt with the reflexes of a seasoned strawberry thief.
"Unbelievable," you mutter, shaking your head. "A menace to society."
Jungkook only grins wider. "And yet, you still love me."
And just like that, it’s the both of you, bickering, teasing, him being too soft, and you pretending you don’t secretly like it. Despite everything, you’re glad he dragged you here. Because for all his nonsense, for all the chaos he brings into your life, Jungkook makes the world a little brighter.
You hated Monday mornings with a burning passion. If you walked into work and saw someone being all cheerful and optimistic, you’d have the overwhelming urge to dump ice-cold coffee over their head, just to make their day as miserable as yours. Of course, you wouldn’t actually act on that particular intrusive thought. Not unless you had a sudden desire to get fired.
Every day, it was the same soul-sucking routine. Log into your computer, answer emails, prepare for meetings, and trudge through an endless list of mind-numbing tasks that make you question all your life choices. You were staring blankly at your screen, fingers moving mechanically as you typed up a report when your phone buzzed.
Kook 🐰💜 [11:10 AM]: Miss me yet?
Your fingers pause on the keyboard. Buzz.
Kook 🐰💜[11:10 AM]: Or are you too busy being all serious and grumpy at work?
Kook 🐰💜[11:11 AM]: Bet you’re smiling right now, though.
You bite your lip. You are not smiling. Absolutely not.
“Okay, what is that face?”
Jimin’s voice cuts through your concentration like a knife. You snap your head up to find him leaning against your desk, arms crossed, a knowing smirk already in place.
“There is no face,” you say quickly, locking your phone screen and shoving it away. Jimin gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, it’s him, isn’t it?”
You groan, rubbing your temples. “I swear to—”
“Ohhh, it totally is!” Jimin snatches your phone before you can react, scrolling through the notifications like he has every right to be nosy.
If there’s one person who never lets you live in peace, it’s Jimin. Coworker, best friend, professional pain in your ass, he’s all of the above, wrapped in a smug little package. You first met him when you started this job, and somehow, between the forced team projects, shared complaints about the boss, and mutual hatred for monday mornings, you ended up stuck with him for life. Not that you’d ever admit you’re grateful for it.
Unfortunately, he knows it anyway.
“Jimin, I will end you.”
But it’s too late. He’s already grinning like the devil himself. “Look at you. Getting all giddy over a text. My, my, how the mighty have fallen.”
“I’m not giddy.”
“Oh, you absolutely are.” He mimics your earlier expression, clutching his phone to his chest with a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Jungkook, my sweet precious sunshine, text me more. I can’t possibly get through this workday without knowing you’re thinking about me.”
You throw a stapler at him.
He dodges effortlessly, laughing. “Relax, lover girl. It’s cute. Gross, but cute.” You huff, snatching your phone back. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Jimin plops down in the chair next to you, still smirking. “Now tell me, what’s golden boy up to?”
You stare at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you eventually settle on a simple reply.
You [11:14 AM: Okay.
…Okay, maybe you are smiling a little.
Jimin sees it immediately. And you already know you’re never going to hear the end of it.
The moment you step into the break room—finally free from Jimin’s relentless smirking, you let out a breath and pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent calls before dialling Jungkook. It barely rings twice before he picks up, his voice warm and teasing, like he already knew you’d call.
“Hey, baby,” he greets smoothly, amusement lacing his tone. “Miss me already?”
You roll your eyes, setting your lunchbox on the table with a thud. “In your dreams, Jeon.”
Flipping open the lid, the rich, savoury aroma of bibimbap immediately washes over you. The vibrant colors of the ingredients are neatly arranged, looking almost too perfect to eat—almost. You can tell Jungkook took his time making it, carefully placing each topping exactly where it should be, ensuring it looked as good as it tasted.
Your heart does something traitorous in your chest, but you ignore it. Jungkook chuckles at your silence, clearly pleased with himself. “I assume this is your way of telling me my cooking is amazing?”
“Not even close,” you say, grabbing your chopsticks. “Jimin wouldn’t shut up about you, so I figured I’d call and annoy you instead.” A deep, rumbling laugh comes through the speaker, the sound sending warmth curling through your stomach. “Mhm. Sure, love. You could’ve just admitted you wanted to hear my voice.”
Your eye twitches. “That’s not—”
“Shh, no need to be shy. I won’t judge.” You groan, tilting your head back against the chair, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. He’s impossible, and worse, he knows it.
“Whatever,” you mutter. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“Mmm.” There’s some shuffling on his end, followed by the faint rustling of sheets like he’s lying down and getting comfortable. “I was thinking… instead of our usual park picnic, you could come with me to get my sleeve reworked.” That makes you pause, chopsticks hovering mid-air. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” he says, voice a little more casual. “It’s been a while, and I wanna touch up some parts. Maybe add something new.”
You lean back in your chair, considering it. You’ve seen his tattoos up close plenty of times—traced them absentmindedly, let your fingers follow the inked lines whenever he had an arm wrapped around you. There’s something mesmerizing about them, the way they flow seamlessly over his skin, each design an intricate part of him.
You definitely wouldn’t mind watching the process.
“That’s fine with me,” you say after a beat. Then, under your breath, you mumble, “But if the artist messes up, I’m fighting them.” Jungkook snorts. “Of course you will.” His voice takes on that teasing lilt that makes you want to reach through the phone and flick his forehead. “You’re so cute when you get all protective.”
Your face heats up instantly. “Oh my god, eat your lunch.”
“I will. But only if you say you love me first.” You nearly choke. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His grin is obvious, even through the phone. “Say it, and I’ll go eat.” You huff, glancing around the empty break room just to make sure no one’s around. Then, in the lowest possible whisper, you mumble, “…Love you.”
A beat of silence.
And then, even quieter, “Love your bibimbap too.”
Jungkook hums, unreasonably satisfied. “Love you too, baby. Now go eat before Jimin catches you blushing.” Your eyes widen, and you hang up immediately.
Unfortunately, when you turn around, Jimin is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking far too smug for your liking.
“So,” he drawls, tilting his head. “How’s Jungkook?” You groan, slamming your head onto the table. You are never going to live this down.
Jimin’s laughter echoes in the room, pure evil.
Jungkook’s apartment is the kind of place that makes it dangerously easy to never leave. It’s cozy with warm lighting, soft blankets draped over the couch, and the faint scent of vanilla and fabric softener lingering in the air. You tell yourself that’s the main reason you always find yourself here instead of your own place, but, if you were being completely honest, there are a few other factors at play.
For one, his snack collection is legendary. His kitchen cabinets are stocked with an endless supply of goodies, including a lifetime’s worth of Twinkies, your weakness. And then there’s Jungkook himself, but you’re not about to admit that. Especially not to him.
Curled up on his couch, you lazily flip through his Netflix, eyes scanning titles without really registering any of them. The ambient noise of the apartment, the hum of the heater, the occasional rustling of pages from Jungkook’s workspace, only adds to the drowsy comfort settling over you. Just as you’re about to give up on finding something to watch, Jungkook suddenly plops down beside you, sketchbook in hand.
The cushion dips under his weight, and you barely manage to suppress a startled flinch. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans back against the couch with a content sigh, flipping the sketchbook open across his lap. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, curiosity piqued despite yourself. "Okay," he says, grinning as he settles beside you on the couch. His fingers drum against the edge of his sketchbook before he flips it open, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "Wanna see what I’ve been working on?"
You nod, humming in interest. "Mhm. Sure."
The moment the pages spread out before you, your breath catches. Intricate designs fill the book, some half-finished, others shaded to perfection. There are fine, precise lines, bold strokes, and an almost obsessive attention to detail in every drawing. You can tell he's poured hours into this, into crafting something that isn’t just art but a reflection of himself.
"Damn," you murmur, fingertips tracing lightly over the paper. "You did all these?" Jungkook grins, his dimples making an appearance. "Yup," he says, clearly pleased with your reaction.
You take your time flipping through the pages. There’s a sketch of a skeletal hand doing the rock on sign, a detailed microphone showcasing his love for music, lyrics from his favorite songs inked in elegant script, and the word Bulletproof scrawled in a graffiti style, right beneath it, a note written in his unmistakable handwriting: cover-up for eye tattoo. And then, sitting proudly in between these edgy, personal pieces, is a woozy face emoji.
You huff out a small laugh. His tattoo ideas range from deeply meaningful to outright ridiculous.
But then you pause. Nestled between his designs is a rework of his tiger lily tattoo—his birth flower. But entwined around it, curling gracefully between the petals, is another flower. Chrysanthemums.
Your birth flower.
The realization sinks in, slow and warm. Jungkook goes still beside you, barely breathing. You don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, or the way his ears turn bright red when he realizes that you understood. Then, like a man caught in the act he snatches the sketchbook away, snapping it shut so fast you barely have time to process it.
"Aha—! Anyway—" He clears his throat, ears burning. "That one wasn’t, uh—I wasn’t supposed to show you that yet."
Your lips twitch. "Mhm. Jeon, I see what you did there."
"What?" he says too quickly. "It’s just, you know, it looked nice with the lilies." His voice cracks. You arch a brow. "Looks nice? That’s all?" Jungkook nods a little too fast. "Yeah. No big deal."
You don’t believe him for a second.
So, naturally, you lean in, lowering your voice just enough to watch him squirm."You sure about that, baby?"
Jungkook.exe has stopped working.
With a groan, he buries his burning face into your shoulder, mumbling something incoherent against your sweater. You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest, fingers threading absentmindedly through his hair. Yeah. No big deal.
The weekend sun was just beginning to climb when Jungkook pulled up outside your place, the low hum of his car engine a familiar sound by now. You barely had time to lock your door before he leaned over, effortlessly pushing the passenger door open with that usual bright grin of his. “Morning, baby,” he greeted, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Without missing a beat, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek—warm, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You sleep well?”
You slid into the seat, closing the door behind you with a huff, eyes narrowing at him. “No, because someone was blowing up my phone with memes and ‘fun facts’ about toxic tattoo inks at two in the morning.” Jungkook had the audacity to look proud. “I just thought you should know! What if they use cheap ink, huh? Gotta protect this masterpiece.” He gestured vaguely at his arm, where his tattoos peeked out from under the sleeve of his shirt.
You sighed, clicking your seatbelt into place. “Just drive.”
As he shifted gears and pulled onto the road, you let your gaze wander around the car, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne, the faint hum of the engine, and the steady rhythm of the music playing low through the speakers. His hand, warm and absentminded, found its usual place on your thigh like it belonged there, thumb tracing gentle patterns against your skin. It was peaceful. The kind of easy, comfortable silence that only came from knowing someone so well.
But then, something caught your attention.
Your eyes drifted to the backseat, where his sketchbook sat, slightly ajar as if hastily tossed there. A few loose sheets stuck out from the pages, filled with the intricate designs you’d seen before. You reached for it instinctively, but before you could grab it, the scenery outside made you pause.
“...Wait.” Your brows furrowed as you looked out the window. The streets weren’t familiar, the route different from what you expected. You turned back to him. “This isn’t the way to your usual place.” Jungkook hummed, like he’d been waiting for you to notice. “We’re trying a new one today.”
You turned to him, suspicious. “Why?”
His grin widened, full of mischief. “Jin got a job there.” That took you a second to process. “Seokjin?”
“My cousin, yeah.” Jungkook drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “He’s a receptionist now. Lured me in with staff discounts.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “So, let me get this straight—he got a job there yesterday, and today you’re already showing up to cash in?” Jungkook gasped, all faux offense, clutching his chest as if you’d just wounded him. “I would never use my dear cousin like that.”
You gave him a deadpan look.
His lips twitched, the act crumbling instantly. “…Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, flashing you a boyish grin. “But hey, cheaper tattoos, and I get to support my hyung? Win-win.” You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the amused smile pulling at your lips. “Does he even know we’re coming?”
“He does,” Jungkook replied, his grin not fading. “He actually told me to wait for him before I get started with the consultation.”
And that’s how you and Jungkook ended up stuck in the lobby of the tattoo shop, waiting for over thirty minutes for Jin to show up.
Jungkook exhaled loudly, rolling his shoulders before pulling out his phone and dialing Jin for the sixth time. His other hand absentmindedly tugged you closer by the wrist, a small, unconscious habit of his whenever he was growing impatient. “Jin said he’d be here soon,” he muttered, eyes flickering to the entrance yet again, as if willing his cousin to walk through the door. “Told me to get comfy and wait.”
You smirked, shifting slightly in your seat. “He did? So, naturally, he’s gonna be late.” Jungkook groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “He promised, okay? Swore he wouldn’t ditch me this time.”
“That’s cute.” You patted his thigh mockingly. “You still believe him.” Jungkook shot you a halfhearted glare before flicking his gaze to the empty reception area for what had to be the hundredth time. His foot bounced impatiently against the floor, but before he could make another complaint, the sound of a door opening drew both of your attention.
A woman with sleek, silver-dyed hair emerged from one of the back rooms, her sharp gaze scanning the lobby before landing directly on Jungkook. Her expression immediately shifted into a perfected customer-service smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “What are you here for?”
“Sleeve rework,” he replied casually, rolling his shoulder as if to emphasize the ink beneath his sleeve. “You’re the one getting the sleeve reworked?” she asked smoothly, completely ignoring your presence. “Seokjin’s cousin, right?
Jungkook nodded, his own expression polite but confused. “Yeah, but he isn’t here yet. Jin told me to wai—”
“Oh,” she cut in, her lips curving just slightly, a little too knowing. “Well, that’s okay. I’m sure he would’ve referred you to me anyway. I could start taking care of you now.”
Something about the way she said it made your jaw clench.
Jungkook, oblivious as ever, only hummed. “Uh, I mean… I guess we could start the consultation?”
You didn’t like the way she was looking at him.
As she moved closer, the glow of the overhead light caught on her name tag—Nari. The name meant nothing to you, but something about her demeanor put you on edge.
Jungkook settled into the chair, stretching his arm out as Nari prepped her station. You remained seated across from him, phone in hand, pretending to scroll while keeping a close eye on the exchange. Nari pulled on a pair of gloves, her movements fluid and practiced as she leaned in, examining Jungkook’s inked skin. “Your ink is solid,” she murmured, fingers ghosting over the intricate designs. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”
Jungkook grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Yeah, my old artist was great. Just wanted some refinements, you know?”
“Mm,” Nari hummed in agreement, grabbing a marker to outline a few areas. Her gaze lingered on his arm longer than necessary, her lips curving slightly. “You’re adding new work too, right?”
Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, just some floral details around the tiger lily.”
That was supposed to be the end of it. But then Nari tilted her head, eyes flickering up to his face before dropping back to his arm, and subtly, but not subtly enough she licked her lips.
“I love doing florals on guys,” she said, voice dipping into something softer. “There’s just something about the contrast, you know?”
Your grip on your phone tightened. Jungkook, completely unaware of the shift in tone, simply lifted his arm to show her the faded edges. “Yeah, I wanted to add some chrysanthe—”
Before he could even finish, Nari reached out, fingers wrapping around his arm, her touch lingering.
“Oh, your skin is so nice,” she murmured, smoothing her fingers over the defined muscle as if she were admiring it rather than prepping it for work. Your eye twitched.
Jungkook blinked, a little startled by the comment but still too polite to pull away. “Uh… thanks?” Nari only smiled, nails grazing his forearm ever so slightly as she adjusted his position. “Good canvas makes all the difference.”
You swore you could hear your patience snapping like a twig. Jungkook looked slightly uncomfortable but still handed over his sketchbook, flipping to the page with his design. “This is what I had in mind for the rework,” he said, tapping the paper.
Nari barely glanced at the intricate details before tilting her head, her gaze flickering back to him instead. “You drew this yourself?”
Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.”
“Wow,” she hummed, leaning in slightly, the corner of her lips quirking up. “That’s impressive. Not many clients walk in with this level of detail.” From where you sat, you rested your chin on your hand, unimpressed.
Jungkook offered a small, polite smile. “I just like having a clear idea before I commit.” Nari's smirk deepened. “That’s really attractive,” she mused, fingers skimming the edge of the sketchbook instead of actually turning the page. “A guy who’s artistic and decisive? Rare find.”
You blinked. What.
Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting in his seat like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Uh… thanks?” Nari finally flipped to the next page—though at this point, it felt more like a courtesy than genuine interest. “And you did all of these?”
Jungkook nodded again. “Mhm.”
“That’s insane,” she gushed, dragging her fingers over the lines like they were worth framing. “You could easily be a tattoo artist yourself.” Jungkook chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I have the patience for it.”
“That’s a shame,” Nari sighed, her fingers lingering a little too long on the sketchbook. “With hands like yours, I bet you’d be amazing at it.”
Your expression went flat. Jungkook just coughed into his fist, visibly flustered. “Uh—”
You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If you’re done with the consultation, I think you should get started with the sketching.” Your voice was even, but the words were clipped. “Unless this is just a fan club meeting now.”
That made Nari pause.
Jungkook turned to you, lips twitching as if he was trying not to laugh. Nari dared to send you a sharp glare, like you had just interrupted something sacred. But she grabbed a fineliner anyway, her movements slow and deliberate, as if making a point.
You didn’t waver. Arms crossed, you kept your gaze locked on her hands, watching every unnecessary adjustment she made—each one turning into soft, lingering touches against Jungkook’s skin. It was infuriating, the way her fingers skimmed his arm like she had every right to.
And then she bit her lip.
A coy smile played at the edges of her mouth, subtle but unmistakable. Jungkook, completely oblivious as always, remained relaxed in the chair, only wincing slightly when the cold surface of the fineliner pressed against his skin.
You were far from relaxed.
Shifting in your seat, you clenched your jaw, fingers curling against your arms. Maybe—maybe—she was just a touchy person. Maybe you were overanalyzing this. Maybe it was nothing.
“So,” Nari began, her voice light and conversational, “do all your tattoos have a meaning?” Jungkook, still staring at the ceiling like this was any other consultation, nodded. “Most of them, yeah.”
“What about this one?” She tapped the tiger lily, her fingertips trailing over the ink just a little too leisurely. Jungkook smiled, unaware of the way your patience was fraying. “That one represents passion, confidence… all that stuff. It’s also my birth flower”
Nari hummed, like she was committing that information to memory. “And the chrysanthemums?”
At this, Jungkook hesitated. For the first time, he flicked his gaze toward you, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Your posture stiffened, waiting. He cleared his throat. “They mean a lot to me.”
Nari tilted her head, expectant.
You leaned forward, expectant.
But Jungkook just chuckled lightly before answering, “They’re my girlfriend’s birth flower.” His tone was proud, almost smug, as if relishing the chance to say it out loud. A smirk tugged at your lips. That should be enough to shut this down, enough for her to finally get the message—
Except Nari barely reacted.
If anything, she just hummed again, dragging her eyes across his arm like she hadn’t even heard him. “Hm. Bet they’d look really pretty on you,” she mused, her tone as sweet as syrup. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “Then again, I bet a lot of things do.”
Your head snapped up. Jungkook tensed slightly but played it off with an awkward laugh. “Uh… thanks?”
Oh, hell no.
Maybe it was the way she said it. The way her voice dripped with something just a little too sweet, like she wasn’t just appreciating his tattoos but the person wearing them. Maybe it was the fact that her fingers were still lightly dragging along his forearm, slow and deliberate, like she had every right to touch him like that. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that Jungkook, ever polite, ever oblivious, wasn’t saying anything to stop her. Either way, your patience is officially gone.
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, voice smooth but sharp enough to cut. “So, is this your usual customer service?” you asked, tilting your head. “Or is my boyfriend just getting the VIP treatment?”
Nari barely spared you a glance. “Oh, don’t worry. I take very good care of my clients.” Your smile was saccharine, all teeth. “I bet you do.”
Jungkook shifted, fingers gripping the armrest as if bracing himself. “Baby—” You ignored him. “I thought professionalism was a basic requirement for tattoo artists. But I guess it’s optional here, huh?”
Nari’s smirk twitched, but she held her ground. “I’m just making conversation.”
“Right.” You nodded slowly, voice dripping with faux understanding. “Because flirting with your client while his girlfriend is sitting right here is so normal.”
Jungkook, bless his clueless heart, looked between the two of you like he’d just walked into a battlefield with no armor. His lips parted—he should say something, anything, should try to calm you down before things escalated, but the words never came.
Because truth be told, seeing you like this, so protective and so fierce was kind of hot.
Nari’s eyes narrowed, her confidence flickering just a little. “I wasn’t flirting.” You let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand over your chest in exaggerated horror. “Oh, my bad.” Your tone was syrupy, dripping with fake innocence. “I must have misheard when you basically drooled over my boyfriend while I was sitting right here.”
Nari let out a sharp huff, her irritation finally surfacing. She set the fineliner down with a little too much force, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and condescension. “Look, do you want me to finish this or not?”
You opened your mouth, already armed with a sharp retort—
“No.”
Jungkook’s voice cut through the air, calm but unwavering.
Nari blinked. “What?”
Jungkook rolled his shoulder back as he sat up straighter, his usual easygoing expression replaced with something unreadable. “I’ll get it done somewhere else.”
She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Seriously? Just because she’s insecure?”
Oh. That did it. A slow, burning heat unfurled in your chest. The audacity, the sheer nerve to say something like that when she had been the one crossing every possible line. You barely registered standing up, only aware of the way your pulse pounded in your ears as you took a step forward.
“Excuse me?”
But before you could let loose, Jungkook was already moving. His hand found yours, his grip warm and steady as he gently pulled you back. “Let’s go,” he murmured, his voice low but insistent. Nari rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair like she couldn’t care less. “Your loss.” Jungkook didn’t bother responding. He just grabbed his jacket, intertwined his fingers with yours, and led you out of the shop without a single backward glance.
The second the door shut behind you, the tension that had been coiling in your muscles finally snapped.
“I swear—” you started, still fuming, but Jungkook sighed, squeezing your hand in his. “I know, baby,” he said, his voice softer now, the warmth of it cutting right through your frustration. “I know.”
You exhaled sharply. “She was touching you.” Jungkook let out a low chuckle, rubbing his temple. “I literally had no idea she was flirting.”
“You never do.”
That earned you a grin. Jungkook tilted his head slightly, leaning down just enough that his nose nearly brushed yours. His eyes locked onto yours with a familiar fondness. “But you do.” His voice was teasing, but there was something else there too. Something softer. Something that made your breath catch, just a little.
You scowled, but he just wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Jealous?” he teased. You scoffed.
His smile turned fond. “Cute.” You smacked his chest. “Shut up.”
Jungkook barely flinched at the hit, his grin only widening. He tightened his hold around your waist, pulling you in until there was hardly any space left between you. “That’s not a no,” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your chin up defiantly. “I wasn’t jealous.”
Jungkook hummed, unconvinced. His fingers skimmed over the small of your back, the touch light but deliberate. “Mhm. Sure.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “She was unprofessional.”
“True.”
“And disrespectful.”
“Very.”
“And her eyeliner was uneven.”
Jungkook snorted, finally breaking into a full laugh. “Okay, now you’re just being mean.” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the way he was looking at you, like you were the most amusing thing in the world made your face heat up. His laughter faded into something softer, something unbearably fond. “You know you’re cute when you’re all worked up, right?”
You scowled, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I said shut up.” Jungkook grinned, catching your hand with ease before lacing his fingers through yours. “Make me.”
Your breath hitched. His gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest second, and suddenly, the air between you shifted—
“You guys done with the tattoo already?”
A loud, familiar voice shattered the moment like glass hitting the pavement.
Both you and Jungkook turned your heads in unison, only to find Jin standing a few feet away, looking between the two of you with an expression far too amused for your liking. Jungkook groaned, running a hand down his face. “Hyung, seriously?”
Jin blinked. “What? I was just asking.” His gaze flickered over Jungkook’s arm, eyes narrowing as he took in the faint ink lines still marking his skin—the rough sketch of the tattoo, untouched by the needle. His brows furrowed.
“Wait. You didn’t actually get it done?”
Jungkook huffed, crossing his arms. “No. Because the tattooo artist was too busy flirting with me.”
Jin’s face twisted in confusion. “Huh?”
You, still somewhat bristling from the whole ordeal, rolled your eyes. “She was all over him. Barely even looked at his designs before trying to eye-fuck him.” JIn’s jaw dropped. “Wait, are you serious?”
Jungkook nodded, his expression flat. “Dead serious.” Jin winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn. I had no idea she was like that.”
At least he had the decency to look sorry.
Jin sighed, rubbing his temple dramatically. “Alright, fine. Since I unknowingly threw you both into the lion’s den, I owe you.” He clapped his hands together. “Lunch is on me.” Jungkook raised a brow. “You? Paying for food? Willingly?”
Jin scoffed. “I can be generous, you know.”
You snorted. “That’s new.”
Jin ignored you. “Come on, let’s eat. My treat. Think of it as compensation for the mess I accidentally dropped you into.”
Jungkook hummed, pretending to consider. “I mean… if you’re paying, I’m definitely ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”
Jin rolled his eyes. “As if you wouldn’t do that anyway.”
Jungkook just grinned. “True.”
You laughed, your earlier irritation melting away. “Alright, fine. You’re forgiven. But only if I get to pick the place.” Jin groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?” Jungkook laced his fingers through yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Because you probably will.”
Jin sighed but motioned for you both to follow. “Hurry up before I change my mind.” With that, the three of you headed off, leaving the unpleasant encounter behind in favor of good food.
Nari leaned against the counter, arms folded tight as she glared out the shop’s large window. Outside, you stood near the curb, your gaze fixed on Jungkook and Jin as they chatted. You weren’t speaking, just watching with that quiet, unreadable expression. But somehow, that made Nari even angrier.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.
“What is?”
The question came lazily from the man who had just strolled up beside her. He shook out his wrists after finishing with his last client, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. His attention remained casual, uninterested until Nari gestured toward the window with a sharp tilt of her chin.
“Her.”
His eyes followed her gaze. His posture was still loose, still easygoing until he saw you. For the briefest moment, his entire body went rigid. His casual demeanor cracked, just slightly, before he smoothed it over with a slow smirk.
“Huh.”
Nari, oblivious to the shift, let out a scoff. “She threw a whole fit because I was being nice to her boyfriend. Completely embarrassed me in front of him and acted all possessive, like I was some kind of threat.” She tapped her nails against the counter, still glaring at you through the window. “And now, thanks to her little tantrum, he refuses to get his tattoo done here.”
The man hummed, tilting his head. “Jealous girlfriend type, huh?”
“Exactly.” Nari huffed before turning to him with a slow, calculating smile. “You’re good at handling people, right?” He lifted a brow. “Depends on what you mean by ‘handling.’”
She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Do you think you could… I don’t know, do something about her? Save Jungkook from her?” For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze flicked back toward the window, settling this time on Jungkook himself.
And just like that, his smirk thinned.
Jungkook stood beside Jin, hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he listened to whatever Jin was rambling about. But every so often, his attention shifted to you. The way his fingers brushed absently over your back, the way his expression softened whenever he glanced your way, like keeping you close was second nature.
The man’s fingers curled into a fist. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath.
Nari frowned. “You know him?” A sharp exhale. A shake of his head. “Not personally. But I know of him.”
She perked up at that, her curiosity piqued. “Oh?”
His tongue ran over his teeth, jaw working as he leaned against the counter. When he spoke again, his smirk had returned but there was nothing amused about it. “Let’s just say… I have unfinished business with her.”
Nari blinked at that, lips parting slightly as she took in the underlying venom in his tone. Then, as if catching on, she let out a slow, delighted hum. “Well then,” she murmured, turning back to the window, watching you through narrowed eyes. “Wouldn’t it be fun to mess with her a little?”
His gaze never left you. He watched as Jungkook reached out, tugging the sleeve of your jacket into place with an unconscious sort of familiarity, the kind that spoke of years spent together.
The kind of familiarity that should have been his.
The corner of his lips lifted, the smirk sharpening into something colder. “Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was smooth and teasing, laced with something far more sinister.
“I’d love to.”
You groggily blink your eyes open, immediately regretting it as the soft glow of the morning filters through your curtains. Too bright. Too early. Too… awake. You bury your face into your pillow, grumbling incoherently, unwilling to leave the comforting warmth of your bed. It’s Sunday. A day meant for sleeping in, doing absolutely nothing, and ignoring all responsibilities.
Then, you feel it—the weight of an arm loosely draped over your waist, the warmth seeping through your thin shirt. Your sleep-addled brain takes a moment to process before it clicks. Jungkook.
Right. He stayed over last night.
A sleepy sigh escapes your lips as you shift slightly, pressing closer to his warmth. His scent lingers on your sheets, wrapping around you like a second blanket. You peek up, still half-asleep, and catch the sight of him lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, his phone held in his free hand. The soft glow of the screen illuminates his face, casting delicate shadows over his sharp jawline. He’s already awake, completely engrossed in whatever he’s scrolling through.
Too awake for your liking.
“Five more minutes,” you mumble sleepily, voice muffled against the pillow. Your words slur together, more of a plea than a statement, as you instinctively nuzzle into Jungkook’s chest, seeking warmth.
A deep chuckle rumbles from him, low and fond, the kind that makes your heart squeeze without permission. His arm tightens around you in response, fingers lazily tracing light circles against your back. “Five more minutes? Baby, you said that like… an hour ago.”
You don’t respond, only snuggling deeper into his embrace, fully intent on ignoring him. Jungkook exhales dramatically, an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “You’re gonna sleep the whole day away.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You’re literally wasting the morning.”
“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. “Not wasting if I’m warm and comfortable.” Jungkook pokes your cheek, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tries to stir you. “C’mon, let’s go out. We could get breakfast, maybe go on a walk—”
“No.” You blindly swat his hand away.
Jungkook groans, flopping onto his back in frustration. “Why did I fall for someone lazier than me?” You crack one eye open, just enough to see his pout. Smirking, you shift slightly and mumble into the pillow, “Because I’m cute.”
Jungkook huffs. “…I mean, yeah, but that’s not the point.”
Jungkook finally manages to wrangle you out of bed—a feat that takes a ridiculous amount of whining, bribing, and sheer force of will. He practically drags you across the apartment, his grip firm around your wrist, ignoring every single one of your grumbles and half-hearted protests.
“You are,” you mumble as he steers you into the kitchen, “the absolute worst.” Jungkook snorts, already rummaging through the cabinets for coffee beans. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to let you rot in bed for eternity?”
“Yes.”
Jungkook ignores you, expertly working the coffee machine like a man on a mission. You slump against the counter, still half-asleep, head lolling dramatically to the side as you watch him move around like an overly energetic golden retriever. Then, your phone buzzes on the counter. You lazily glance at the screen, skimming the weather forecast—
Rain incoming.
Your spine straightens, sleepiness vanishing in an instant as you whip your phone up to show Jungkook, shoving the screen in his face with an almost evil sort of glee. “Oh no~” you sing-song, tone dripping with faux disappointment. “Looks like we can’t go out.”
Jungkook’s brows furrow as he squints at the screen, reading the forecast. His expression quickly morphs from mild confusion to full-blown horror. “…It wasn’t supposed to rain today,” he says slowly, almost like he can will the reality away.
“Guess we have to stay in.” You sigh dramatically, clutching your chest like it pains you. “Damn. What a shame.”
Jungkook groans, slumping against the counter like his entire soul has left his body. His dreams of a fun, eventful day were shattered. “You’re lying,” he accuses weakly. “This is a personal attack.”
You shake your head, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I don’t control the weather, baby.”
Jungkook glares. “But if you could, you’d make it rain every day, wouldn’t you?” A smirk tugs at your lips. “Absolutely.”
Jungkook throws his head back with a dramatic, suffering groan, sliding down the counter like a man defeated. You watch him in amusement, lifting the coffee cup he had just made for himself and taking a slow, satisfied sip. The moment the taste hits your tongue, Jungkook’s entire body snaps upright.
He watches, utterly betrayed, as you lower the cup with a pleased hum.
“…Did you just steal my coffee?”
You blink at him, all innocence. “You made this for me, didn’t you?”
Jungkook scoffs, expression scandalized. “No! I made it for me!”
You shrug, taking another sip as you meet his glare with zero remorse. “Tastes great, babe. Thanks.”
Jungkook clutches his chest like you’ve personally wounded him. “You’re the actual worst.”
“And yet,” you hum, leaning against the counter with a satisfied smirk, “here you are, hopelessly in love with me.”
Jungkook stares at you for a long second, lips pursed. Then, without warning, he lunges. You yelp as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you with ridiculous ease and tossing you over his shoulder.
“JUNGKOOK—”
“NOPE,” he interrupts, already marching towards the living room. “If I can’t have fun outside, I’m gonna make you suffer with me inside.” You kick your feet uselessly, fists pounding against his back as he effortlessly carries you away. “Put me down, you muscle bunny!”
Jungkook only laughs, completely unfazed, before spinning on his heel and tossing you onto the couch like you weigh nothing. You land with a soft ‘oof,’ bouncing slightly against the cushions as he flops down beside you, stretching out like a starfish. “You are so dramatic,” you grumble, attempting to shove him away with your foot.
Jungkook just grins, easily catching your ankle and tugging you closer instead. “And yet, you love me anyway.”
You huff, too lazy to argue.
Before you can protest further, he shifts, rolling onto his side and resting his head comfortably on your lap. His eyes flutter shut almost instantly, his breath evening out as he settles in like he belongs there. At first, you stiffen, but as the seconds pass, your fingers instinctively weave through his soft, dark hair. You barely even realize you’re doing it, the motion coming as naturally as breathing.
Jungkook hums at the feeling, half-conscious, but content. His face is completely relaxed and unguarded in a way that makes your chest ache. He looked so soft like this. So warm. So… safe. And something deep inside you just melts.
Your fingers slow, combing gently through the strands, nails lightly scratching his scalp. A soft scowl tugs at your lips. Because this? This is a version of Jungkook you’d fight the entire world to protect.
Jungkook must feel your gaze because, after a moment, he cracks one eye open and peeks up at you. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice still laced with sleep. You blink, quickly masking your expression with a huff. To cover up the warmth creeping up your neck, you flick his forehead. “Just making sure you’re still breathing.”
Jungkook snickers, stretching lazily. “Aww, are you worried about me?”
You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Obviously. You’re fragile.”
Jungkook immediately bursts out laughing, full-bodied and carefree, his entire frame shaking against your lap. “Me? Fragile? Baby, I could bench press you.”
You roll your eyes, completely unfazed. “Yeah, well, I could stab someone for you.”
Jungkook’s laughter dies instantly. His eyes widen slightly, blinking up at you as if processing your words. Then, ever so slowly, a grin spreads across his face.
“…Okay, that’s really hot.”
You scoff, flicking his forehead again. “Pervert.”
Jungkook just smirks, completely shameless. “What can I say? I like my girlfriend a little unhinged.” You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, a deep rumble of thunder echoes outside.
Jungkook groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Great. So we really are stuck inside all day.”
You don’t even bother hiding your glee. “Tragic.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Jungkook shifts, burying his face into your stomach like a sulking puppy. You try to shove him off, but he only clings harder, grumbling nonsense against your his hoodie.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, fingers idly threading through his hair again. Eventually, he shifts, lifting his head to look at you properly. His expression softens laced with something so fond it makes your breath hitch. He doesn’t say anything. Just laces his fingers through yours, absentmindedly tracing patterns against your palm.
Then, suddenly there's a sharp poke to your side and you jolt with a squawk, trying to wiggle away. “Jungkook!” He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief. “If we’re staying in, we should do something.”
You glare at him, still half-prepared to smack him upside the head. “Like what?”
His smirk deepens. “You know exactly what.” For a second, you just stare at him. He stares back.Then, without breaking eye contact—he grabs the game controllers.
Jungkook’s sunshine boyfriend energy disappears the second the race countdown starts. Gone is the sweet, cuddly man who had been wrapped around you like a koala just minutes ago, now, he’s leaning forward, brows furrowed, fully in the zone.
“Loser does the dishes in both apartments,” he announces, rolling his shoulders like he’s prepping for war. You scoff, cracking your knuckles for dramatic effect. “You’re about to regret that.”
The moment Lakitu drops the starting light, Jungkook launches forward like he’s been possessed by the spirit of every pro gamer ever. Meanwhile, you barely get past the first turn without slamming into the barrier. You spam every single item box you can get your hands on, determined to take him down with sheer pettiness if not skill.
Then there’s a miracle. Jungkook is just about to cross the finish line when you hit him with a perfectly timed blue shell.
BOOM.
His character spirals into the air, crashing down just inches from victory. You zoom past him at the last second.
“IN YOUR FACE, JEON.” You throw your arms up like you just won an Olympic gold medal. Jungkook stares at the screen in stunned silence. Then, slowly he turns to you. You suddenly get the feeling you’ve made a terrible mistake.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, cracking his knuckles. “No more playing nice.”
The next race starts and you get absolutely destroyed.
Jungkook goes full demon mode, drifting around corners with terrifying precision, dodging every single attack like he can see the future. He launches red shells, banana peels, lightning bolts— you don’t even know how he’s getting this many power-ups.
It’s a massacre. One round. Two rounds. Three. You lose every single one. By the end, your controller is nearly embedded into your palm from how tightly you’re gripping it. Jungkook, on the other hand, is lounging back against the couch, arms stretched behind his head, smug as hell.
He tilts his head, smirking. “Do you yield?”
You scowl. “I hope you step on a Lego.”
Jungkook just laughs, grabbing your wrist and yanking you into his lap before you can escape. The controllers are discarded, forgotten as you end up tangled together on the couch. His arms snake around your waist, holding you in place as you halfheartedly struggle.
Then—he boops your nose.
You blink. Once. Twice. Then groan, flopping dramatically against his chest. “I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you.”
Jungkook only hums, smug and unbothered. “Even though you lost, I still think you’re the cutest.”
You smack his arm. “I will actually fight you.”
“Mm. As long as it’s not in Mario Kart, I like my chances.”
Jungkook’s phone buzzes against the coffee table, the vibration cutting through the comfortable silence. He lazily reaches for it, glancing at the screen. His brows knit together for a second before his face smooths over into a grin.
“Oh, my mom’s planning a family dinner. She wants you to come.”
You, mid-sip of your newly-made coffee, nearly choke.
“…Huh?”
Jungkook tilts his head, amused. “What? You act like this is the first time she’s invited you.”
You pause, tapping your fingers against the cup. His family liked you. You knew that. His mom always sent you home with extra food whenever you visited, and his dad made it a point to tease Jungkook about “finally settling down” whenever you were around. Jungkook leans closer, watching you expectantly. “So? You’ll come?”
You exhale dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Maybe.”
Jungkook narrows his eyes. “Maybe?”
You smirk. “I’ll go on one condition.”
He leans in even more, suspicious. “What?”
You set your cup down with a slow, deliberate motion. Then you look him dead in the eye. “…Admit that I’m better at games.”
Jungkook snorts. “Not happening.”
You grin. “Then I’m not coming.”
Jungkook blinks. Then, before you can react, he pounces.
“YOU’RE COMING.”
“JUNGKOOK—”
You barely have time to throw your drink onto the table before he tackles you down onto the couch, arms caging you in as he buries his face into your neck. His weight presses you into the cushions, his laughter muffled against your skin.
“You little brat,” he mutters, nuzzling into you. You squirm, but he’s relentless, peppering lazy kisses against your jaw just to distract you.
“Say you’ll come,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.
“Say I’m better.”
Jungkook grins against your neck. “Hmm. How about this—you come to dinner, and I’ll let you win next time.” You gasp, shoving at his chest. “Let me win?!”
His laughter shakes both of you, but he doesn’t budge. “I’m trying to be generous, baby.”
“Jungkook, I swear—”
The argument quickly devolves into a mess of tangled limbs and laughter, neither of you backing down. Jungkook is still half on top of you, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist, completely unwilling to let you escape. His warmth seeps into you, making it harder to even think about moving. You sigh, dramatically slumping against the couch cushions. “Fine. I’ll go to dinner.”
Jungkook’s head snaps up instantly. “Really?”
You roll your eyes, poking his cheek. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m expecting VIP treatment.”
Jungkook grins, wide and bright, before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Deal.”
Outside, the rain picks up, sheets of water blurring the world beyond the glass. The streetlights flicker, their glow reflecting off the puddles collecting on the pavement. But just beyond the window, Neither of you notice the figure standing on the balcony of the building across the street a dark silhouette barely visible through the downpour.
He watches. He waits.
The overhead lights in your office cast a dim, sterile glow, humming softly in the near silence. The usual buzz of the workplace has long since faded, leaving only the occasional click of your keyboard and the distant sound of the air conditioning whirring. You rub your tired eyes, exhaustion settling deep in your bones as you scroll through the last few emails of the day.
Just as you’re about to tackle the next document in your never-ending pile, your phone vibrates against your desk, the soft buzz cutting through the quiet. You glance at the screen, and a familiar name lights up:
Kook 🐰💜 [6:15 PM]: Still working?
Kook 🐰💜 [6:15 PM]: Come over after work?
A small smile tugs at your lips despite the fatigue weighing on you. You reach for your phone, letting your gaze drift to the towering stack of documents beside you before sighing. There’s no way you’re finishing up anytime soon. With a resigned exhale, you type out a response.
You [6:16 PM]: Working overtime. I’ll text when I’m done.
His reply comes almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for your response.
Kook 🐰💜 [6:16 PM]: It’s late. Want me to pick you up?
Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before you shake your head, rolling your eyes fondly. It wasn’t like you weren’t capable of getting home on your own. The walk to your apartment was barely ten minutes, and you’d done it countless times before without issue. You hated the idea of relying too much on someone else, even if that someone was Jungkook. He was always eager to drop everything for you, to take on your burdens like they were his own, and while a part of you adored that about him, another part resisted it. You never wanted to feel like you needed saving. You could handle yourself.
You [6:16 PM]: I’m fine. My apartment’s nearby, remember?
There’s a brief pause before his next message comes through.
Kook 🐰💜[6:18 PM]: At least text me when you’re home.
You bite back a smile, shaking your head.
You [6:18 PM]: Yes, yes, Mr. Protective.
A second later, your screen lights up again with a message that’s nothing but a row of emojis. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head as you set your phone down. Stretching your arms over your head, you glance back at the unfinished work in front of you. The night is far from over, and exhaustion lingers in your limbs, but you push through.
Two hours later, the office is nearly deserted. Rows of empty desks stretch out before you, their monitors dark, abandoned by coworkers who were lucky enough to call it a day. Somewhere in the distance, the faint murmur of a janitor echoes through the halls, a quiet reminder that you’re not entirely alone. Still, the stillness feels heavy, pressing against your shoulders as you rub your tired eyes and blink at your laptop screen.
“Still here?”
The familiar voice startles you, pulling you from your work-induced daze. You look up to see Jimin standing by your desk, a bag slung over his shoulder and an amused expression on his face.
You let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Unfortunately.”
He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the cubicle wall. “Overtime?”
“Yeah.” You stretch your stiff fingers before clicking through your files. “Trying to get ahead of things since I’m taking a day off for Jungkook’s family dinner.”
Jimin raises a brow, clearly holding back a smirk. “You? Taking a day off? Who are you, and what have you done with my workaholic friend?”
You snort, rolling your eyes. “It’s one day, Park.”
“Still. Didn’t think you’d willingly take time off for a boyfriend’s family event.”
You shrug, shifting your attention back to your laptop. “I’m being a supportive partner. And also avoiding Jungkook’s pout if I don’t go.”
Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, that tracks.” He checks his watch, then nods toward the exit. “Well, it’s already past eight. I can drop you off—my car’s in the basement.”
You pause for half a second, tempted. It would be easy, safe. A quick ride home without having to walk through the dark streets alone. But something in you resists. You’ve always prided yourself on being independent, on handling things yourself. You weren’t about to start needing an escort home like some helpless protagonist in a thriller movie. Besides, your apartment wasn’t far, and you could take care of yourself just fine.
You shake your head. “I’ve still got work left. Need to refine a client presentation before tomorrow.”
Jimin frowns, clearly debating whether to push the issue. “You sure? I don’t mind waiting.”
You give him a small, reassuring smile. “Go home, Jimin. I’ll be fine.”
He hesitates for a moment longer before exhaling in defeat. “Alright. Text me when you get home, yeah?”
“I will.”
Satisfied, he ruffles your hair in a way that makes you swat at him, laughing as he dodges your weak attempt at retaliation. “Night, workaholic,” he teases before heading out, his footsteps fading down the hall.
And just like that, you’re alone again, the dim glow of your laptop screen casting long shadows across your desk.
It’s nearing eleven o'clock by the time you finally leave the office, exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders like a weight you can’t shake. The automatic doors slide shut behind you, sealing the building in eerie silence. Outside, the streets stretch before you, quieter than usual, the world dipped in shades of silver and black under the dim glow of the streetlights.
The scent of rain lingers in the air, damp and heavy, even though the drizzle had stopped hours ago. The pavement glistens under the flickering glow of streetlights, reflecting the distorted shapes of the empty road ahead. A chilly breeze whispers through the deserted streets, curling around your skin like invisible fingers. You shiver, tugging your coat tighter around you, telling yourself it’s just the cold. You exhale slowly, watching your breath fog in the night air, and begin your walk home. It’s not far—barely a ten-minute walk. You’ve done this route countless times before. It should feel familiar. Safe.
But tonight… something feels off.
At first, it’s just a small shift in the air, a faint prickle at the back of your neck that strange, creeping sensation of being watched. It crawls up your spine, makes the hair on your arms stand on end.
You shake it off, adjusting the strap of your bag. You’re just tired. Paranoid. That’s all. The streets are always eerie this late of course they are. There’s no one around, just the distant hum of traffic blocks away, the occasional flicker of a neon sign from a closed shop. But then when you’re halfway home, just as you pass the turn near the old bookstore you hear it.
A faint, subtle sound, a footstep, echoes just a second too late after your own. Your breath catches in your throat as you freeze, and the sound stops too. The silence is suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turn to glance behind you.
Nothing.
Just an empty sidewalk, stretched too long and too dark behind you. The streetlights buzz faintly, their glow flickering, casting strange, distorted shadows on the wet pavement. Your own heartbeat pounds against your ribs, a heavy drumbeat in the stillness. You swallow, trying to shake the feeling creeping under your skin. You’re imagining things. You have to be. The city is full of noises like cars in the distance, leaves rustling, a stray cat darting between alleyways. That’s all it is.
Still… your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you push forward, steps quicker now. But the feeling doesn’t go away. It lingers. Pressing against your skin like static, buzzing at the edge of your awareness. You’re not alone.
You almost pull out your phone. Almost. Jungkook would pick up in an instant and he’d tell you to stay on the line, that he was coming to get you. But you don’t.
Because what would you even say? Hey, I think I’m being followed, but I’m not sure, and I don’t want to sound like an idiot? No way. Jungkook would freak out, and you weren’t about to send him into a panic over something that was probably nothing. So instead, you pick up your pace, each step sharper, more urgent. The streetlights above seem dimmer now, their glow barely cutting through the shadows pooling at the edges of the road.
Your building is just a few turns away. You make it past the first one, then the second. Then you hear it again—not just a sound this time, but a shift, a presence. Someone is there. Your heart hammers as you whip around faster this time.
Nothing.
Your own shadow stretches long on the pavement, its shape warping under the flickering lights. The alleyway to your right is yawning and dark, a gaping mouth of blackness that seems to pull at the edges of your vision. Your pulse is a thunderous roar in your ears.
You’re not imagining this. This is real.
And now, your body knows it too and every instinct is screaming at you to move. So you do.
You rush forward, walking as fast as you can without breaking into a sprint. Your breath quickens, your fingers curling into fists, every nerve in your body on high alert. Just a little further. Just one more turn.
And then finally your apartment building comes into view, looming in the darkness like a beacon. Relief crashes over you so forcefully that you nearly stumble. You don’t turn around again. You don’t want to know if someone is standing there. Watching.
You force yourself to stay calm as you punch in the building’s entry code with unsteady fingers, stepping inside the safety of the lobby. The door shuts behind you with a heavy click, locking out the night.
You practically rush inside, the cool air of the lobby offering little comfort as your fingers tremble over the keypad. Your breath is shallow, coming in uneven gasps as you punch in your passcode. The numbers blur slightly in your vision, whether from exhaustion or the lingering tension clawing at your mind, you’re not sure. The beep of the lock disengaging feels deafening in the stillness. You push the door open, stepping inside so quickly that you nearly stumble over your own feet. The door swings shut behind you with a soft but final click, sealing you in the safety of your apartment. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
For a moment, you just stand there, listening. Nothing but the hum of your refrigerator, the faint creak of the building settling, and the sound of your own breathing, ragged and uneven in the silence. You don’t stop moving until every lock is in place.
Click. Click. Click.
Each one echoes louder than it should, like an affirmation that you are, in fact, secure. That no one followed you. That no one is outside, waiting. Still, the unease gnaws at you, refusing to settle. So, you make your rounds. Checking. Double-checking. Triple-checking.
You pull the curtains shut, firmly, ensuring no sliver of the outside world can seep in. You check the windows next, pressing your fingers against the glass, as if expecting to feel warmth from another presence, a breath on the other side. But there’s nothing. No shadow moving in the darkness, no faint imprint of something or someone having been there.
Finally, with a deep breath, you force yourself to move, shedding your coat, kicking off your shoes with sluggish movements. The exhaustion from the long day crashes down on you all at once, dull and heavy. Your limbs feel leaden as you shuffle toward your bedroom, every step slower than the last.
The warmth of your bed is almost enough to chase away the unease, the mattress soft, inviting and safe a stark contrast to the cold anxiety curling at the edges of your consciousness. You exhale, forcing yourself to relax, letting your body sink into the familiar comfort of your sheets.
But even as your eyes grow heavy, your mind refuses to let go completely. That nagging sense of being watched still lingers. Faint but present. And just before sleep claims you, a final thought slithers through your mind.
What if you weren’t imagining it? What if someone was still out there? Watching. Waiting.
Jungkook drives with effortless ease, one hand lazily gripping the steering wheel while the other taps against the radio in rhythm with the song playing softly through the speakers. The hum of the engine blends with the melody, filling the quiet space between you, neither of you needing to speak. The road stretches ahead, endless and open, disappearing into the horizon. A faint trace of salt lingers in the air, creeping in through the half-open window, a quiet reminder that you’re getting closer to Busan.
You sit in the passenger seat, your gaze flickering between the blur of passing scenery and the man beside you. The steady motion of the car, the warmth of the moment, it all feels oddly soothing. After days of unease, of tension wound so tightly in your body that even sleep felt like a battle, you finally feel yourself exhale.
“Can’t believe you actually agreed to take a day off for me,” Jungkook teases, his grin nothing short of triumphant as he spares you a glance. “Is this what love does to people?”
You roll your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “One time, Jeon. Don’t get used to it.”
Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you for a second. His smile spreads wide, bright enough to make your chest ache with something unspoken. He reaches over without hesitation, his fingers giving your knee a playful squeeze before returning to the wheel. The touch is fleeting but warm, grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.
You should tell him.
The past few days have been unbearable due to the creeping paranoia, the feeling of eyes tracing your every move and the subtle shifts in your apartment that made your skin crawl. It’s like living with a shadow just out of reach, something you can’t see but can feel pressing in from the edges. You don’t scare easily, but this has been different.
Your fingers twitch against your lap. One word. That’s all it would take. Jungkook would listen like he always does. He’d furrow his brows, tilt his head in that concerned way he does, and tell you not to brush it off. He’d probably get all worked up, insist on staying over, refuse to let you out of his sight.
And yet, looking at him now being so carefree, his bunny-like smile tugging at his lips as he taps his fingers against the beat makes you hesitate. He’s happy. Peaceful. This moment is untouched by the weight sitting on your chest, and for once, you don’t want to taint something good.
So you take a slow breath, forcing yourself to relax against the seat. You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’re just being paranoid. That if anything truly happens, you’ll deal with it.
You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in the present, to focus on the soft hum of the radio, the rhythmic tap of Jungkook’s fingers against the steering wheel. But the memory pulled at you, dragging you under before you could stop it—
You had come home after another long day at work. Your shoulders were aching from hours spent hunched over your desk. You had barely registered the familiar scent of your apartment as you pushed the door open, the soft creak echoing into the stillness inside.
Everything had looked normal at first.
Your shoes sat neatly by the entrance, exactly where you had left them. The kitchen counter was cluttered with the remnants of that morning’s rushed breakfast.
But the air had felt… different. Slightly off. As if someone had been there. Your heartbeat had stumbled, picking up speed before you could rationalize it. You had told yourself it was nothing. Just the exhaustion making you paranoid.
And yet, as you had stepped further inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The sound was the first thing that struck you. Cheerful, repetitive, out of place.
Your TV was on.
Not just on but playing Mario Kart. The character selection screen looped in the background, the upbeat jingle clashing against the heavy silence that filled your apartment. You hadn’t touched your console in days. Not since you and Jungkook played together last Sunday. Your pulse quickened.
Your eyes flickered to the couch. It had been moved just slightly. Barely an inch out of place, but enough for you to notice.
A slow, creeping unease settled into your bones as you stepped further inside, your movements cautious. Your apartment wasn’t large. There weren’t many places for someone to hide. And yet, your skin prickled with the overwhelming sensation that something or someone had been here.
Your breath hitched as your gaze fell on your bedroom door, slightly ajar. You had closed it that morning. You were sure of it. With measured steps, you pushed the door open fully. And that’s when you saw it.
Your bed—completely in ruins. The sheets were tangled, pillows tossed carelessly, the once-smooth blankets now bunched in the center as if someone had been lying there. Your stomach twisted with unease because this morning, just before leaving for work, you had made your bed. Yet now, the sheets were rumpled, disturbed in a way that sent a chill crawling up your spine. Someone had been here.
Your pulse thundered in your ears as you took a shaky step back, your eyes darting around the room. Everything looked normal aside from the bed, the couch and the TV but the air felt wrong. Tainted. Like someone had occupied this space in your absence.
Your mind raced as you checked the locks. Still in place. No broken windows. No signs of forced entry.
So how— Your breath hitched as a thought struck you. With trembling fingers, you grabbed your phone and immediately dialed Jungkook. He picked up after a few rings, his voice slightly breathless, like he had been running. “Hey, baby. Everything okay?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, gripping the phone tightly. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Where are you right now?”
"Still at the clinic," he answered easily. "Was assisting with a surgery on a Pomeranian. Poor guy had a blockage so it took longer than expected." Your stomach dropped.
If Jungkook wasn’t here… then who was?
Your fingers curled around your phone, knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your breathing even. “Got it,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Just checking.” There was a pause. Then, Jungkook’s tone softened. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Another lie. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before he could press further, you ended the call.
The only sound left was the distant loop of Mario Kart, mocking you.
The weight of the memory lingered, suffocating, but the warmth of the car, the low hum of the radio, and Jungkook’s familiar presence slowly pulled you back. You blinked, staring at him.
Jungkook was happily rambling about his mom’s cooking, hands moving animatedly as he drove. “—and she always makes extra, like extra extra, because she knows I eat a lot. But now she’s even more excited since you’re coming—oh! She even tried making those cookies you love—”
His voice was light, full of an excitement you didn’t want to taint. A small part of you wanted to tell him. But another part, the part that didn’t want to see that deep crease of concern on his forehead, didn’t want to take away his peace, told you to keep it to yourself. For now.
You turned your head, looking out the window, watching the scenery blur past. You didn’t notice the way Jungkook’s eyes flickered toward you, his brows knitting together for just a moment before he forced his usual smile back onto his face.
Jungkook pulled into the driveway, parking with practiced ease. You had been here more times than you could count, yet there was always something comforting about stepping into his childhood home like the faint scent of home-cooked meals wafting through the air and the familiar sight of the wind chime swaying gently by the door.
Jungkook turned to you with a grin, one hand still resting on the steering wheel. “Mom probably made enough food to feed a small army.”
You chuckled, already knowing that was true. “She always does.”
Before you could even step out of the car, the front door swung open, revealing his mom waving enthusiastically. “You’re finally here! Hurry, come in before the food gets cold!” His mom pulled you into a hug the second you stepped inside, squeezing you tight.
“You’ve lost weight,” she huffed, pulling back just enough to inspect you with a critical eye. “Are you eating properly?”
You laughed, but before you could respond, his dad stepped forward with a warm smile, offering a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, his voice as steady and kind as ever.
“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Jeon,” you replied politely. “Mrs. Jeon, thank you for having me—”
Before you could finish, his mom smacked your arm lightly, her expression scandalized. “Yah! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Mom and Dad.”
Your face heated instantly. “R-Right. Sorry… Mom.”
Jungkook snickered under his breath at your obvious embarrassment, and his mom beamed, clearly pleased. “That’s better,” she said, linking her arm with yours as she led you further inside. “You’re family, sweetheart. No need for formalities.”
The house smelled incredible of rich simmering broth and freshly cooked rice. The warmth of it all settled deep in your chest, making you realize just how much you had missed this. As you stepped into the living room, your gaze landed on a few baby toys scattered near the couch, a soft blanket draped over the armrest. Before you could ask, his mom sighed.
“Junghyun and his wife wanted to come with the twins, but the girls were too fussy today.”
Jungkook pouted dramatically, crossing his arms. “I still haven’t met my nieces.”
His mom shook her head, unimpressed. “You could visit them, you know.”
The dining table was packed with dishes his mom had gone all out, as always. Various side dishes, steaming hot soup, perfectly grilled meat, and a mountain of rice sat invitingly before you. It was a feast, one you had grown familiar with over the years, yet it never failed to impress you. Before you could even reach for anything, Jungkook was already piling food onto your plate, stacking it with precision. “Eat,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You know the rules.”
His mom beamed, clearly pleased. “At least someone in this house listens to me.”
You chuckled, picking up your chopsticks, but the moment was shattered when your phone lit up beside your plate, vibrating with an insistent ping. You glanced down, your stomach twisting into a knot.
Your pulse quickened. The messages came one after the other.
Unknown [1:10 PM]: You think you can stay safe by staying away from here?
Unknown [1:10 PM]: You think he’s gonna save you?
Unknown [1:10 PM]: I am always watching you, doll.
Your breath hitched. Cold fingers of unease crawled up your spine, but you forced yourself to stay composed. Your hands thankfully didn’t shake as you turned your phone upside down and set it to silent. Jungkook had noticed. His gaze flickered to the screen before you flipped it over, his brows knitting together in quiet concern. He looked like he wanted to ask, but you didn’t give him the chance.
The vibration had caught his parents’ attention too. “Oh dear, is that work?” his mom asked, concern lacing her voice.
“Yeah,” you lied smoothly, forcing a small smile. “Just some messages I need to deal with later.”
You weren’t sure if Jungkook believed you, but he didn’t press. Instead, he reached out under the table, squeezing your knee reassuringly before focusing back on his food. You tried to do the same, pushing down the paranoia clawing at your chest.
Dinner flowed with easy conversation. His parents asked about your work, laughing when Jungkook grumbled about how much time it took away from him. They also teased him relentlessly about how attached he was to you.
“Three years, and he still acts like you’re going to disappear if he looks away,” his dad joked, shaking his head fondly.
You snickered, nudging Jungkook’s foot under the table.
But Jungkook just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Can you blame me?” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Dinner continued with warmth and laughter, his parents seamlessly shifting the conversation to Jungkook’s studies.
“So, how’s school going?” his dad asked, scooping some more rice onto his plate. “Third year already, huh? Feels like just yesterday you were running around pretending to be a zookeeper.” Jungkook groaned. “Dad.”
His mom chuckled. “What? You were obsessed with animals. You even tried to ‘rescue’ the neighbor’s cat by sneaking it into your room.”
You gasped dramatically, turning to Jungkook. “Wait, I didn’t know about this!”
Jungkook sighed, shoving a bite of food into his mouth like he could physically escape the conversation. “That was years ago.”
His dad laughed. “And now look at you, halfway to becoming a real vet.”
“Not halfway,” Jungkook corrected between bites. “But yeah, it’s been tough. Classes are intense, and the practicals are even harder. Two days ago, I had to assist with a surgery, and let’s just say I wasn’t prepared for how long it would take.”
His mom’s eyes softened with pride. “You’ll be amazing, sweetheart. You’ve always had such a big heart for animals.”
Jungkook ducked his head, ears tinged pink. You smiled, nudging his foot under the table again. “She’s right, you know. You’re going to be an incredible vet.”
Jungkook glanced at you, his bunny-like smile appearing for just a second before he returned to his food. But the warmth of the moment did little to push away the unease creeping up your spine. The phone lay silent beside your plate, but you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling.
Just as the conversation was settling into a warm, familiar rhythm, the front door slammed open with the force of a small explosion.
“The prodigal son returns!”
Jungkook groaned, not even bothering to look. “Why. Are. You. Here.”
Jin strutted in like he was making a grand entrance at an award show, tossing his jacket onto the couch with an unnecessary flourish. “Heard there was food,” he announced before turning to you with a smirk. “And obviously, I had to make sure my dear cousin hasn’t scared you off yet.”
Jungkook scoffed. “You scared me off first.”
Jin ignored him completely, already making a beeline for the dining table. His mom, unfazed by the theatrics, clapped her hands together. “Oh, perfect timing! Sit, eat.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Jin said cheerfully, dropping into the seat beside you. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks like a warrior unsheathing his sword, ready for battle.
“So,” he drawled, nudging you playfully. “Three years and you still haven’t run for the hills? Impressive.”
You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “I’ve considered it.”
Jungkook gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you had personally stabbed him. “Betrayal! In my own home!”
“Technically, it’s our home,” his mom corrected.
“Exactly!” Jin said, pointing his chopsticks at Jungkook before shoving a mouthful of rice into his mouth. Jungkook’s dad, ever the composed one, leaned back in his chair and regarded Jin with an amused shake of his head. “So, how’s the tattoo shop? Are you still working reception?”
Jin waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that? I quit.”
Jungkook’s mom sighed, as if she had already seen this coming.
Jungkook’s dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jin, you just started that job.”
“Yeah, and I just quit that job,” Jin said brightly. “But don’t worry—I’ve moved on to better things.”
Jungkook raised a brow. “Should I even ask?”
“I now work at a pastry shop.” Jin declared, as if he had just announced a groundbreaking scientific discovery.
Jungkook blinked. “You?”
“Yes, me.”
Jungkook’s dad sighed. “Jin, you have to start thinking about stability. You can’t keep jumping from one job to another like this.”
Jin only laughed, waving him off like the thought of responsibility was a foreign concept. “Oh, please. Stability is boring. I get bored too fast—I need thrill, excitement, the rush of something new.”
“You sell croissants,” Jungkook deadpanned.
“And I do it with flair,” Jin shot back, popping a piece of fried chicken into his mouth. “Speaking of which, I brought some samples! The head baker said they were too ‘experimental’ for customers, but I figured you guys would appreciate my artistic vision.” He reached into his coat pocket because of course he carried pastries in his coat pocket and plopped two small, questionably green muffins onto the table.
Jungkook recoiled. “What is that?”
Jin grinned. “Matcha and kimchi fusion.”
Jungkook’s dad sighed again. His mom simply patted Jin’s hand, as if she had long since accepted his chaotic ways. Jin wipes his hands dramatically after placing down his abomination of a pastry creation, then immediately turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“So,” he starts, leaning in with the air of someone about to cause chaos. “On a scale of one to dear god, someone save me, how difficult is he to live with?”
You barely have time to react before he fires off another.
“Any plans to upgrade from ‘boyfriend’ status?” Jin asks, voice dripping with faux innocence.
Jungkook chokes so hard on his food that you have to thump his back. His mom gasps in concern, while his dad just continues eating like this is any other Thursday night.
Jin smirks in triumph. “Ah, so is there a wedding?”
Jungkook, still recovering, glares murderously. “You are so not invited to the wedding—”
Jin claps his hands together. “Confirmed!”
Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a spoonful of rice and hurls it straight at Jin. Jin dodges like a seasoned warrior. “Oh, it’s war now.”
A second later, a piece of kimchi smacks Jungkook right in the cheek. Jungkook gapes at Jin. “You did not—”
“Oh, I did.” Jin wiggles his eyebrows before launching another attack. What starts as a petty sibling squabble escalates into all-out warfare. Jungkook lobs a dumpling; Jin retaliates with a piece of radish. Rice goes flying. You duck just in time to avoid getting hit by a rogue piece of tofu.
“Jeon Jungkook!” his mom shrieks, voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. “Kim Seokjin!”
They both freeze mid-throw, like guilty kids caught red-handed.
His dad sighs, a long and tired sigh, the kind that speaks of years of dealing with this exact scenario. He calmly reaches for his drink. “Can we please have one dinner without someone launching food across the table?”
Jungkook and Jin exchange glances.
Then, as if telepathically synchronized, they both lift their chopsticks and point at each other. “He started it.”
You snort. His mom groans. His dad sips his tea in silent resignation.
The night air is crisp, carrying the distant hum of crickets and the occasional rustling of leaves in the trees that line Jungkook’s backyard. The stars above twinkle through gaps in the branches, their light soft and distant. Out here, away from the city’s chaos, everything feels quieter like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. Jungkook slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Sorry about him.”
You chuckle, leaning into his warmth. “I like him. He makes things interesting.”
“Interesting until he’s grilling you.”
“True,” you admit, grinning. “But I can handle him.”
Jungkook huffs a quiet laugh, resting his chin atop your head. You exhale, letting your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the security of his presence. It’s moments like these that make you forget the paranoia and the unease clawing at the edges of your mind.
But it never truly leaves.
The feeling of being watched. The weight of unseen eyes crawling over your skin. The messages you’ve ignored all night. They all linger in your mind. You glance up at Jungkook. He’s still smiling, talking about how his mom packed you extra leftovers. “She thinks you don’t eat enough,” he says fondly, shaking his head.
You should tell him.
The words sit heavy on your tongue, pressing against your teeth. One sentence, and it would all be out in the open.
But you don’t.
Instead, you nod, forcing a small laugh. “She really doesn’t take no for an answer, huh?”
“Never,” Jungkook confirms, squeezing your waist. His touch is warm, grounding. But even that warmth doesn’t reach the cold pit in your stomach.
“Jungkook!” His dad’s voice calls from inside. “Come here for a second.”
Jungkook groans, reluctant to move. “Stay here, I’ll be back,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing inside.
The moment he’s gone, the silence presses in. You hesitate before pulling out your phone, unlocking it with a swipe of your thumb. The notifications are still there, messages from Unknown piled up like unanswered warnings.
The last one catches your eye.
Unknown [1:10 PM]: I am always watching you, doll.
Your breath stutters.
The phone suddenly feels heavy in your hands, like a weight dragging you down into something inescapable.
No.
Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the gentle chirping of crickets, drowning out reason. A suffocating sense of dread settles in your chest as you stare at the word, doll. There was only one person who ever called you that.
Only one voice that had whispered it against your skin, had laughed it into your ear, had let it drip from his tongue like a slow poison.
Kim Taehyung.
The room was thick with the stench of alcohol and sweat, the air heavy with cigarette smoke that coiled toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. Dim lighting flickered from a dying bulb, casting long, distorted shadows across the stained walls.
Taehyung sat slouched in a tattered armchair, his body sinking into the worn-out fabric. His limbs felt like lead, the weight of intoxication pressing down on him, making his movements sluggish, his thoughts hazy. A half-empty bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, the condensation dripping onto his jeans, but he barely noticed.
Around him, his friends were strewn across the room in various states of intoxication, some laughing at nothing, their voices slurred and senseless, while others lay sprawled out, lost to the world. Taehyung exhaled a slow, heavy breath. Everything felt distant and detached until a stray thought cut through the fog: you.
His lazy smirk faltered. His fingers twitched against the armrest, tightening before relaxing again. His vision blurred at the edges, but the memories were sharp. Unwelcome. Unrelenting. His jaw clenched. He willed himself to push it away, drown it in the haze, let the high carry him somewhere else. But it never worked.
It never did when it came to you. His body was here, slouched in a torn armchair, but his mind was somewhere else. Three years ago.
"I don’t love you anymore."
The scent of espresso and warm pastries was suffocating. The quiet hum of conversation around them felt like static in his ears. But none of it fucking mattered. Not when you were sitting across from him, staring at him like he was nothing.
The words barely registered at first. His mind lagged behind reality like a glitching tape, playing back a version of events where this wasn’t happening.
"What?" His voice was sharp, disbelieving. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Your gaze didn’t waver. "I said I don’t love you."
The words cut. They didn’t hit all at once they sank in slowly, like a blade sliding between ribs.
Taehyung laughed. "Bullshit."
He leaned forward, jaw tight, fingers curling into the edge of the table. "You’re being dramatic. You always do this shit when you want attention."
Your expression didn’t change, but something about it made his stomach turn. You weren’t crying. You weren’t shaking. There was no hesitation or guilt or any of the things he had relied on to keep you in line. This wasn’t like before.
Your voice was flat. "You ruined this, Tae. You ruined me."
His laugh was louder this time, bitter and sharp. "Oh, so I’m the villain now? After everything I did for you?"
"Everything you did to me."
His breath stuttered.
And then you kept going. You fucking kept going.
"You controlled me. You isolated me. You made me feel like I was insane every time I called you out on your bullshit."
His hands curled into fists. "Oh, fuck off—"
"You threatened me, Tae. You threw shit. You punched walls, grabbed me so fucking hard I had bruises for days. And every time, you’d crawl back, begging, saying you didn’t mean it—"
His teeth clenched, fury bubbling beneath his skin. "Because I didn’t!"
"You dangled your own life over my head like a leash."
His blood turned cold, the first sliver of panic slicing through the rage that had consumed him moments ago. He wasn’t winning. The realization struck hard. His grip tightened on the table, nails digging into the cheap wood as if he was bracing for impact. You weren’t supposed to fucking say that. You weren’t supposed to know.
He forced a laugh, but it came out desperate. "And what, you're suddenly a fucking therapist? Psychoanalyzing me like I’m some fucking monster?"
Your voice was quiet, but it sliced straight through him.
"I don’t need to psychoanalyze you, Taehyung. I lived through you."
The air left his lungs. His vision blurred at the edges, rage and panic clashing, drowning him.
All of a sudden, ‘his’ name fell from your lips like a gunshot.
Jungkook? That pathetic little nerd? The one he used to shove into lockers, humiliate just for the fun of it? The same one who flinched if someone raised their voice too loud?
He let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, but there was nothing funny about this. His hands shook from the effort of holding himself back.
"So that’s what you’ve been doing, huh?" His voice was sharp, venomous. "Nursing him back to health after I fucked him up?"
You exhaled, shaking your head, unimpressed.
Then, he snapped. "You fucked him, didn’t you?"
He spat the words like a curse, like they burned his tongue. Even as he said it, he knew you wouldn’t. You were a self-righteous bitch with all your morals, your bullshit standards. You wouldn’t dare. But the thought of it, the idea of you with him made his head spin, made his vision go dark at the edges.
His voice dropped to a hiss. "That little fucking loser? You let him touch you? You let him—"
His hands ached. He wanted to grab you, to shake you, to make you look at him.
"He’s a pussy, doll." His voice cracked, something wild and desperate bleeding through. "He won’t take care of you like I did."
You scoffed, expression unreadable. "You never took care of me, Tae."
"What the fuck does he have that I don’t?" His voice rose, teetering between fury and desperation. "Tell me."
You just stared at him, and that look—that fucking look—
It was over.
It was fucking over.
Panic clawed at his ribs, lodged itself in his throat, made his vision blur and his hands shake. So he did what he always did when he lost control.
"I’ll kill myself if you leave me."
The words came out fast and sharp, a desperate lifeline thrown into the storm. It had always worked before, always made you hesitate, always made you stay. But this time, you simply exhaled a breath of relief, as if you had finally broken free.
And then, for the first time, you smiled.
"Look at you." Your voice was soft. Almost pitying. "Still trying to manipulate me."
Something inside him snapped.
His vision blurred, his body moved and the next thing he knew, the coffee cup on the table was in pieces, shattered porcelain scattering across the floor.
The café had gone silent.
The whole fucking world had gone silent.
You stood, your chair scraping against the tile. Unbothered.
You walked away. No hesitation. No tears. No fucking remorse.
And for the first time, Taehyung had nothing.
Nothing left to say. Nothing left to hold onto.
The cigarette burned down to the filter, searing his fingers. He didn’t flinch. Taehyung’s jaw clenched, knuckles turning white as his fists curled against the armrest. The high didn’t feel so numbing anymore, just agitating. His skin felt too tight, his thoughts too sharp, too loud.
For almost a year, he had drowned you out with drugs, alcohol, distractions, anything to blur the edges of what you had done to him. To make himself forget the way you walked away without looking back. But the moment he saw you again it all came rushing back.
The obsession. The hunger. The need to undo it all.
You thought you walked away for good?
No. You were always his. Even when you hated him. Even when you ran. And now he was going to take back what was his.
One way or another.
After returning from Busan, you stayed over at Jungkook’s place.
You didn’t want to sleep alone. Not after the messages. The number was blocked now. You hadn’t received anything since. But still… you didn’t feel comfortable going back home yet.
Jungkook hadn’t questioned it. He just smiled and let you in, happy to have you around. But the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to ignore the guilt settling in your chest.
Because Jungkook didn’t know.
You hadn’t told him about the messages. About the unease creeping up your spine every time your phone vibrated. About the name that had resurfaced in the form of a single word:
“Doll.”
It shouldn’t have meant anything. Anyone could use that word. It was common, impersonal.
But not to you.
Not when you could still hear his voice saying it. Not when you remembered how it had dripped from Taehyung’s lips sometimes sweet, sometimes cruel.
“Be good for me, doll.”
“You know I only act like this because I love you, doll.”
“You’re nothing without me, doll.”
The thought alone made your stomach churn. You weren’t even sure if it was him. Maybe it was just paranoia. Maybe it was just a coincidence.
Yeah. It had to be. So you pushed it down, shoved it into the corners of your mind where you didn’t have to look at it. You told yourself you were keeping this from Jungkook to protect him.
But now, as you sit at your office desk, your mind is miles away from the reports in front of you. You tap your pen against the surface, gaze unfocused.
You don’t notice Jimin watching you from across the room until he finally speaks.
“Everything okay between you and Jungkook?”
You blink, snapping out of your daze. “What?”
Jimin leans against your desk, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You seem off. Thought maybe you two had a fight or something.”
You force a small laugh, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that. Everything’s fine.”
Jimin doesn’t look convinced. His sharp gaze lingers for a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to crack. But he doesn’t press.
And you’re grateful for that.
Lunchtime rolls around when you finally check your phone.
The morning had been filled with client meetings, thankful for the welcome distraction. For a few hours, you managed to keep your mind from spiraling. But the moment your screen lights up with a string of unread messages from an unknown number, reality crashes back in.
Your stomach plummets.
Unknown [10:28 AM]: Did you really think blocking me would make me disappear, doll?
Unknown [10:28 AM]: How cute. Almost as cute as you playing house with your little pet.
Unknown [10:29 AM]: Speaking of pets… your boyfriend’s been working so hard. Diligently studying to save all those poor, dying animals.
Unknown [10:30 AM]: How pathetic.
Unknown [10:31 AM]: Wanna see?
Your breath catches.
The next message has three images attached. With shaking fingers, you tap them open.
First image: Jungkook in class, focused, scribbling down notes. Second image: Him in the lab, sleeves rolled up, handling equipment with practiced ease. Third image: Now. Jungkook at lunch, head slightly tilted as he listens to someone, chopsticks resting in his hand.
Your blood turns to ice as your vision tunnels, the world narrowing to a single horrifying realization—Jungkook is right there. Someone… no, not just anyone. It has to be Taehyung. He is near. He is watching. And if he is close enough to take these photos, then he is close enough to do something worse. Your phone nearly slips from your grip as pure, heart-stopping terror crashes into you. Jungkook is in danger. The first message was sent almost an hour ago, which means Taehyung has been near him this whole time. Watching him. Stalking him.
Your first instinct is to call the cops. Your fingers hover over the dial pad, heart hammering until your screen lights up again. As if he had been waiting for you to see his messages.
Unknown [12:01 PM]: I know what you’re thinking, doll.
Unknown [12:01 PM]: Call the cops, and I’ll slit your pretty boyfriend’s throat right where he sits.
Your breath locks in your chest, hands trembling so violently you almost drop your phone.
No. No, no, no.
You don’t think you just move.
You bolt out of your office, barely registering Jimin calling after you. His voice is distant, but you can’t stop. You don’t have time. You race to your car, hands fumbling with the keys as you throw yourself into the driver’s seat. The second the engine roars to life, you’re speeding down the street, ignoring every traffic rule, every red light.
There’s only one thought pounding in your skull, louder than the frantic beat of your heart—
Get to Jungkook. Now.
You pull up to Jungkook’s university, barely throwing the car into park before shoving the door open. Your legs feel unsteady as you rush out, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Your hands tremble as you fumble with your phone, fingers slipping as you dial Jungkook’s number again and again. No answer. You try once more, the ringing tone stretching unbearably before it goes to voicemail.
The campus is alive with movement students chatting, laughing and going about their day, blissfully unaware of the sheer terror gripping you. You push through the crowd, scanning faces wildly, your heart pounding against your ribs. Where is Jungkook?
People glance at you, their whispers buzzing at the edge of your hearing, but you don’t care. You try his number again. Still nothing.
A sickening thought slithers into your mind— What if Taehyung already got to him? What if you’re too late?
Finally, your eyes land on him.
Jungkook stands in the courtyard, laughing with a couple of friends, completely oblivious to the danger shadowing him. The world around you blurs as relief crashes over you like a tidal wave.
Alive. Unharmed.
Your knees almost buckle, the tension in your body unravelling just enough for you to let out a sharp, shaky exhale. Your breath stutters as the panic begins to subside, but the urgency still thrums beneath your skin. Then Jungkook sees you.
His laughter dies mid-sentence, his brows knitting together in concern as his eyes rake over your disheveled form. His friends glance at you curiously, but Jungkook is already moving toward you.
"Y/N?" His voice is gentle but urgent. "What’s wrong?"
You shake your head quickly, forcing a weak, unconvincing smile. "It’s nothing," you say, voice tight. "But we need to leave. Now."
Jungkook blinks, his confusion evident. "What? I have an afternoon lecture."
You tighten your grip on his wrist, desperation seeping into your voice. "Jungkook, please. We need to go home."
His brows draw together, concern deepening in his soft gaze. "Why?" His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet insistence beneath it. "What’s going on?"
When you don’t answer, Jungkook exhales softly before taking your hand, leading you away from the courtyard and into a quieter corner. His touch is firm but never forceful.
"Y/N, talk to me." His voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s an edge of worry to it. "What’s wrong?" His dark eyes search yours, trying to unravel the truth you refuse to say.
You swallow, avoiding his gaze. "It’s nothing, I swear—"
His jaw tightens, his fingers twitching at his sides. "That’s not true."
Jungkook doesn’t raise his voice, but the frustration is clear. He takes a slow step closer, his warmth now suffocating. "You’ve been acting different for weeks. Distant. Jumpy. And now you show up here looking like you’ve seen a ghost and expect me to just go along with it?"
You flinch at the quiet intensity in his words, but still, you don’t answer. Jungkook’s voice rises just a little, but the hurt in it is undeniable. “Do you not trust me?”
You bite your lip, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. “Of course I do, Jungkook, it’s just—”
“Then tell me.” His fingers rake through his hair, his brows drawn together, frustration flickering in his dark eyes. But his voice stays soft, laced with something almost pleading.
“I’m not a child, Y/N.”
The words land harder than you expect, sinking deep. Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of his quiet disappointment. You know you should tell him. You should warn him. But… you can’t.
Jungkook exhales slowly, his jaw tightening as he watches you struggle with whatever it is you’re refusing to say. His frustration is evident, but his voice remains gentle, laced with quiet insistence.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” he says firmly. “If you won’t, I’ll just stay here.”
Your stomach drops. No. He can’t stay here. Not when you know Taehyung is watching. “Jungkook, please,” you whisper, gripping his wrist tighter.
“Then tell me, Y/N.” His gaze softens, but the unwavering determination in his eyes sends a surge of panic through you. You have no choice. You have to tell him something—anything—just to get him to listen.
“Someone’s been watching you,” you admit in a rush, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who, but it’s not safe.”
Jungkook stiffens. His expression shifts from frustration to shock, then to something unreadable. “Watching me?” he echoes. “Y/N, what—why wouldn’t you tell me earlier?”
You look away, guilt gnawing at you. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s still skeptical, still confused, but he can see the genuine fear in your eyes. And that alone is enough to make him give in.
“Alright,” he finally murmurs. “Let’s go.”
Relief washes over you, but just as you think you’ve convinced him to leave, your phone vibrates. It's another message.
Unknown [12:17 PM]: Ah, there you are, doll. So desperate to save your boyfriend? Cute. But I’m not done playing yet.
Your breath hitches.
Taehyung is watching you right now. Your fingers tighten around your phone as your eyes dart around the campus, paranoia seeping into your every movement.
Jungkook immediately catches the way your face drains of all color. His fingers gently close around your wrist before you can react, his other hand swiftly taking your phone from your grip.
“Jungkook, wait—”
But it’s too late. His eyes scan the message, and you feel his entire body go still. His brows knit together, his lips parting slightly as he rereads the words, processing the threat laced between them.
“Who…” His voice is quiet at first, controlled. Then, a little sharper. “Who the hell is this?”
You swallow hard, panic clawing at your chest. You should’ve been more careful. But now there’s no avoiding it. Jungkook looks up at you, eyes searching. “Y/N,” he says softly, but there’s an undeniable firmness in his tone. “Tell me.”
You take a shaky breath, forcing the words out before you can hesitate.
“I… I think it’s Taehyung.”
Jungkook blinks. For a moment, he just stares at you like you’ve said something completely incomprehensible. Then, he shakes his head, a disbelieving scoff leaving his lips.
“Taehyung?” He lets out a breath, his brows furrowing. “No. That’s impossible. We haven’t seen him in years.”
You can see the way his mind is racing, trying to rationalize it, trying to convince himself that it can’t be true. But then piece by piece it all starts to click. The way you’ve been acting. The paranoia. The half-truths. Everything makes sense now.
Jungkook’s expression shifts, his grip tightening slightly around your phone. He looks at you again, this time with quiet intensity. “Tell me everything.”
You take a deep, unsteady breath and finally let it all out. Every message. Every chilling threat. The way Taehyung has been watching, lurking in the shadows, getting closer and closer. How you’ve been living in constant fear, too terrified to sleep, too paranoid to breathe. How you blocked him, but he always found a way back. The photos of Jungkook the proof showing that Taehyung has been near him all along.
Jungkook doesn’t say a word. He just listens. His hands slowly curl into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening, but his eyes stay locked on you, soft and unwavering. By the time you finish, your throat is tight, and your vision blurs slightly. You blink rapidly, forcing back the tears threatening to spill. You quickly wipe at your eyes before Jungkook can notice.
But he does.
Without a word, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth. You freeze for a second, startled, but then you let yourself sink into the embrace. His arms are strong and steady, anchoring you as if he’s shielding you from everything that’s been haunting you.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice softer than ever. “You don’t have to hold it in, Y/N.”
Your breath shudders. “I-I’m fine,” you whisper, even though your grip on his hoodie tightens. Jungkook shakes his head slightly. “No, you’re not. And that’s okay.” His hand runs up and down your back in slow, soothing motions. “You don’t always have to be strong on your own.”
Something in you cracks at his words. A single tear slips down your cheek, and this time, you don’t wipe it away. Jungkook holds you tighter, his voice firm but gentle. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
“I know,” you whisper. “I was scared.”
“I get that.” He exhales, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here now. And I won’t let him hurt you.”
When you finally pull away, his hands stay on your shoulders, grounding you. Now, you have to decide.
Go to the police? It’s the logical choice, but Taehyung already made it clear what would happen if you did. Jungkook’s life isn’t something you’re willing to gamble with. Confront Taehyung yourself? It’s reckless, dangerous, and probably a mistake. But part of you feels like it’s the only way to put an end to this.
Jungkook watches your face carefully, reading the thoughts swirling in your head. Then, his jaw tightens, his voice steady but firm. “If you think I’m letting you do this alone, you’re out of your mind.”
For the first time in weeks, the suffocating loneliness eases because no matter what happens next, Jungkook is with you. Suddenly your phone vibrates again.
Unknown [12:51 PM]: Such a heartwarming moment. But how far will he go to protect you?
And then another message. A photo.
It’s a picture of you and Jungkook. Right now.
He’s still here.
"Y/N?" Jungkook’s voice is soft but sharp with concern. "What is it?"
You turn the phone toward him, and the moment he sees the message, his entire body stiffens. His jaw clenches, fingers curling into fists. His voice is low but firm when he speaks.
"We’re leaving. Now."
You don’t argue.
Jungkook grabs your wrist, pulling you through the crowd of students, his grip tight but reassuring. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you scan the area frantically, eyes darting from face to face.
But you don’t see him. He could be anywhere.
Jungkook doesn’t slow down until you reach his car. He unlocks it in a rush, practically shoving you inside before slamming the door shut behind him. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. Only when he locks the doors and exhales a shaky breath does he turn to look at you.
"He’s here, Y/N." His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it.
You swallow hard, gripping your phone. "I know."
Jungkook starts the car. "We’re going home. Then we figure out our next move." You nod, but the unease lingers.
Because Taehyung isn’t done playing yet.
Jungkook paces the length of his living room, fingers running through his hair in frustration. You sit on the couch, gripping your phone tightly, going over every possible option. Jungkook is still talking, still trying to come up with a solid plan but his voice fades into the background as your eyes remain glued to your phone screen.
Unknown [1:37 PM]: Come alone. Midnight. Your apartment.
Unknown [1:37 PM]: Don’t make me repeat myself, doll.
Your grip on the phone tightens. Your pulse roars in your ears. If Jungkook sees this, there’s no way he’ll let you go. He’ll insist on coming with you. And that’s exactly what Taehyung wants, a reason to hurt him. Swallowing hard, you quickly lock your phone and shove it into your pocket before Jungkook notices.
“Y/N?”
You snap back to reality to find Jungkook watching you carefully. “Yeah?”
“I was saying…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should stay at a hotel tonight. Just in case. I don’t want you anywhere near that apartment if Taehyung’s been watching you.”
Your stomach churns with guilt, but you shake your head. “No. I think we should just stay and act normal. If we start running now, he’ll know we’re scared.”
Jungkook’s eyes darken. “We are scared, Y/N.”
You force a small, tired smile. “But we can’t let him know that.”
He exhales, clearly frustrated but unable to argue. “Fine. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.” You nod, pretending to agree.
But deep down, you already know that the moment Jungkook falls asleep tonight, you’re leaving.
Alone.
It’s a little past midnight when you finally slip out of Jungkook’s apartment.
You hesitate at the door, glancing back at his sleeping form. Even in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you can see the tension on his face. He had been restless for hours, his body stiff with unease, as if sensing that something was wrong.
You had pretended to fall asleep just so he could relax. It worked eventually. But now, as you step out into the cold night, a bitter weight settles in your chest.
Jungkook would never forgive you for this.
But this is the only way.
You move quickly, keeping to the shadows as you make your way to your apartment. The streets are eerily quiet, the distant hum of the city muffled by the pounding of your heart. Every step you take feels heavier like you're walking toward something inevitable.
Suddenly you hear a second set of footsteps.
You don’t have time to react before a hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your startled gasp.
Before you can struggle, an arm wraps around your waist in a vice-like grip, dragging you off the sidewalk. The world tilts as you're yanked into a dark alleyway. Your pulse hammers against your ribs as you thrash against the hold, but it’s uselessm his grip is unyielding, effortlessly strong.
A low, deep chuckle brushes against your ear, sending a sickening shiver down your spine.
"Took you long enough, doll."
Taehyung had grown impatient waiting for you to show up. Without warning, he forcefully turns you to face him, his grip unrelenting. The sudden contact sends a jolt of fear through you, and seeing him again after all these years feels like being doused in ice water.
Time has changed him, but not enough. His face is still achingly familiar from the sharp jawline, the tattoos that snake up the expanse of his neck to the piercing eyes that burn with something much darker.
A part of you always knew this day would come. You had told yourself that the way Taehyung left without so much as hurting you was too good to be true, but maybe, just maybe he had realised he was in the wrong and disappeared into the past like a bad dream. But now, standing here with his breath hot against your skin, you realize how foolish you were to think he’d ever let you go.
"You thought I wouldn’t come back for you?" he whispers against your ear, his voice sickeningly soft.
Your breath stutters. You try to shove him away, but he’s faster amd stronger. His grip tightens as he forces you back, slamming you against the cold, unforgiving brick wall of the alley. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, and before you can recover, his fingers press into your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.
The streetlamp above casts a sliver of light over him, illuminating the twisted smile on his lips.
"I gave you everything, and you threw me away for him?"
Resentment drips from every word, his voice cracking with something raw.
"I should’ve taught you a lesson years ago."
Your heart hammers in your chest, panic locking your limbs in place. But before you can even react—
A force rips Taehyung away from you, sending him crashing onto the pavement with a brutal thud.
Jungkook stands over him, breath uneven, fists still clenched from the impact. His usual softness is nowhere to be found—his expression is cold, lethal.
“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it that makes the air feel heavier.
Taehyung chuckles darkly. “I knew you’d come running.”
Jungkook doesn’t take the bait. His eyes flick to you, scanning for any sign of injury, before settling back on Taehyung with something dangerously close to disgust.
“You don’t get to lay a hand on her,” Jungkook says, his voice steady. “Not now. Not ever.”
Taehyung chuckles again, pushing himself up with an air of arrogance. He rolls his shoulders, cracking his knuckles as if this is all a joke to him.
"You?" He scoffs, eyes glinting with amusement. "Defending her?" His gaze flickers to you, sharp and accusing. "I bet she never even told you what she did to me."
Jungkook doesn’t flinch nor does he hesitate. His voice is calm, unwavering. "She didn’t do anything." He steps forward, eyes locked onto Taehyung like he’s daring him to try again. "I know she’s mine. And I know you’re just a lying, manipulative piece of shit."
Taehyung's smirk vanishes.
In a flash, he lunges.
Jungkook barely dodges, twisting to the side just in time, but Taehyung is relentless. He moves fast, and Jungkook isn’t a fighter he doesn’t have brute force or years of experience throwing punches. But what he does have is speed, quick reflexes and the sheer, unshakable will to protect you.
A fist catches Jungkook’s side, making him stagger back, but he barely registers the pain before Taehyung moves toward you again.
And that’s when Jungkook stops thinking.
His hand finds a broken pipe lying in the dirt. In one swift motion, he grips it tight and swings, slamming it straight into Taehyung’s stomach.
A sharp gasp rips from Taehyung’s throat as he doubles over, coughing violently. But he’s not down. Not yet.
Jungkook doesn’t wait. He reaches for you, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist. His eyes meet yours, urgent and fierce.
"Run."
The pounding of your footsteps echoes against the pavement, your lungs burning as you push yourself to keep running. The night air is thick, every breath heavy with exhaustion and fear.
Behind you, Taehyung is gaining. His ragged breaths cut through the silence, his footsteps unrelenting.
“You think you can run from me?” His voice is sharp, twisted with amusement and fury. A metallic glint catches the dim streetlights indicating he has a knife now.
Panic seizes your chest.
Jungkook’s grip tightens around your wrist. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate just yanks you sharply to the side. Your vision blurs as he drags you toward a dark, skeletal structure.
A construction site.
You stumble into the half-built building, weaving through stacks of bricks and steel beams. The scent of dust and concrete fills your lungs as you press yourself into the shadows, trying to quiet your frantic breathing.
Jungkook releases you only to crouch down, scanning the ground. His fingers curl around a rusted wrench, heavy in his grip. It’s not much, but it’s something.
“Stay behind me,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the fear you know he must be feeling. Your heart slams against your ribs. Your thoughts are spiralling. You should have been more careful, quieter when slipping out of the house. You can't believe you're the reason Jungkook is in danger, that he is the one standing between you and the threat. It should be you protecting him, not the other way around.
The footsteps slow. Taehyung has followed you inside.
A chilling silence settles over the space.
Then, a low chuckle.
“You can’t hide forever.” His voice is laced with amusement, the scrape of his knife dragging along metal making you flinch. “Come on, Jungkook. You really think you can protect her?”
Jungkook doesn’t move, his stance solid, wrench gripped tightly, shoulders squared. The tension is suffocating, every second stretching unbearably. You don’t dare breathe. Then Taehyung moves. The knife slices through the air.
Jungkook barely dodges, instinct driving his body before his mind catches up. The blade misses him by inches, but there’s no time to think, theres no time to breath, only react.
With everything he has, he swings the wrench. It connects hard against Taehyung’s wrist.
The knife clatters to the ground.
But Jungkook doesn’t stop this time.
His fist collides with Taehyung’s jaw, the impact ringing in the empty construction site. The force of it sends Taehyung staggering back, his body slamming against a stack of bricks. He’s weak now, unsteady, but still smiling like he’s enjoying this.
And then, in a last, desperate attempt, he speaks.
“You really think you’ve changed, Jungkook?” Taehyung breathes, voice laced with mockery. He spits blood onto the dust-covered ground, laughing through the pain. “You’re still the same pathetic kid I used to toy with. Weak. Spineless.”
Jungkook’s breath hitches.
“You’ll never be enough for her.”
The words land heavier than any punch ever could. For a split second, Jungkook falters. The old wounds, the taunts, the bruises, and the humiliation come rushing back. The memories claw at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him under.
He remembers the way they used to laugh at him, the cruelty in their voices, the way they looked at him like he was nothing. Like he would always be nothing. He was the loser, the punching bag, the boy who never fought back. Every insult had carved itself into his skin, every shove had left something deeper than just bruises. They made him believe it. That he was worthless. That he would never be enough.
And then there was you. You. The only light in the darkness, the only person who had ever looked at him without disgust. He fell so hard, so helplessly in love with you, even though you belonged to Taehyung. It was cruel, really. The way fate played its hand. You were Taehyung’s girlfriend, yet you were the only one who saw Jungkook. The only one who stood up for him when Taehyung and his gang pushed him down. When he was at his lowest, you were there, offering kindness.
But how could you have chosen him? Him? A pathetic loser who had spent years as the butt of every joke, the weakling who was too afraid to fight back. He hears the echoes of their laughter, the mocking whispers that still live inside his head. Maybe they were right. Maybe he really is nothing. Maybe you made a mistake choosing him.
Taehyung’s voice is smooth and insidious, wrapping around him like a noose. The doubt, the shame, the years of self-hatred it all pulls him under, dragging him back to a place he swore he’d never return to. His fists loosen at his sides, his body feels too heavy, like he’s sinking into the past, like he's losing himself all over again.
But then—you.
You, standing behind him. The warmth of your presence, the unwavering belief in your eyes. The way you never once hesitated to love him, to choose him. His heart pounds against his ribs, pushing away the suffocating weight of the past.
No. No.
He is not that boy anymore. He is not weak. And he will not let Taehyung twist his mind, not when he has you to protect.
The hesitation vanishes as Jungkook moves, striking once, then again, each blow fueled by something raw, something deeper than anger—something desperate. His jaw is clenched, muscles taut, as if he is holding back years of something buried deep inside, something he never let himself feel until now. You have never seen him like this. Then another hit. And another.
His knuckles split, blood dripping onto the cold concrete, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Not until Taehyung stops moving.
The only sound left is Jungkook’s ragged breathing. His chest heaves, his hands shaking.
His eyes, dark and unfocused, burn with an intensity you have never seen before. It is not just fear, nor is it just anger. It is something far more terrifying in its certainty, something that does not waver, something that does not break. It is an unrelenting, all-consuming protectiveness, the kind that leaves no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. And the most haunting part of it all—you know he did it for you.
“Jungkook.”
Your voice is sof t but it cuts through the chaos like a blade.
He freezes.
His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, his knuckles raw and bloodied. His grip on the wrench trembles, muscles locked so tightly you wonder if he even hears you.
Then he looks at you, and in that moment, something inside him fractures. The fury that had burned so fiercely in his eyes splinters, crumbling into something far more fragile: fear. But it is not fear for himself. It is for you. For what could have happened. For what he almost became.
You take a step closer, carefully, like you’re approaching a wounded animal. His breathing is ragged, his body strung so tight it might snap. But he doesn’t move away when you reach for him.
Fingers brushing against his wrist, you gently pry the wrench from his grip. His hand is still trembling when it slips from his grasp, clattering onto the ground.
“It’s over,” you whisper, your voice steady even as your own hands shake. “I’m okay.”
Jungkook swallows hard, his throat working around unspoken words. The wail of sirens cuts through the heavy silence, distant but growing closer. Someone must have heard the commotion and called the police.
Taehyung groans from where he lies sprawled on the ground, too weak to move, too beaten to fight. But you barely spare him a glance.
Jungkook exhales shakily, his entire body trembling with the aftermath of it all. His fists are still clenched, his knuckles still bleeding, but his eyes are different now.
They are not just the eyes of your sweet, oblivious boyfriend anymore.
He steps closer, hesitant, hands hovering over your arms, your waist, checking, searching, needing to convince himself that you’re still here. That you’re real.
“I could’ve lost you,” he breathes, his voice rough, breaking at the edges.
The weight of his words settles deep in your chest.
You reach up, cupping his face, your thumb skimming over the small cut on his cheek. He flinches at the touch, but not from pain he just wasn’t expecting something so gentle.
“But you didn’t,” you murmur.
Jungkook’s breath shudders out of him. His lashes flutter shut for a second, his jaw tightening like he’s holding something in, something overwhelming, something too big to put into words.
Then, in a voice so quiet, so broken, it almost shatters you
“I was so scared.”
And just like that, everything collapses.
The rage, the adrenaline, the fear everything he had forced himself to carry, to bury, it all crumbles in one breath.
You don’t hesitate. You pull him into you, arms wrapping around him, and he clings back just as tightly. His grip is almost desperate, his fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.
Then, suddenly, he tilts his head down, capturing your lips in his.
The kiss is not careful. It’s not soft.
It’s raw. Desperate. Heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.
His lips press against yours with an urgency that steals your breath, like he’s trying to pour everything he feels into this moment. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wants to lose himself in you, in the feeling of you alive and warm in his arms.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, anchoring him to you, and he sighs into your mouth—a broken, trembling sound that sends a shiver down your spine.
When you finally pull back, foreheads pressed together, Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, uneven and ragged.
He’s still shaking.
And you hold him tighter, letting him feel it all.
The flashing red and blue lights spill across the pavement as the police cars screech to a stop.
Jungkook pulls away just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your waist, like he’s reluctant to break contact. His eyes search yours, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you see something unshakable in them.
Taehyung’s screams cut through the air as he thrashes against the officers, his wrists locked in cold steel. His voice is hoarse, spewing empty threats, venom dripping from every syllable—
“This isn’t over!” he snarls. “You think you can take her from me?”
Jungkook doesn’t react. He doesn’t even spare Taehyung a glance.
Instead, he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers lightly against your cheek, grounding himself in the fact that you’re safe.
His voice, when he finally speaks, is low, steady. A quiet promise.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
And for the first time you believe him.
Because this isn’t the same Jungkook who was oblivious, who used to let things slide, the one who always saw the good in people even when they didn’t deserve it.
This is the Jungkook who stood his ground.
The Jungkook who fought for you.
And if the world ever tried to take you away from him again, he wouldn’t hesitate.
The park is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of late morning light. Birds flit between the branches, their songs blending with the gentle rustling of leaves. A cool breeze brushes against your skin, carrying the scent of freshly baked pastries from the open basket beside you.
Jungkook sits across from you on the checkered picnic blanket, absently poking at his croissant with a fork. His knuckles are bandaged and a faint bruise lingers on his cheek just below the strip of medical tape.
You watch him, waiting.
He hasn’t said much about it. But the way he holds himself now, shoulders squared just a little more, gaze a little steadier it feels different.
“You know,” you start, plucking a strawberry from the fruit bowl and tossing it into your mouth. “For once, I wasn’t the one saving your ass.”
Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters, but there’s a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “I’m still getting used to it.”
“You should be proud,” you tell him, shifting onto your knees so you’re closer. “Not just because you fought. But because you didn’t let him win.”
Jungkook exhales, rolling his jaw like he’s still processing the weight of it. “I used to think…” He hesitates, gaze flickering down to his hands. “That I’d never be the kind of guy who could protect someone. That I’d always be the loser who let things slide.”
You reach out, fingers curling over his bandaged knuckles, squeezing gently. “You were never a loser, Jungkook.”
You trace a light touch over the bruise on his cheek. “And if you’re measuring strength by how many fights you win, you’re missing the point.”
Jungkook’s lips twitch, his fingers tightening around yours. “Oh yeah? And what’s the point, then?”
“That you were strong even before this,” you murmur. “You didn’t need to throw a punch to prove that. But I think… you finally see it now, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but the tension in his shoulders eases. Then, with a soft chuckle, he tilts his head and smirks. “So what you’re saying is… you’re swooning over me right now.”
You roll your eyes, but your laugh gives you away. “Unbelievable. One heroic moment and your ego skyrockets.”
“What can I say?” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m basically a knight in shining armor now.”
You groan. “You’re literally covered in bandages, Jungkook.”
“Battle scars,” he corrects smugly.
“You are so—”
He cuts you off with a kiss.
His lips taste like the strawberries you were just eating, but there’s something else too, something warmer. The quiet relief of knowing you’re here. That you’re safe. That you chose him, again and again.
When you finally pull away, Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, exhaling quietly. “I wouldn’t hesitate,” he murmurs. “If it ever happens again. If the world ever tries to take you away from me.”
Your heart clenches. You press a kiss to his bruised cheek, whispering against his skin. “I know.”
For a while, you just sit there, basking in the quiet hum of the park, in the way his fingers stay laced with yours. The past still lingers, but it doesn’t hold you down.
synopsis: Kim Taehyung was forbidden the moment your older brother, Namjoon, became friends with him. Falling for Taehyung was something you couldn’t control. He was everything you wanted in a man and more. He met every standard of yours and exceeded them, but you could never bring yourself to confess to him, so you wrote your feelings down in nine letters and kept them in a shoebox. Though, Taehyung always went back to his first love, making you believe that there was no chance for you. You decided it was time to let him go. He could never be yours. That day, you wrote one last letter. Your goodbye letter.
pairing: brother’s best friend!taehyung x fem!reader
genre / warnings: unrequited love, heavy angst, some fluff, strong language, usage of alcohol, reader is a hopeless romantic and an art major!!, taehyung is oblivious as hell, jimin is your biggest supporter, jungkook and reader are so cute (they are bffs fr </3), jimin’s relationship with reader also makes me cry, flashbacks are in italics!
nini’s notes: my first one shot!! this may have a part two depending on how i feel and how well it does!! the letters aspect of this is somewhat inspired by tatbilb!! i really love this, i cried like six times writing this no joke, so i hope you enjoy it :’)!!
word count: 7.7K
main masterlist
You met Taehyung when you were fifteen. You remembered it as clear as day. You were in a bad mood having received a low score on your math exam. You could never understand the subject, it never made sense to you. You just wanted to go home and lock yourself in your room while you drown in your own self-pity. The big tub of vanilla ice cream that stood in your freezer had your name all over it.
“Namjoon! My ice cream better still be in the freezer! I swear I am not in the mood to deal with you right now, my day is going badly as is!” you shouted as you walked inside your house, shoving off your shoes clumsily. Your cheeks were tinted pink from the frosty weather. The cold weather made your bad mood worse.
Despite winter being your favorite season, today was way too cold and your mood wasn't the brightest. Your fingers reached up to grasp the fabric of your scarf, and you started pulling at it aggressively. An annoyed huff left your lips as you tried to untangle the mess.
“Namjoon!” you shouted again, eyes focused only on removing your scarf, and you didn't notice that there were other people beside your brother in the house. “Did you hear me? I—”
Oh.
Six unfamiliar pairs of eyes stared at you in surprise.
“Uh, Joon?” you squeaked out. Your fingers froze, still tangled with your scarf.
Your brother pinched his nose in exasperation before he flashed his friends an awkward grin, “Sorry, guys. This is my little sister, Y/N. Don't mind her, she's a little crazy in the head sometimes.”
“Yah!” you snapped. A deep chuckle broke through the chaos and your eyes were quick to glance over at the source.
You swore you had never seen such a beautiful man in your life before. He was the embodiment of your type. His beauty made you completely forget about the ridiculous math formulas and the low exam score you received.
You watched as he confidently stood up from the couch and extended his hand, “Hi, I'm Taehyung.”
Hi, I think you're the love of my life. You thought to yourself as you gawked at him.
Your eyes trailed to his outstretched hand, as if it were a foreign thing to you. Namjoon could see Taehyung’s face slowly falling as he realized you weren't reaching out to return his gesture.
Namjoon coughed loudly, breaking you out of your trance. You hurriedly grasped Taehyung’s hand and your knees almost buckled. You've never thought a human hand could fit so perfectly with yours. Your heart thumped faster as a boxy smile appeared on Taehyung’s face.
“Hi.” you breathed out. Taehyung’s smile grew wider and he squeezed your hand before letting it go.
Namjoon raised an eyebrow at your interaction but shrugged it off, “This is Jin and Yoongi hyung, Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook too.” As he listed their names, your eyes trailed over to each boy who gave you a small bow of their head or a smile.
“Hi. Nice to meet you guys.” you awkwardly stated. You nervously shifted in place before sticking your thumb toward the direction of your room. “I'm gonna go—I, yeah.”
You were quick to spin around and scamper away. Your ears picked up the familiar deep chuckle which caused your heart to skip a beat.
That night, you wrote a letter for the first time.
Dear Taehyung,
I think you're an angel who fell from heaven to thaw my frozen heart.
A few years passed, and your crush on Taehyung grew stronger. Out of the boys that Namjoon befriended, you were closest with the youngest three; Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung. That doesn't mean you weren't close with the others. You were just closer in age to the three.
No one knew of your crush except for Jimin. He immediately figured it out when he noticed your eyes seemed to always shine around Taehyung’s presence.
“You like him.” Jimin muttered with wide eyes, his gaze flickering back and forth between you and Taehyung.
You tensed up and choked out a nervous laugh, “What nonsense are you going on about now?”
“Oh, please.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “You can’t put up an act around me. I see right through you.”
“Jimin.” you sighed.
Jimin softened, “Y/N.”
“He can’t know.” Was all you said.
Jimin was quiet for a moment before he spoke, “Can you handle it? Bottling your feelings inside?”
You didn’t answer. Jimin sighed and leaned down to place his head on your shoulder.
Jungkook, on the other hand, was dense and never picked up the small signs. He couldn't even tell if someone liked him or not. Taehyung was similar in that way but he knew enough to pick up the signs when a girl was crushing on him. Yet, when it came to you, he was completely oblivious.
“Hey, are you going to the grad party tonight?” You glanced up from your laptop at the sound of a soft knock on your door. Your roommate, Sunni, had a hopeful look on her face. You weren't exactly a party person and preferred to stay in rather than go out. Sunni could see the distaste on your face already and was quick to blurt out, “Taehyung will be there.”
You gave her a wary stare, but Sunni didn't budge. She raised an eyebrow, “And so will Jimin and Jungkook, y'know our friends, your best friends? Look, it's Jimin and Taehyung’s senior year before they go out in the real world. Are you really going to skip out on their last hurrah?”
Your face fell at that. It was their last year. You and Jungkook were only in your second year so you still had some time before you would graduate.
“Fine, but only because it’s for Jimin and Tae,” you grumbled, which caused Sunni to squeal.
“Come on! We need to find you an outfit!” Sunni was quick to walk to your closet and rummage through your rack of clothes.
“Seriously?” You whined. “I just organized my closet.”
“Relax.” Sunni scoffed, “You’re acting as if I will make a complete mess. I’m a clean freak, you know that, but that’s beside the point. We need to find something sexy but cute.”
“I’m not trying to impress anyone, Sunni.” you snickered as you continued to type out your assignment for your English class.
“You should! You're beautiful, sexy, and smart!” Sunni exclaimed with wide eyes. “Anyone would be lucky to date you!”
You laughed at her statement, “Thanks, Sunni.”
“Now, put your assignment aside for the night.” Sunni grabbed a white lace halter top and a light blue jean skirt. A huge grin appeared on her face, “Because tonight, we're gonna party.”
You sighed fondly, a grin plastered on your face as well.
You needed to let loose tonight.
By the time you and Sunni finished getting ready, the time for the party to start was approaching. The two of you took Sunni’s car and drove to the location of the party. From what Sunni told you on the way there, it was a senior’s house that they recently bought with a couple of other people.
Sunni squealed as the two of you walked toward the entrance, “I'm so excited! You'll have a lot of fun, I promise!”
You merely laughed. You could only hope. Parties and you never mesh well together.
You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket and reached back to grab it. A smile appeared on your face seeing that it was a text from Jimin. You didn't tell anyone that you were going as you wanted it to be a surprise.
Jimin: you're here???
You: surprise!! where are you??
Jimin: fuck
You: ???
Jimin: stay by the front door, ill come get you
You: jimin you're scaring me
Jimin left you on read and didn't answer which caused you to furrow your eyebrows anxiously. Your heart was beating rapidly and you glanced up to try to find Jimin. You felt a little calmer when you saw a familiar blonde coming your way.
“Jimin!” you shouted over the loud music, your eyes flickering around his face. “What’s wrong?”
Jimin gave you a pitying look, “If I had known you were coming, I would've warned you.”
“What?” you muttered with knitted brows.
“Lina is here. With Taehyung.”
Oh.
Lina was Taehyung’s first girlfriend. The two had an on-and-off relationship since their freshman year. They would get into arguments, break up, and then get back together in a couple of weeks. Jimin didn't like her nor did the rest of the guys. They all believed Taehyung deserved better and Lina knew the hold she had on him so she would always come back to him because he would too.
“They're back together?” Was all you could bring yourself to say.
Jimin rolled his eyes and took a big sip of alcohol from his cup, “Don't get me started. It's complicated, according to Taehyung. He and I got into a small argument about it and he's ignoring me right now.”
“Tae? Ignoring you?” You gaped at him. Jimin gave you a sad smile and shrugged.
“Maybe you can smack some sense into him, Y/N.” Jimin sighed and his eyes softened, “He just, I don't know, he seems to only listen to you somehow.”
“Don't say that.” you mumbled as you rubbed your forehead.
Jimin shrugged, “It’s true, but anyways, no more of this nonsense. Let's go drink and celebrate me finally graduating.” he grabbed your hand and paused, “And find Jungkook. God knows where that kid is.”
You snorted.
As Jimin guided you through the huge crowd, you subconsciously searched for Taehyung. You believed what Jimin told you but you just wanted to see it for yourself.
Maybe this is your sign to finally move on from him.
You loved him since you were fifteen.
You couldn't do this to yourself anymore.
Just as you were about to step into the kitchen, your eyes met a familiar pair of warm brown eyes. Your breath hitched. Taehyung’s eyes slightly widened upon registering that you were actually there. You noticed he slightly tensed up which caused Lina, who was sitting on his lap, to lean toward him and whisper something.
You gave him a small smile and looked away before he could return it.
“Find me a strong drink, Jimin.”
Jimin glanced back and smirked, “You don't have to tell me twice.”
You and Jimin ventured further into the kitchen and the two of you finally made it to the nearby table where all the drinks were. Coincidentally, you found Jungkook there.
“Y/N!” Jungkook gasped. His eyes lit up in complete joy and he rushed to embrace you, “I thought you said you weren't coming?”
“Yeah, but Sunni managed to convince me.” You smiled and paused, taking a glance around the area, “Who—I don't know where she went.”
“I saw her with her little boyfriend, Jaemin.” Jimin took a sip from his cup. “I think she'll be fine.”
You sighed in relief. You knew she was in good hands at least.
“I could treat her better but whatever.” Jungkook rolled his eyes. He had a slight crush on Sunni but you knew Sunni wasn't really that interested and Jungkook knew that but he liked to joke around about it.
You snorted, “Sure, pal.”
“Thanks, best friend.” Jungkook sarcastically muttered. He turned around and grabbed an unopened can of beer. “Oh! Here. I know you don't like super-strong alcohol.”
“Thanks, Kook.” You gave him a genuine smile, “But, uh, I think I'd be down to drink some of that strong alcohol today.”
Jungkook’s jaw lightly dropped, “Who are you and what have you done to my Y/N?” he paused and frowned, “Wait, who's dying tonight? Who are we killing?” Jimin snorted and you snickered.
Your heart warmed. Jungkook was truly your best friend. “No one, doofus. I just want to let loose tonight.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Jimin, who gave him a nod, “Hmmm. . . If you say so.” he passed you his cup, “Take mine. I'll grab a new one.”
“No—it's okay.” You shook your head but Jungkook didn't budge.
“Take the cup. I don't trust anyone here.”
“I agree.” Jimin clicked his tongue and pointed to the cup.
“You guys are too much.” You chuckled but they knew you didn't mean it.
“Yeah, love you too.” Jungkook grinned, “Okay, I'll be right back and we’ll party.”
“Are we going to get Tae?” you asked and Jungkook immediately rolled his eyes.
“Not if he's with her. I'm passing on that.”
Jimin slapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulders, “It's nice having someone who understands.”
You sighed, “If she makes him happy, we should be happy for him.”
“Dude.” Jungkook deadpanned, “She’s literally the devil reincarnated. Taehyung experiences more sorrow than joy.”
Jimin cackled loudly at that. You opened your mouth to say something but found no words.
“Okay, be right back!” Jungkook turned and went to get a new drink.
“He needs to learn the hard way, Y/N.” Jimin told you once Jungkook was out of earshot.
You didn't answer, merely drowning some alcohol down.
You had a few drinks in you now and you knew you were most definitely buzzed. Your head pounded as you continued to dance with Jimin and Jungkook.
“Wait, guys.” You huffed and stopped in your tracks to hold your head. “I think I'm going to get some water. My head’s killing me.”
The two stopped and gave you a concerned look.
“I'll go with you.” Jimin didn't hesitate to offer but you shook your head and smiled.
“No, no. It's okay. I'll be back quickly.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, “You sure?”
“Yeah.” you nodded with a laugh. Jimin reluctantly let you go and you started to make your way through the crowd, muttering apologies as you passed by.
You finally reached the kitchen and grabbed a cold unopened water bottle from the cooler.
“Hey, you're Y/N, right?” You looked up to see a somewhat familiar guy. He looked decently handsome and you recognized him as one of your classmates.
“Oh, hey! Luke, right?”
Luke smiled, “Yeah! I didn't know you were a party type of person. You don't seem like one.”
“Ah.” you chuckled, “I know some of the seniors that this party is for and they're my best friends so I came out to celebrate with them.”
“That’s nice.” Luke grinned before his posture shifted into a more nervous stance, “Uh, this is really random and super out of the blue, but I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me? I think you're really cool.”
Oh wow. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. Luke was handsome but he wasn't really your type. He was quite far from it.
“Oh, I'm sorry.” You gave him a sympathetic smile, “I'm not really interested but you seem like a great guy.”
Almost immediately, Luke’s entire energy changed. His eyes grew dark and a snarky look appeared on his face.
“Whatever. You're not all that anyway.”
“What did you just say?” The two of you turned your heads to see Taehyung glaring harshly at Luke.
“Tae.” you were quick to say, standing up taller to hold him back from potentially throwing a punch.
“No.” Taehyung shook his head and stepped closer to you, his hand reached out to place his palm on your lower back. You tensed up at the touch and glanced up at him with wide eyes.
Taehyung’s eyes darkened as his glare remained on Luke, “I suggest you walk away before I do something I’ll regret.”
Luke scoffed. “What? Is she your girl or something?”
“Yeah.” Taehyung raised a stern brow, “So listen to what I said and walk the fuck away.” You froze.
What?
Luke rolled his eyes and scoffed again, mumbling incoherent phrases under his breath as he walked away.
You continued to stare at Taehyung in shock.
Taehyung quickly glanced down at you and his eyes softened. His brows furrowed in concern, “You okay? He didn't try anything right?”
“No,” you reassured him. “You—You didn't have to do that y'know.”
“I'll always protect you,” Taehyung stated with knitted eyebrows, confused as to why you would say such a thing. “You know that.”
“I know.” You closed your eyes for a brief moment, “I'm talking about me being your girl.”
Taehyung paused. His mouth opened and closed before a sigh left his lips, “It worked, didn't it?”
You pursed your lips, “Yeah, I guess.”
He noticed the water bottle in your hand and glanced back at your face, his eyes flickered around, “You drank a lot tonight, didn't you?” It wasn't really a question, but rather a statement because he knew the answer.
He knew you.
He always did.
“Want me to take you home?” Taehyung asked softly.
“What?” you muttered in disbelief.
“I'm kinda sick of the party already and you look tired. I can take you back to your apartment.” Taehyung shrugged.
You glanced over to the crowd of moving bodies and spotted Jimin and Jungkook who were a part of some dance train. Taehyung followed your stare and exhaled sharply.
“Go.” he nodded his head toward their direction, “Let them know. I can go start the car.” You gave him a hesitant look and he gave you a small smile, “I didn't drink tonight if that's what you're worried about. I wasn't in the mood.”
“Okay.” you sighed and Taehyung grinned. He tapped the tip of your nose before he left. Your heart raced. This was not good for you. So much for trying to move on.
You started to make your way back to Jimin and Jungkook. The two noticed you immediately and cheered.
“Hey!” Jungkook shouted, “What took so long?”
“Some guy hit on me.” you answered before trailing off, “And Taehyung rescued me.” Jimin and Jungkook shared a look.
“He's taking you home now, isn't he?” Jimin questioned and you only gave him a timid smile in response. Jimin sighed and pulled you into his arms, “Let me know when you're home then okay?”
Jungkook pouted and pulled you into a hug after Jimin released you, “Me too. If Taehyung does something, I don't care how long I've known him, I will fight him if something happens to you.”
You laughed. You did not doubt that Jungkook would actually do it.
“I will.” you smiled, “Bye.” The two shared their goodbyes, and you went to find Sunni to let her know you would be leaving too. You spotted her in one of the corners chatting with some people.
“Y/N!” Sunni squealed. She turned to her group, “Guys this is my cutie roommate, Y/N.” You gave her friends a small wave and smiled.
“I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving now,” you informed her, and she gave you a concerned look.
“You're taking an Uber?” Sunni asked.
“No, Tae’s taking me home.”
Sunni raised an eyebrow at that, “Hm. Okay, stay safe, I'll be home soon too.” You nodded and gave her a quick hug before leaving to find Taehyung.
You reached the entrance and grabbed your shoes, putting them on and exiting the party. You were quick to spot Taehyung who was leaning against his car and scrolling through his phone.
At the sound of your footsteps, he glanced up and gave you a grin, “Took you long enough. Did you say bye to everyone in that house? I didn't know you were so popular.”
You rolled your eyes and let out a mocking laugh, “Haha. So funny, but I did, so we can go now.”
Taehyung chuckled and opened the passenger door for you to get in. Your heart warmed at the stupid action. It's the bare minimum, Y/N. Snap out of it.
Once you were inside, Taehyung quickly made it over to the driver’s seat and began to drive out. You buckled your seatbelt as did he and you felt yourself slightly shiver.
“Cold?” Taehyung asked, reaching to adjust the air conditioner already.
“I'm okay, thanks,” you said. A few moments of silence passed before you decided to take a bold step, “So, I heard you're back with Lina?”
Taehyung sighed. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, “No. It's just—complicated.”
“Isn't it always?” you huffed softly which made him crack a smile.
“Well.” you decided to change the subject as it seemed like Taehyung didn't really want to talk about his situation with Lina, “You're graduating soon, what are you gonna do after?”
“I don't even know.” Taehyung laughed softly, “Maybe apply to work at some art museum. I've always loved art.”
“And you're also really good at creating art,” you interjected.
Taehyung glanced over at you and grinned. He turned back to the road and shook his head fondly. “You're too kind Y/N.”
“I’m serious!” you whined. “You should really sell your art. I know I would buy it!”
“You're just saying that because you already know me.”
“I would buy your art in a heartbeat even if you were a complete stranger to me.” you were quick to snap back. Taehyung peered back at you for a brief moment and smiled.
“What would I do without my biggest supporter, huh?”
“Probably not know how to survive in this chaotic world.” you joked.
Taehyung paused for a second before a soft smile grew on his face. He looked over at you and a breathy laugh left his lips, “Yeah. True. I wouldn't.”
You fell quiet. The sound that only you could hear was the thunderous pounding of your heart beating against your rib cage.
That night after Taehyung dropped you off at your apartment and made sure you had everything you needed. You wrote your sixth letter.
Dear Taehyung,
I told myself I would finally work on getting over you, but tonight, you just had to go and mess it all up for me. You set me back to square one. I'm scared.
Time flew by and now you were a senior. You still kept in contact with Jimin after he graduated but with Taehyung, you slowly lost contact with him. It hurt when it happened, but you realized maybe this was a blessing from the universe, it had given you a chance to finally move on.
“Hey! You ready?” The sound of Jungkook’s voice broke you from your thoughts. A huge smile grew on your face at the sight of him. His outfit mirrored yours, a red cap and gown, and his neck adorned with numerous medals and cords.
“Hey, fellow grad.” you laughed. Jungkook chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully. “Yeah, I'm ready. We're starting soon?”
“Yeah. So get your valedictorian ass up on that stage already.” Jungkook clicked his tongue, nodding his head toward the stage.
“Says you salutatorian.” You snorted and linked your arms with his.
Jungkook scoffed and nudged you, “Can't believe you beat my ass by one point.”
You stuck your tongue out at him which caused him to nudge you a little harder. You laughed loudly and the two of you made it onto the stage. You both took your seats as the president of your university walked up to the podium.
You glanced out in the crowd, taking in the faces of your fellow peers and friends. A smile appeared on your face when you spotted Sunni in the crowd. The girl gave you a wink that made you let out a quiet chuckle.
You hear the president introducing Jungkook as salutatorian which signaled that he would go up to present his speech.
“Wish me luck.” Jungkook whispered and you gave him a bright grin and two thumbs up.
“You got this. Make me proud, Kook.”
Jungkook chuckled and walked up to the podium. His speech almost made you cry but you held it in. You couldn't cry right before you would present your own speech.
“And finally, my greatest gratitude goes to my ride or die, Y/N L/N. Without her, I genuinely would've not survived these past four years. She's my confidant and best friend. She pushed me to be the best version of myself and I'm so thankful that I have someone like her in my life. So, Y/N, valedictorian of this wonderful class, it's your turn to be the tearjerker.” The crowd laughed loudly and you giggled as you stood up to walk to the podium.
You pulled Jungkook into a tight hug and Jungkook gripped you tighter. You rubbed his back and whispered, “Love you.”
“Love you more.” he whispered back before the two of you pulled apart. His eyes were glistening with tears and you cooed which made him scoff. You laughed before taking his spot at the podium.
You sighed deeply into the microphone before a smile appeared on your face, “Good morning, faculty and students. Today is the day. The day we all close our books and write a new one. It's definitely scary to step into a chaotic world without knowing what is actually waiting out there for us but I know how all of you are. You're strong, bright, and determined. You’re all hard workers and today is proof of that.”
Your eyes flickered around the crowd and you noticed your parents beaming with pride. Namjoon was right beside them, tears visible in his eyes and you almost wanted to burst out laughing. He swore he wouldn't cry and yet here he was, not keeping his word. You notice the boys standing with him too. Yoongi, Jin, Hobi, and Jimin. Your heart cracked at the sight of no Taehyung. Maybe he's late.
He promised he would come to your graduation.
“When you graduate, I'll make sure to be the loudest there.” Taehyung placed his pinky out in front of you.
“Really?” you snickered and raised an inquisitive brow.
Taehyung grinned widely, “Scout’s honor.”
You laughed and intertwined your pinky with his. Taehyung's smile grew wider and he tapped your nose with his pointer finger causing your heart to warm.
You cleared your throat and focused back on the crowd of students in front of you. You inhaled sharply before continuing your speech, “In life, there are things and people you must keep and let go of. To those who stood with you through thick and thin, never scared to go against the odds that were against you, keep them. People like them are very hard to come by.” The crowd laughed in agreement. You cracked a smile.
“And sometimes you have to let go of those who mattered most even when it's the complete opposite of what you want. I want you to know that it's okay. It's a part of the cycle. Continue on and bloom. You live only once and you must make the most of it. You can't be the reason or let anyone be the reason why you're held back from greatness. So when you leave today, choose yourself. Choose happiness, choose love, and choose to do what makes you happy. It's okay to be selfish so live for yourself.” The auditorium erupted in claps and cheers and you swore you could hear a loud sniffle behind you. You immediately knew it was Jungkook.
“And I want you to know that you’ll always have a friend in me. You call, I run. So my fellow graduates, today we cheer for us and for our beautiful futures. Congratulations, you finished the first half of your journey. Keep soaring.” You smiled brightly and everyone in the audience stood up and cheered deafeningly.
The top ten of your class were first to walk the stage which included you and Jungkook. Then one by one, every student walked across the stage with their degree. After the president of your university shared his farewells and thanks, the students dispersed to their respective families.
“My baby!” your mother cried out as she rushed toward you. You groaned affectionately when she reached up to cup your cheeks. “I'm so proud of you!”
“Thank you, Mom.” You laughed.
Your dad sniffed and wiped a tear that fell down his face. “I can't believe how grown you are now.”
“Yeah, can you go back to that kid who would always trail after me?” Namjoon walked up to you with a tearful smile and you scoffed. He pulled you into a tight hug which made you let out an ‘oof’ sound. “I'm serious. Can you go back?”
“Love you too, Joon.” You patted his back and he sniffled on your shoulders which caused you to snort. The two of you pulled away and Jin walked up to you with a proud smile.
“Congrats, Y/Nie!” Jin cheered and he pinched your cheeks.
“Jin!” You whined and rubbed your face. Jin snickered at your reaction.
“Congratulations, Y/N.” Yoongi smiled and you beamed.
“Thanks, Yoongi!”
“Congrats! I got you this flower lei!” Hobi sent you a heart-shaped smile. You gasped and bent your head down slightly so he could place the lei around your neck.
“It's so beautiful! Thanks, Hobi!”
“Where’s my lei at?” You hear Jungkook let out a scandalized gasp from behind you.
“Jungkookie! Congrats, sweetie!” your mom cheered as she gushed over him. Jungkook’s cheeks burned red and he grew bashful.
“Ah, thank you, Auntie.” Jungkook gave her a soft smile.
Your dad slapped a hand on his shoulders and gave him a grin, “Congrats, kid.” Jungkook beamed and thanked him as well. Everyone followed in congratulating him and you chuckled at the sight.
“There's my favorite girl.” You turned to see Jimin beaming at you happily. You squealed and rushed to hug him.
“I missed you so much,” you muttered into his shoulders. Jimin chuckled and squeezed you tightly.
“I missed you more.”
“Taehyung?” you whispered so that only you and Jimin could hear. He gave you a sad smile and shook his head.
Your face fell, “He’s really not here?”
“I’m sorry, Y/Nie.” Jimin mumbled sadly.
Your heart dropped to your stomach. You thought he was probably just late but to know that he just never attended broke you.
“It’s okay.” You gave him a light smile. “I’m just happy you were able to come. I know how busy you've been with work and traveling.”
Jimin blew out a breath and shook his head, “I love my job but it is so exhausting with the constant business meetings.” You laughed at that.
“So, Y/Nie.” Jin wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you turned to see that everyone was surrounding you and Jimin. “I heard you're moving abroad?”
Your dad grinned at that, pride was clear on his face, “Y/N here got a really big offer to manage this art museum in Paris. I think it's called the Louvre.”
“You're moving to Paris?” Jungkook gaped at you in shock and you winced, “And working at the Louvre?”
“Surprise?” you sheepishly said. Your mom slapped your dad on the arm which caused a guilty look to appear on his face. “I was going to reveal it at our celebration party but Dad here got too excited.”
“Hey! I'm a proud father, okay?” your dad defended himself. Everyone laughed.
“I know I don't say it a lot, but I'm really proud of you, Y/N.” Namjoon smiled, his dimples poking from his cheeks.
You pouted and you felt yourself tear up. “Don't say that, I'm going to cry now.”
Namjoon laughed loudly and pulled you into an embrace.
“Okay, let's go party now please!” Jungkook pleaded and you rolled your eyes with a snort.
“Yeah, let's go.”
You were all back at your family’s house and it was surrounded by family and friends. You spent a lot of time mingling but you needed a breather. So you were currently sitting on the balcony from your room.
“Y/N?” You turned to see Jimin at the entrance of your room. He smiled at you, “Thought I’d find you here. Can I come in?”
You gave him a small grin and nod. You turned back to stare out at the night sky and sighed. You felt Jimin taking a seat beside you. The sound of the breeze and the chittering of insects was heard through the peaceful silence.
“He tried to come.” Jimin muttered.
You swallowed, “What happened?”
“Lina.”
You scoffed.
“They're back together? Again?”
“I don't know.” Jimin breathed out.
You took a large sip from your cup and rubbed your eyes, “I’m tired, Jimin.”
“I know.” he whispered.
“I can't keep going on like this.”
“Then why do you?”
A shaky sigh left your lips, “Because somewhere inside of me, I believe that maybe there is a chance. Maybe everything he's done for me was because it was in his interest in me. Why would he pretend that I was his girl that one night? Why is he always the first one to my rescue when I need saving? Why, Jimin, why?”
“I don't know why,” Jimin answered softly. “But what I know is that a few months after our graduation, he stopped trying to stay in contact with you.”
You got quiet and you turned to face him, "How do you know that?”
He cracked a sad smile, “Because he always asks me how you are.” You froze. “And whenever I ask why can't he ask you himself, he gets quiet.”
Your breath hitched and you felt your eyes sting with tears. You were quick to glance away from Jimin and stare back out at the sky. The moon seemed to shine brighter all of a sudden.
“What happened to you two?” Jimin asked quietly.
A few moments of silence passed.
“We grew up,” you answered. “I grew up. I think I stopped trying.”
Jimin hummed. “I’m proud of you. Really.”
You cracked a smile at that.
“Will you ever give him your letters?” Jimin questioned faintly.
You were quiet for a while. Your letters were sacred to you. It contained every honest and raw feeling you had for Taehyung. Maybe this whole time you could never move on was because you still held on to those letters. Maybe the key was to let them go. If you give it to him, you'll finally move on.
You turned to Jimin, “I think I will.” Jimin gave you a surprise look, “I think I will finally be able to let go of him if I do it.”
“Besides, I won't have to face him any time soon.”
Jimin looked at you confused now.
You sighed, “I leave tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”
Jimin’s eyes widened, “Y/N.”
“I know.” you exhaled sharply. “But this is what I worked for my whole life. This is it.”
“Everyone knows?” Jimin asked.
“Only my parents and Joon right now. I plan to tell the others later when I go back down.” You replied.
The sound of Namjoon yelling Jimin’s name from downstairs was heard which caused the two of you to look toward your bedroom door.
“Someone’s being called.” you snickered.
Jimin sighed and chuckled lightly. He got up from his seat and gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m here for you through everything, okay?”
You smiled back and nodded, “Thanks.”
Jimin winked and turned to leave but stopped when you called out to him.
“Hey, Jimin?” He gave you a confused look. “Do you think you can give the letters to Tae?” his eyes softened and he nodded.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Thank you.” you breathed. Jimin gave you one last smile before leaving.
You felt your phone vibrate and you saw that it was a text from Taehyung. Your heart dropped. The two of you hadn’t texted in months.
Taehyung: i’m sorry i wasn’t at your graduation, i tried really hard to. congratulations y/n, i’m proud of you :)
A lump formed in your throat and you felt your eyes well up with tears. You decided to ignore his text and face the night sky again.
That night, you wrote your goodbye to Taehyung.
Taehyung,
I graduated today and you weren't there. I read your text and I chose to ignore it.. I think if I answered I would’ve lost all the progress I made. I think this is for the best anyway. I spent the better half of my teenage years in love with you and that journey taught me a lot. You taught me a lot. Even though we don't talk anymore, you're still one of the most important people in my life.
Goodbye Taehyung,
I'll always love you.
It was the next day, and you had to leave for your job now. Everyone was at the airport, teary-eyed but filled with happiness. You took in everyone’s faces and pouted.
“I'm going to miss you all so much.” you cried and rushed to try and hug everyone. Your mother cooed and caressed your hair as she tried to calm you down but it didn't really help. Your sobs were muffled against Namjoon's shoulders and you could hear that he was crying too. You pulled back, eyes brimming with tears.
“Okay, no more tears please.” Jungkook sniffled. He used the end of his sleeve to wipe any stray tears and gave you a sad frown, “I’m mad that you're leaving me but happy for you because you're achieving your dreams.”
You laughed tearfully and pulled the taller man into a hug. He was quick to squeeze you tightly.
One by one, you hugged everyone one last time. Namjoon sported a proud grin but his red eyes gave away his true emotions which made your heart break. He was your big brother and seeing your little sister leaving wasn't easy. Jin, and surprisingly, Yoongi looked about the same as Namjoon. Hobi was a complete mess, sniffling into his tissue every now and then. Jimin looked like he was about to break down but he held it in pretty well.
You hugged Jimin last and the blonde man made sure to hold you tighter and longer. When you pulled back, you handed him a stack of sealed letters that were tied with a red string. Jimin immediately recognized what they were and gave you a sad smile.
“Thank you.” Your voice cracked.
“Of course.” Jimin muttered back before hugging you again. You breathed out a shaky sigh and squeezed him.
The two of you broke apart and you gave everyone a small smile before slowly departing. Once your back was turned toward them, your heart grew heavier.
This will be good for you. This is what you need.
Jimin hasn't seen Taehyung in a while. The two of them were quite busy, Jimin with the numerous meetings with different businessmen and Taehyung being the head of managing a renowned art museum.
The two were still close but not as much as they were in college, especially now that Taehyung was back together with Lina. They rarely ever talk now.
For you though, Jimin had to break the silence. He had to. It was for your own well-being. You deserved better and he wanted to make sure you would.
Jimin was in front of Taehyung’s apartment door and with a sigh, he knocked. A few minutes went by before the door opened. Taehyung’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of Jimin.
“Jimin.” Taehyung breathed out. “Hi! Uh—come in.” he stepped aside for the blonde to walk in and Jimin gave him a tight-lipped smile as he stepped inside.
“Lina’s not here is she?” Jimin cleared his throat.
Taehyung inhaled sharply and shook his head, “No. It’s over between us.”
“Really?” Jimin sarcastically laughed. His eyes were dark with anger, “You sure? Because I’ve heard that phrase a million times now.”
Taehyung sighed and clenched his jaw, “I’m serious. It’s over.”
“You missed her graduation.” Jimin snapped.
“I know.” Taehyung retorted harshly. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and rubbed his face, “I’ve been beating myself over it since last night, okay? Lina completely fucked me over and I couldn't get out of the plans she made because it was a done deal. I got even more pissed finding out that she purposely made the plans on Y/N and Jungkook’s graduation so I would miss it.”
Jimin’s lips parted in shock. His eyes softened and any fury in his body vanished.
“What are you doing here anyway?” Taehyung muttered tiredly, “We haven't talked in forever and I know it's awkward between us right now.”
“Y/N.” Jimin answered.
Taehyung froze.
“What about her?” Taehyung muttered softly. His voice dropped to that particular tone that he always spoke in whenever he talked about you.
Jimin didn't respond. He merely grabbed something from his back pocket and handed it to Taehyung.
Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed together at the stack of letters in Jimin’s hands. He hesitantly reached out to grab it and his heart dropped at the familiar handwriting.
Taehyung. His name was written in a beautiful elegant cursive. He knew this was you.
“What is this?” Taehyung choked out.
“Just—” Jimin sighed, “Just read it.”
Taehyung swallowed harshly before he slowly opened the first letter on top of the stack. A neatly folded paper was in the envelope and he gradually unfolded it.
His eyes trailed over the words.
May 3rd, 2012.
That was the day you two met.
Dear Taehyung,
I think you're an angel who fell from heaven to thaw my frozen heart.
Taehyung’s breath hitched.
His eyes frantically read the words over and over again.
He moved to the next letter.
Dear Taehyung,
Is this love? I think it is. I always hear the birds singing louder whenever you're near. Maybe I'm just crazy, but maybe I'm not. Because I swear every time you smile at me, my heart jumps into the shape of your smile.
Taehyung’s eyes started to burn.
Dear Taehyung,
You're the only person who doesn't make me feel like I'm alone. I love Jimin and Jungkook but sometimes I don't think they understand me. Thank you for being that person for me. I don't know what I would do without you. I'm scared, Taehyung. I think I'm falling harder.
A shaky breath left Taehyung’s lips and he felt like his knees were about to buckle.
Dear Taehyung,
Today was the worst and best day ever for me. I hated going on the roller coasters but your encouragement pushed me not to be scared. You made today fun. You always knew how to make me feel better, and that still scares me. I don't think I can ever shake you out of my system.
Taehyung let out a choked cry as his knees started to quiver. Jimin started to tear up at the distraught sight of him.
Dear Taehyung,
You left for college today. I cried two times after you and Jimin said goodbye. I hope college treats you well. I know you will do amazing things and I can't wait to hear about them. Remember that I'll always be in your corner! Fighting!
Taehyung felt himself drop to the floor. A trembling whimper left him as he read the next letter.
Dear Taehyung,
I told myself I would finally work on getting over you, but tonight, you just had to go and mess it all up for me. You set me back to square one. I'm scared.
The hole in Taehyung’s chest grew. His vision started to get blurry as he continued to read.
Dear Taehyung,
I think I am completely and irrevocably in love with you. Every time you laugh, my heart turns into a mess. Every time you tap my nose, my heart decides it's only you. I'm really scared now. What should I do, Taehyung? You've wrecked me entirely.
A stifled sob escaped Taehyung. His head hurts now and his heart burns.
Dear Taehyung,
It's been a few months since you graduated now and I miss you. A lot. You're a big manager at your dream art museum now and I couldn't be more happier for you! I still think you should sell your art and I hope you do one day! Maybe, I'll work at the Louvre and your art will be displayed!
A few tears fell onto the next letter and Taehyung felt his heart drop at the first few words.
Dear Taehyung,
My graduation is coming up and I'm valedictorian. Jungkook is super salty over it but I hope you're proud of me! We haven't talked in months now and I tried keeping in contact but I guess our lives just got too busy. I miss when we were careless kids laughing over stupid things. I got a job offer at the Louvre too! Crazy, right?! It was a big surprise for me but I'm super happy! I hope to see you at my graduation and tell you all about it! Love you. Miss you.
Taehyung leaned back against his couch and let out a shaky breath. His hand came up to wipe away his tears.
Taehyung,
I graduated today and you weren't there. I read your text and I chose to ignore it.. I think if I answered I would’ve lost all the progress I made. I think this is for the best anyway. I spent the better half of my teenage years in love with you and that journey taught me a lot. You taught me a lot. Even though we don't talk anymore, you're still one of the most important people in my life.
Goodbye Taehyung,
I'll always love you.
This was the last letter and Taehyung knew this was it. He noticed there was no ‘Dear’. You had let him go. Taehyung grasped at his chest and cried. Jimin, who stood watching him, quietly sniffled, his heart clenching in pain for his friend.
“She kept looking for you at her graduation.” Jimin revealed gently.
That didn't help Taehyung at all, it only caused him to cry harder. He glanced up at Jimin with swollen eyes, “Where is she?”
Jimin was quiet.
Taehyung grew anxious. He felt his eyes sting, “Jimin. Where is she?”
“She’s gone, Tae.” Jimin quietly replied, “She left for Paris.”
Taehyung felt his whole world collapse.
You were right there in front of him this whole time and he was so blind.
oh youre JOKING !! everyone go support my best friend !! a good friend of mine for many years 😙 SHE HAS JOINED BANGTUMBLR FINALLY !! i will be reading this tonight and you guys better too 🙂↕️ she doesnt disappoint in anything she creates !!
Writing Tips for getting started + posting on Tumblr
This post is made in addition to @sftlrmin's ask. It's mostly just me rambling about my thought process whenever I start a new fic but I'll also be explaining how I post on here, as well as linking a few helpful sites if you want to make your posts/blog look more appealing. If this isn't something that you're interested in then you can scroll again <3
Writing is a highly individual practice I'd say. Not everyone's process looks the same. I have friends who prefer to plot out their story before even putting the pen to the paper, and that's fine too. You should write the way you feel comfortable with. I fall in the category of people who just write without any real plan as I prefer to just jump into the story and see where it takes me. However, there are still a few things I like to know before getting started.
GETTING TO KNOW YOUR CHARACTERS
This is so important because your characters should be so much more than the words on the page. I'll be using Help Wanted as an example throughout the entire post because I feel like we're all familiar with the story. When I first started writing HW I already had a very clear picture of who Jungkook was and this goes beyond what I've shown in the series so far.
I don't think anyone has missed the fact that HW!Jungkook suffers some type of OCD. That was a part of his character which I knew well before starting that I wanted to add. Though rather than having him explicitly state it out loud, I opted for leaving subtle cues in the fic. This goes for every other character in the series. I know what happened to the mother, I know how it affected the different characters. Using that leverage I can mold the characters the way I want to and add depth to them. There's so much more going on behind the scenes and in my mind than what I end up writing which is what makes the characters come alive I think. So definitely spend time getting to know your different characters before you start writing, that way you can start without essentially any plot and still write good and believable people into your fic!
THE OPENING OF YOUR FIC
Should intrigue the readers right away and keep their attention. With HW I chose to start when she stands outside the house. I explain briefly that the reader has already applied for this job, why she needs it and what is expected of her as well as her previous experience. With that out of the way I can jump into action right away, which is usually a lot more fun for readers to engage with.
The opening scene doesn't have to be anything dramatic or action packed, as long as it immerses the readers into the plot but still leaves questions that they want answers to.
WRITE AND WRITE AGAIN
The scariest part is undoubtedly starting the fic itself. My biggest advice is to just go for it. Write whatever comes to mind and let it unfold, the more you think the more you'll stall. You can always go back and delete it, write it again, make edits etc... So don't be scared to actually put something on the doc, even if you in that very moment hate it. Sometimes I need to take a break and come back to the draft after a day and read it over with new eyes. A lot of times you're usually too stuck in your own head to see how good your story actually is.
SHOW DON'T TELL
Possibly a pet peeve of mine but showing instead of telling makes your writing feel much more alive. If you tell us everything then the story feels kind of flat, more like reading a script. What I'm trying to convey with this is: make the characters talk less and have them show more. Instead of making a character verbalise their feelings by saying "I'm scared" or "I don't like this" show it by focusing on their body language. Avoiding eye contact, wiping sweat from their hands, swallowing repeatedly and being overtly quiet/loud (depending on their character). There are many good accounts on Tumblr that go into detail on different body language cues to use, I'll link some at the end of the post!
PACING
Knowing when to slow down and when to pick up momentum is a key detail (that I struggle with). Emotional scenes often need to be slowed down, as an example, Cassian crying in chapter ten. Others need to go faster, like when the reader and Cassian were playing out in the garden. Emotional scenes can be fast paced as well, usually when the emotions are overwhelming or filled with anger. You can also mix a slower and faster pace in the same scene, it adds contrast and shows emotional shifts without having to actually verbalise them. This is such a difficult thing for me as I tend to get stuck in a slower pace whenever I'm writing a slow scene, I find it hard to quicken it when necessary, and so on... My best advice for this is to read more, you can see how others do it and apply it onto your own writing.
POSTING FICS ON TUMBLR
Is not very complicated at all! People hype it up to be this scary, huge thing with multiple steps to follow when it really isn't. The key things you should include when you post a fic is:
- Title
- Brief summary/synopsis
- Warnings
- Pairing
- Wordcount
This post was made with a gradient website, a font website and then I added a divider that I found on tumblr (there are many blogs on here that make them). The pictures I found on Pinterest. I'll be linking all of these at the bottom of the post as well!
I think the trickiest part here is the gradient text. It is very simple but can feel confusing in the beginning. The website I use is very simple.
Once you have your coloured text you'll be given a html code (see the first picture). Copy that entire code and return to your Tumblr draft. Press the little cogwheel and scroll until you find the section called "Rich Text" tap that and go into "HTML" there you can paste the code before going back to "Rich Text" and boom, coloured text, very cool and fun.
Lastly is tagging your posts properly. If you're posting a BTS fanfic then I'd recommend using tags for that. #btsfanfic #jungkookfanfic etc... It's very straightforward. Use as many tags as you can! I recommend looking at other fics and seeing what tags the authors have used there <3
LINKS
Website for colour gradient text | Cute fonts to use (beware that not all fonts appear for android users) | Emojis to decorate your posts | Dividers to use on your posts | Tips on writing body language | Tips on writing sexual tension | Pinterest
Pixel post dividers for everyone! It's not much, but feel free to use them if you'd like.
I don't know the ideal size for these, so let me know if they're too tall. I can make them a bit shorter next time.
wave— your weekly anonymous psychoanalysis on cute boys with broad shoulders and pretty girls in tiny skirts. make sure to not miss any updates from campus’ favorite emotionally invasive blog!
jeon jungkook is a notorious lady pleaser with a weak spot for pretty girls with big vocabularies. so when he unexpectedly meets you, a journalism major who happens to be the prettiest girl he has ever seen, he terribly, miserably folds.
PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x journalist!reader
GENRE: college au, fluff, smut, angst
WC: 12.5k (for part 1)
WARNINGS/DETAILS: fem!reader, ie major!jk, secret identity reader, jk thinks she’s soo pretty :( forced proximity?, reader’s kinda selfish sometimes, jk’s so horny the entire time, jk briefly kisses another girl, very cheesy college vibes, jealousy, alcohol consumption, smut wise: titty sucking, he hits it from the back, cowgirl, fingering, big d jk always
NOTES: okay you see, i write everything with the entirety of my heart and soul but this one carries details that are a bit too special to me compared to anything i’ve shared with you before. of course it’s just another silly little fanfiction but i got a bit absorbed into the characters and world building. also it feels like i’ve been working on this for ages so i wanted to share it in two parts bcs i was gonna lose my mind if i didn’t post at least parts of it soon enough. i hope you guys feel and enjoy this the same way i did while writing <3
𑣲 banner by 𑣲 divider by
There's a specific kind of loneliness that exists exclusively in university boys who project their fear of intimacy onto women and ruin their perceptions of love solely to keep their fragile egos away from slipping through their fingertips and breaking down like blades of glass.
Not because they're incapable of being loved. I'd say the situation is quite the opposite, actually. People like them are usually loved too loudly, too quickly. They become socially unavoidable before they become emotionally available— having mastered the art of making people feel personally seen while remaining uniquely difficult to access in return.
And maybe, that's where the actual problem begins.
Charm is easier to preform than vulnerability, attention is more addicting when you've never experienced a form of raw intimacy, and a real conversation probably feels worse than a pair of red, glossy lips.
Every generation repackages the same socially gifted boy with commitment issues and calls him different names, swearing this one is different than the last.
But surprise, it's not.
This year's version just happens to wear leather jackets and lip rings to nine a.m lectures while also somehow possessing actual analytical skills in addition to social ones— perhaps the most alarming thing about Jeon Jungkook is that he isn't a business major.
Because boys like Jeon Jungkook learn early that if they remain entertaining enough, nobody will notice how carefully they avoid stillness; as though silence might physically harm them. Does an engineering major make him interesting? Maybe. But does it fuel his hedonistic lifestyle? Not exactly.
The bass is thudding loud enough to make the kitchen cabinets tremble with every beat, pulsing through the frat house in uneven waves that settle through your body like a second heartbeat. Alcohol that's cheap enough to poison you on an empty stomach spills over sticky counter tops, and the room reeks with the smell of warm beer mixed with something disgustingly similar to your ex boyfriend's cologne— you're going to throw up.
But you don't. Because, well, you can't.
So you keep holding a cup of cranberry vodka in your hand despite accommodating a strong dislike for the drink, you keep your smile warm and flirty even though deeply missing the comfort of your bed and wanting nothing more than to rewatch Mamma Mia for the third time this month. And you keep bobbing your head along to the music even though you swear any house beat without proper lyrics would be enough to kill a fly.
You keep your chin high and your posture straight because you need this. You need something tangible. A reaction, anything capable of sitting inside your palm until you can carry it home and pour into words later. Because you've already wasted at least three hours of your precious friday night here and you are not leaving unless you find something worth pocketing.
Luckily for you, said Jeon Jungkook is standing at the center of it all.
His back is pressed against the kitchen counter as a girl keeps on kissing him as if the birth and death of her universe lies somewhere between his lips. Her fists are tangled in the collar of his leather jacket, tugging his body closer and closer into her smaller frame like distance is completely unnecessary, like she needs his body to melt and mold with hers to embody the entirety of proximity itself.
A familiar voice shouts his name from the living room, but Jungkook doesn't budge until someone else reaches over to steal the drink straight out of his hand, laughing into her mouth unapologetically.
He pulls away just enough to see whoever it is that's calling him, hands firming up on the girl's waist to stabilize himself. "Give me thirty seconds!" He shouts back casually.
The response is immediate. "You said that twenty minutes ago!"
"Then clearly I'm busy."
The girl in front of him rolls her eyes, hands loosening on his collar before dropping down to his chest. "You're an asshole."
"Mhm, you think?" He asks with a smirk playing on his lips, looking down at her.
"Do you ever take a break or is your case of over sexuality a medical condition?" Mingyu complains, drinking the beer he has just taken from Jungkook's hand as their shoulders bump into each other.
Jungkook finally pulls away fully, shifting closer to Mingyu. "You're obsessed with me."
Mingyu scoffs. "Unfortunate for Seoul's female population."
"Guys," Yugyeom interrupts, looking up from his phone with a sudden delight on his face, as if the light from his phone's screen has traveled and bloomed again behind his pupils. "Wave posted."
The reaction arrives in less than a second, because Wave had long stopped being just another anonymous campus blog sometime during sophomore year. It became something students enthusiastically refreshed during lectures, sent feverish screenshots to group chats at ungodly hours. Because everyone somehow grew to love Wave— until they became the subject of it.
Jungkook closes his eyes briefly, sparing a fraction of a second to recollect the exasperation in his heartbeat, inhaling slowly. "I swear if this psychopath wrote about me again—"
Yugyeom's grin widens. "Bad news, superstar."
"For fuck's sake." Jungkook mutters, snatching the phone away from Yugyeom's hand while Mingyu's laugh echos loudly from besides.
The familiar layout of wave flashes straight into his eyes, light blue and dreamy and so fucking pretty for a blog this cruel. Well, cruel would be an exaggeration, if you weren't Jeon Jungkook.
"Oh my god." Mingyu gasps. "Second paragraph is crazy."
"Crazy accurate." Jaehyun corrects, reaching over Jungkook's shoulder to keep reading.
"This person needs psychiatric help." He says flatly.
"Mhm." Jaehyun hums, taking a sip of his drink. "You say that because you secretly agree with everything."
Okay, you see, that's the problem with Wave.
The issue had never really been the concept itself, because Wave has always been undeniably good. Jungkook can survive a day or two of public embarrassment. God knows he has spent the last two years of university building an almost concerning amount of immunity to people's uncalled opinions. The problem is that whoever it is that's sitting behind that stupid light blue website is unsettlingly gifted at noticing things they absolutely shouldn't. The tiny, quiet things people lock somewhere safe beneath their hearts and reveal only when they trust someone with their lives.
It suffocates him sometimes, not that he'd ever say it like that.
"I'd rather die than agree with this hypocrite." He says instead.
Jaehyun nods dismissively. "Right."
The girl beside Jungkook leans over his shoulder, eyes laced with curiosity. "Wait, keep reading."
"Use your damn phone." He shuts her off immediately, handing the phone back to Yugyeom.
Yugyeom grabs his phone in one hand while he shakes Jungkook's shoulder dramatically with the other. "Did you do something to this writer we don't know of?"
"Why are you acting like i personally asked to be publicly humiliated?"
Mingyu shrugs. "Because you clearly enjoy it a little.
"I actually don't." Jungkook argues.
Majority of the people around him dissolve slowly, disappearing into the crowd to find their own group of friends to gossip on the article that just got posted, leaving Jungkook with his own group of friends who unfortunately do not make up the IQ of a normal person even when merged together.
"Hey," Jungkook says like he suddenly remembered something so crucial, angling his body towards Jaehyun. "Have you seen Mark?"
Jaehyun's brows pull together. "Thought he was coming later."
"He texted me like an hour ago."
"Your secret little rendezvous?" Yugyeom asks knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows.
Jungkook scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes. "Shut the fuck up."
Mingyu gasps dramatically. "You're cheating on us with the music major?"
"None of you are funny." Jungkook says, shaking his head once before letting his gaze drift around the kitchen while Mingyu and Yugyeom start arguing about something else entirely.
Then he spots you.
Oh.
Jungkook knows you. Okay, he doesn't exactly know you, but he knows of you. Through Mark, through Yugyeom, through this and through that but never truly by heart.
You, with a face carefully designed by gods, standing there mindlessly as if you aren't the textbook definition of beauty itself. You, who'd without a doubt get his cock rock solid in mere seconds by rolling your eyes and laughing at how dumb he is. You, who'd pretend to not be fazed by him while very obviously blessing him with flirty smiles and inviting eyes.
You would be…mildly inconvenient for him.
"Why are you staring at her like that?" Jaehyun asks from besides him.
Jungkook tears his eyes away immediately. "You're seeing things."
Mingyu laughs loudly, chiming in a beat later. "You literally are."
"Shut up."
"You don't even know her like that." Yugyeom adds, grinning.
"I know enough."
Jaehyun lifts his brows accusingly. "That is?"
Jungkook opens his mouth, but closes it again in no time. Because somehow saying prettiest girl on campus who'd drop him to his knees by casually using words he has to mentally spell twice feels a little excessive for a girl he's never had a proper conversation with in his life.
"Mark's friends with her, right?" He asks instead.
Jaehyun nods slowly, a little suspicious. "Yeah."
"Cool." Jungkook replies. And before any of his friends can say another word, he's pushing himself away from the counter and walking towards you.
Mingyu gasps dramatically behind him. "Oh my god, he's approaching."
"Act natural!" Yugyeom shouts over the music.
Jungkook scoffs in exasperation, but he doesn't turn around, walking towards you as he flips them off by waving a hand behind.
You notice him coming over almost immediately. Because Jeon Jungkook isn't exactly one to go unnoticed by many, and that sadly seems to cover you too. There is something annoyingly conspicuous about him, visible even in places that are so crowded you lose your friend within the bare minute of getting there.
Maybe it's the broad shoulders, maybe it's the tattoos and the lip rings that usually wink at you before even he gets the chance to, or maybe it's the fact that everybody seems to orbit around him with a push and pull so heavy it feels like he's the center of gravity itself.
It's probably the shoulders.
Miyeon, your gorgeous best friend, notices him too as his steps get closer and closer to where you are standing. Her lips twitch knowingly around the rim of her cup. "Well," She murmurs into her drink. "This should be interesting."
Jungkook stops right in front of you before you can reply to your friend. "Hey." He greets easily. And annoyingly enough, his voice sounds exactly the way the rest of him looks.
You tilt your head slightly, half empty cup swaying between your fingers. "Hey yourself."
Jungkook blinks once before letting out a breathy laugh. "Oh, this is already going badly for me."
Miyeon snorts into her drink, but you quickly nudge her arm before she says something she shouldn't. "I'm looking for Mark." Jungkook continues, gaze shifting back towards you. "Have you seen him?"
"You're looking for Mark?" You repeat, cocking a brow.
And for some reason, Jungkook's smile widens. "We were supposed to meet."
The answer catches you a little off-guard. Not because Jungkook knowing Mark is strange. It's not, everybody knows Mark. But because there is something in the way he says it. He's saying it seriously, with intention. Like whatever they're meeting about actually matters to him and that's not something you can coherently place somewhere solid in your head.
"You sound committed to that." You say before you can stop yourself.
Jungkook squints his eyes. "I can commit to things."
You take a sip of your drink, taking your time with the action as your brows raise with something laced with accusation. "You sure?"
Jungkook's eyes widen just slightly as Miyeon turns away, trying to hide her laughter. But she cackles anyway. "That's crazy." He says, a loose grin forming on his face. "You know absolutely nothing about me."
"You don't exactly strike me as somebody mysterious."
"Yeah?" He breathes. "What do i strike you as?"
You roll your eyes, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue. And whatever that happens in Jungkook's chest— it's deeply unfortunate.
This is exactly his type, horrifically so. Pretty has never been an issue for Jungkook, he has been surrounded with pretty all his life. Pretty and mean, on the other hand, is apparently where the problem in his pants begin.
But before either of you can continue, Jungkook's name is yelled from across the room. "There you are!" Mingyu shouts, throwing an arm around Jungkook's shoulders after he makes his way towards you. "Some girl is throwing up on Jaehyun's shoes because you disappeared."
Jungkook closes eyes briefly, inhaling a long breath. "See? What's commitment if not that?"
You laugh despite yourself, loud and real and so fucking pretty Jungkook thinks he might've forgotten how to breathe properly.
"I'll tell Mark you were looking for him." You say.
"Appreciate it." He says before stepping backward towards the kitchen, then pauses suddenly. "By the way," He starts, causing you to raise a brow. "You're prettier than your articles sound."
Your expression freezes for a beat, lips parted and head still tilted. A lazy smirk dances on Jungkook's features before disappearing back into the crowd behind Mingyu, leaving you standing there with your drink still halfway raised.
Miyeon slowly turns towards you. "What the fuck was that about?"
Your eyes linger on the hallway Jungkook disappeared into, gaze floating like you've just wandered into an ocean with no trace of the start and end. Because no, you don't have an idea on whatever the fuck that was either.
Your phone buzzes before your thoughts can swallow you up any further.
namjoon: still awake?
Your eyes flick between the small digital clock on the corner and the text in the middle of your screen before your fingers move over the keyboard.
you: i'm at yugyeom's party
namjoon: you posted during a frat party?
You roll your eyes even though he can't see you, though you're sure he feels it behind the screen.
you: it was queued
namjoon: ah
namjoon: coffee at mine?
namjoon: you can sleep over
You lift your head at something Miyeon says, nodding your head without really listening to what she's talking about. You tuck your bottom lip into your teeth, weighting your options before deciding to give in.
you: wow, the honor
you: on my way
The city feels different after midnight.
Maybe not quieter, because noise never really dies down on friday nights. People like to laugh, dance, live. Because modern time doesn't really allow love anymore. Because people spare friday nights for themselves and keep it tucked somewhere they know it belongs. Because people yearn to belong and time doesn't like to stretch and bend around desire. It just moves.
The city feels softer, as if somebody reached over and mellowed the space so that everyone could find a place for themselves. At least, that's exactly the way you feel when your uber drops you off outside of Namjoon's apartment building twenty minutes after you leave Yugyeom's place. The clock is ticking past two in the morning, and by the time you make your way upstairs, your feet are aching and your social battery has officially ran out.
When the door opens, Namjoon greets you with that same old warmth you've had memorized for nearly four years— almost the entirety of your college years. He gives you a hug before disappearing back into the hallway, informing you of how the coffee is almost done.
His place is dim except for the kitchen, where a warm light spills in and drapes over the entire apartment in a yellow hue. It always smells the same here. Not in a weird way, not at all. Just very…specific. It smells like books that have already been read at least twice and expensive coffee beans that are too niche for you to have any understanding of— because to the normal person, they all just taste the same.
Definitely not to Namjoon.
You slip your heels off by the door, following him into the kitchen after dropping your purse somewhere on the couch. "Do you want to lose all the sleep left in your system?" You ask, gaze dragging over the empty coffee mugs on the counter.
Namjoon stands in the kitchen with his back turned to you, dressed comfortably in some gray sweatpants and a dark colored hoodie. His glasses sit low on his nose, hair falling onto his forehead in messy strands. "I'm writing something." He says, a soft smile forming on his face as he pours in the hot liquid carefully. "How was the party?"
You climb onto the counter, plopping your body onto the marble as your legs dangle above the height. You unashamedly stare at him for a moment, taking in the sweats and the glasses and the fact that he somehow still looks put together despite the hour. Because Namjoon looks a little unfair like this— annoyingly intelligent and completely at home.
"It was loud."
Namjoon hums, handing you the mug. "The alcohol was terrible, i spent the whole night trying to keep Miyeon away from Yugyeom, and someone cried in the bathroom after throwing up on the floor."
"Sounds typical to me."
You take a sip of the coffee, then groan immediately because it's still too hot to drink, before setting it down with exaggerated annoyance dancing on your face. You trail behind him into the living room, pulling your legs beneath yourself as you sink into the couch while he settles right next to you with his laptop balanced over one knee.
"You're actually writing." You say, eyeing him over the rim of your mug.
"I told you." Namjoon says, giving you a brief glance before he turns his attention back onto the screen.
Your eyes absentmindedly drift towards the screen of his laptop, floating over the margins that are filled with notes, sections that are highlighted, pages filled with comments and edits that are all very Namjoon. And for a second, for the entirety of a thousand milliseconds that feel way longer than it actually is, your own laptop sitting abandoned inside the void of your apartment suddenly feels eccentrically heavier.
"My advisor hates me."
Namjoon doesn't look up. "Did he say that?"
You sink lower into the couch, sipping your coffee slowly without forgetting to blow onto it. You can not burn your mouth again, not a chance. "No, but he looked disappointed."
Namjoon sighs. "I know it sucks and you want to strangle him to the depths of death, but he just has high expectations from you."
You groan dramatically. "It's so annoying."
Namjoon hums, nodding along as his eyes scan through the screen. "How's the thesis going?"
That's when you gift him the pleasure of absolute silence. Because unfortunately, deeply unfortunately, somewhere along the way, your thesis and Wave started bleeding a little too much into each other and now everything feels way too personal and disgustingly intimate.
Not entirely, of course. Wave is still just a tool for you to learn and observe without tracing everything back to yourself. But lately, it has started to feel a little less objective and a little more on the edge.
You didn't lose the hang of it, not really. You're still the same girl writing with the same devotion for the same purpose. Just…there has been small slips here and there, noticeable only to people who know you well enough to search for them.
You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. "It's progressing."
Namjoon's eyes drift towards you, and your gaze lifts until it catches his own in the air. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask when he stares at you for a second too long.
"You don't sound too truthful."
You scoff, then roll your eyes before grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it in his face. But being the man he is, Namjoon catches it without looking. Damn him.
"You write about Jungkook a lot." He says suddenly.
You shrug. "He's easy material."
"You've written about him four times by now."
You pause, squinting your eyes as every piece of writing you've ever published in the last two years flashes through your eyes. Because there is no fucking way you've written about that tattooed excuse of sex on legs for four entire times. "Four?"
"Four." He repeats.
You drop your shoulders in defeat. "You're very unlikeable tonight."
"I'm just providing you with my opinions." He says, typing while speaking. "You can't ask for help if you aren't going to take my advice."
You pull your knees closer against your chest. "I don't ask for your opinions."
"You called me crying over an econ elective last year."
You sit up immediately, placing the mug onto the coffee table. "Okay, first of all, it wasn't entirely like that—"
"I distinctly remember you saying, and i quote, what do i do now, Joon, my future is over." He states dramatically, voice disgustingly sweet and high pitched as he mocks you.
You stare at him, frozen and absolutely horrified. "I was vulnerable."
Namjoon hums, and you let yourself fall backwards dramatically against the couch cushions, throwing an arm over your face as if that's enough to physically protect yourself from embarrassment and humiliation.
It doesn't, of course. Because nothing ever really preserves you from embarrassment when it's Kim Namjoon you're talking about.
A comfortable silence settles into the living room, allowing you drown yourself inside the small indicators of life around you. You can hear his keyboard clicking softly as he keeps working on something you have no idea about, the occasional scratch of the ceramic mug against the wood table, the faint jazz pieces playing from the speakers hidden somewhere further inside the apartment. And just as you were about to part your lips and make a comment on how his furniture is so outdated, he beats you to it.
"Oh."
Your arm slowly lowers from your face, eyes squinting and peaking above it. "What?"
"Are you still helping Mark with that project?"
Oh yourself.
Everything in you physically stills, slowly and painfully, like dread is begging to be felt properly until your bones ache and sizzle with the weight of it. Because you— catastrophically, miserably, terribly; had forgotten all about it. Not in a small, oops, i should probably text him back way either. No, you had forgotten in a way that bordered on a severe case of friendship betrayal and negligence.
You close your eyes, inhaling a long breath. "Hypothetically speaking…"
You did, and of course he notices. Because if Kim Namjoon has spent four years studying journalism, he has spent six studying you.
Namjoon had become one of those people that had entered your life quietly yet stayed just as loudly, making himself impossible to imagine a life without in absolutely no time. Just like wine or Wave or the concerning amount of mediocre sex you've been having since your last boyfriend.
You had met him during the first few weeks of your freshman year when he was already a junior and head editor of the university journal. Back then, he existed in your head less as a person and more as a terrifying academic urban legend you'd never admit looking up to. But you didn't have to admit it out loud, because even the older students spoke about him with an obnoxious amount of respect.
You hated him.
But obviously, that didn't last long. As you kept sharing nights filled with stories, words and worlds no one knew existed besides the two of you, he started to matter. He'd remembered your exam dates, bought you coffee during finals, edited your essays at three in the morning. He'd answer your phone calls involving emotional breakdowns over electives and boys and broken sink pipes, then solve whatever crisis you were having in little to no time.
So naturally, somewhere along the way, your editor had turned into an older brother and became annoyingly good at reading you— so much that you're sure he keeps a version of you that's all bare and vulnerable somewhere hidden in his furthest drawers.
Because he knows you. Good enough to notice the tiny moments where Wave feels a little too personal. To notice the way that sometimes, your thesis blurs into the rest of your life and you get caught up in the gravity of it all, so much that the project you'd promised to help with weeks ago somehow slips away from your mind despite Mark being one of your dearest friends.
Because Namjoon doesn't forget, and Mark will definitely kill you if you don't show up at his studio with breakfast and two cups coffee by tomorrow morning.
Musicians who are brave enough to lay their souls open between rhymes and harmonies have always felt intimate.
Music is vulnerable, always has been. Everyone knows that. But there is something utterly naked and personal beyond the in reach vulnerability of it all.
It's the little things.
The version of them that existed on a random Tuesday in October, the argument they never really recovered from yet still shaped them into whoever they are today. The person they almost loved, the one they did love…They leave pieces of themselves behind between late nights and early mornings, and it never matters whether it's accidental or not. Because everything they touch transitions into something that carries their traces and that's enough to feel their souls on top of your own.
And, i think, that truly sums up Mark Lee as a person.
Because Mark has always felt like someone composed of the little things. He'd attach songs to memories you won't realize matters until months later, respond to texts even if it wakes him up from his sweetest dreams. He'd turn feelings into poems and records then archive them in anything that's permanent.
In college, people tend to think popularity belongs to the loudest person in the room. But despite being loved through the depths of the ocean until the very end of Milky Way, Mark Lee has never really been loud.
Just unforgettable.
Three days later, you find yourself standing outside of Mark's studio with two iced coffees in one hand and a kind of resentment that's loud yet entirely unserious in the other. Because Mark has spent the last forty eight hours guilt tripping you through frantic phone calls and dramatic text messages. And you, for some reason, can not for the life of you bring yourself accept the fact that you've forgotten your promise and properly apologize.
At least you got the coffees.
You push the studio door open without knocking, because Mark has never once respected your privacy and therefore doesn't exactly deserve it in return. As the door falls unleashed and sunlight spills until it drapes over you in a golden glow, there are a few things you expect. A Justin Bieber song Justin Bieber himself has probably forgotten about, unfinished coffees and half empty beer bottles scattered around the room, maybe even his ex girlfriend lounging somewhere in the corner because you're almost entirely certain Mark would slip straight back into her heart if she ever left it even slightly open.
But Jeon Jungkook is not one of them.
He's sitting besides the mixing desk, leaned back comfortably in his chair wearing a black hoodie with headphones hanging around his neck, one leg bouncing lazily beneath the table while he scrolls through something on his phone.
He looks up from the screen when the weight of your presence becomes impossible to ignore. He blinks once, twice, then smiles.
Shit, he has dimples.
"Well," Jungkook says slowly, leaning back further into the chair as he drags his eyes over you. "This just got better than i expected."
Your reply comes immediately. "No."
Jungkook blinks, eyes widening just slightly. "I…didn't even say anything."
"You thought of it."
He cocks a brow. "Thought of what?"
You roll your eyes, dropping your purse onto the table before leaning your hip against it. "You know what." You say, and he silently stares at you for a second longer before the corner of his mouth starts twitching.
This doesn't make sense. Not at all.
Because certain people feel attached to certain places long before they step into them. Mark belongs in studios and beneath the stars and somewhere right in the middle of your heart. Namjoon belongs beneath the warmth of yellow kitchen lights and homes that silence everything else until it's quieter than the rest of the world. Miyeon belongs anywhere between flowers and pretty cafes that somehow never match up to her beauty.
And Jungkook…Jungkook belongs beneath flashing lights that paint his features in colors that would look good on nobody but him. He belongs in crowded spaces and with girls who lean in a little too close whenever he speaks. He belongs anywhere loud and alive.
Just not here. Because music feels too intimate for him somehow.
"You know." He says after a moment, still smiling. "I thought there was a chance i imagined you."
You let out a low chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest after placing the coffees onto the table. "That's a little dramatic."
"I'm being dead serious."
"Well, you approached me." You say, tilting your head slightly, letting your eyes drift over him before they return back to his face. "And you don't seem to have that strong of an imagination."
"You're mean."
You groan playfully, leaning your hip against the armrest of his chair. "That's so not true."
A small smirk plays out on his lips. "Good thing i like my girls with a little attitude."
Pardon? Your girls?
"You're being very brave today."
Jungkook stares at you for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in a way that's not rude, just playful enough to carry traces of something cocky beneath it. He lets the silence melt and sit right in the middle of your bodies for a beat too long, then speaks.
"You're flirting with me right now."
Your head snaps towards him immediately, and you almost choke on your own saliva. Not because you're shocked. How can you be when he has built a whole persona on candied words and pretty girls and an ego that's definitely bigger than what's between his legs. It's because he says it so easily, and you hate that.
So no, absolutely not. You, flirting with Jungkook? No way in hell.
You narrow your eyes. "No, I'm not."
"Mhm." He hums, swinging left and right in his seat with a growing grin on his face.
Okay, no. That's enough. You're not doing this any longer. You don't want Jeon fucking Jungkook to think he has a chance at having you naked and open and wide on his stupid iron man mattress. You don't want to demonstrate the size of his cock with your hands when Miyeon asks on girls night, and you most definitely don't want Mark walking in on you bickering like two horny teenagers with the self control of fucking rabbits in heat.
So you change the subject.
"You sing?" Brilliant.
And peculiarly, his smile softens a little at your question. Not drastically, not enough for the entire room to shift and bend around him until it's his breath only you're drowning inside. But it's enough. Enough for you to notice the way something gentler briefly peeks through before hiding again. And you, for some reason, find yourself reaching over and folding it carefully to hide somewhere safe amongst all the other precious details people accidentally leave behind. Somewhere only you carry the map of and know how to find again.
Jungkook glances up. "Sometimes."
Sometimes.
It's funny how he says it, like it matters too much that his tongue can not carry the weight of it, so he just shrugs it off like it's anything. Sometimes, he says. As if Mark would ever involve someone who does it just whenever. As if Mark would ever reach for something that's sitting right in middle of his soul and hand out a piece of it to just anyone.
"You look judgemental." He adds.
You shrug. "I'm just surprised."
Jungkook's eyebrows lift at your answer, like he knows there is another thought sitting beneath it, quietly waiting for the permission to exit. But before he can get the chance to ask about it further, the studio door suddenly swings open.
Mark walks into the room with an amount of rush that should be concerning for this time of the morning. His hair is messy, bag is tucked beneath his arm and an iced americano is trying to balance clumsily between his fingers as he tries finding a place to squeeze himself in.
"Okay, first of all. Traffic should be considered the worse case of masochism the human kind has done to itself." Mark rambles, barely waiting for the door to close behind him before speaking, words tumbling out of his mouth in consecutive complaints.
"And you," He kicks the door shut with his foot before continuing, pointing a finger at you. "After forty eight hours of emotional neglect, show up with iced lattes? I don't drink lattes. That's for pussies who don't understand coffee."
You roll your eyes. "I do something nice and you still complain."
"You completely forgot me and brought coffee out of guilt."
You pause, looking down at the table before speaking again. "It's still coffee."
Jungkook laughs quietly besides you before Mark cuts in again. "Okay, so basically," He breathes, gesturing around the room. "This is my senior project, the one I told you about three weeks ago and you forgot because you apparently don't care about me anymore. It's a short film of my album with a narrative concept." He turns to Jungkook. "He's singing."
Your eyes drift around in silence, taking in the headphones and the sheets filled with lyrics and the fucking sometimes he threw at you as if it meant nothing.
"And you," Mark angles his body towards you. "Are helping with the writing."
"Mark," You argue, because what can you possibly be writing? Music? You don't do music. You write people, you write anything between stories and analysis but not music.
"Don't Mark me right now. You agreed to this weeks ago." He says as he rolls his eyes, chugging down his coffee. "The story. You're writing the narrative and the emotional structure, obviously."
Oh. Right.
Because of course Mark wouldn't just make music. No, he has always been incapable of touching one art form without dragging five others to it. Because Mark Lee is a man of passion and he won't do anything without making it entirely his.
"Apparently you said music without context feels lonely to Yoongi's trap arrangement last week." Jungkook says without really looking at you, swinging mindlessly in his chair.
Your head snaps towards him. "How do you know that?"
Jungkook blinks once, like he hadn't expected to say that out loud yet did anyway. His eyes flicker between you and Mark before he collects himself back together and shrugs casually. "Mark talks about you."
That's…annoyingly sweet of him.
"You talk about me?" You coo with a voice disgustingly candied, head tilted as you reach for Mark's arm.
"Oh my god." Mark groans dramatically, but he doesn't pull his arm away. "No, because Jungkook, don't let her fool you. She acts all nice and sweet then suddenly you're buying her food and driving her to places."
You open your mouth immediately, ready to defend yourself. You turn towards Jungkook, response already on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spilled— only to stop.
Because Jungkook is already looking at you. Not in a weird way, not in the way boys usually look at pretty girls when they think nobody is noticing. Just…gentle. His smile is still there, only now it has grown and molded into something smaller. The kind that doesn't really ask for attention, the kind that simply stays there because it wants to. His eyes feel softer too, like's he's really listening, sitting through the spaces of your presence until he feels it permanently engraved into his mind.
It feels a little precarious.
And perhaps the most annoying thing about Jungkook is that the disappointment never really arrives.
Because eventually, the conversation shifts and folds itself until time starts passing in a kind of haziness where it melts into something thinner. Mark disappears into one of his passionate spirals regarding symbolism and the basics of music theory and you somehow find a way to contribute just as passionately despite not exactly having the qualifications to do so.
That's normal. That doesn't surprise you, it has happened enough times to not be the slightest of a deal. But Jungkook, Jungkook surprises you.
Maybe not dramatically, maybe not in ways worth writing Wave articles about. It's the little things, tiny things that somehow fill in the entire space and make their way into the dearest corners of your heart.
Like how he listens with his entire body, the way he turns towards whoever it is that's speaking and stays there, like he genuinely thinks people deserve to be heard all the way through. The way he never interrupts Mark despite the fact that Mark tends to over explain things as if he himself personally invented art and human emotion. The way he nods along quietly, asks questions at exactly the right moments without ever interjecting anyone and reaches over to hand you your drink when you start looking for it.
And somewhere in the middle of the complexity of it all, Jungkook sings.
Mark points towards the recording booth in the middle of his nth rant today, and Jungkook pushes himself up from the couch besides you with a small sigh before disappearing behind the glass doors of the booth. And for some reason, your eyes follow him through each passing second, because simply standing behind a microphone with overhead headphones should not look this different on somebody.
Because suddenly, he's stripped out of everything you've subconsciously built for him. And for some stupid, sick, twisted reason, Jungkook looks ridiculously hot like this.
He adjusts the headphones over his ears before leaning towards the microphone slightly, eyes lowering as Mark presses something on the screen.
His voice happens a beat of two after the music starts, and it happens big. Like waves crashing into rocks, like starts falling down the sky, like spring melting into summer and summer clashing against fall.
It's stupid.
He's not bad, god, you wish he was bad. No, not at all. Because Jungkook sings exactly the way the listens. Softly, fully, like he throws himself into it before realizing he's doing it. Like somewhere in the middle of every rhyme and every note and every breath, there are pieces of him patiently waiting to be discovered.
You understand why Mark chose him.
Jungkook drops beside you onto the couch with a tired groan after Mark decides he's poured enough of his soul for today, and you find your eyes grazing over him as he scrolls through something on his phone.
"You're staring." Jungkook says, not even looking up from his phone.
You blink. Fuck. "Excuse me?"
He hums, lips twitching beyond his control. "Mhm."
You angle your body a little more towards him. "I literally wasn't."
He nods, still not looking at you, but he's still smiling.
You stare at his profile for a little longer as Mark works over the keyboard in silence, then find the words escaping your mouth before you can hold them in. "You sound different when you sing." You say quietly.
Jungkook stills a little. Just a tiny, little falter that happens in his body. His eyes lift slowly from the screen, then catch yours before speaking. "Different?" He asks.
You shrug immediately, trying to fold the conversation into something drastically more casual. "Just less annoying."
You roll your eyes immediately. "Don't let it get to your head."
"You know," He says after letting a beat pass, and you turn your head back towards him. "You say very mean things for someone who can't seem to stop staring."
Your brows lift in offense. "I do not stare."
He blinks. "You do."
You scoff. "You're delusional."
Jungkook hums softly. "Earlier, when Mark was talking—"
You don't let him speak. At least, you try. "No."
"And then when i was recording—"
"Jeon."
He's fully smiling now, like he's getting the most ridiculous amount enjoyment he possibly can get from this. You stare at him in silence, lips parted and expression faltered. Jungkook stares right back at you, that stupid smile never really leaving from his lips. And for some sick and twisted reason, your stomach does a tiny little flip that irritates you through the entirety of your skin and bones.
Then, as if god has finally acknowledged the depths of your suffering, Mark cuts in exactly at the right time. "Oh my god." He gasps.
Jungkook blinks from next to you, gaze drifting onto him. "What?"
Mark doesn't respond for a moment, and that's deeply concerning for a man who'd speak even at the verge of death.
You slowly sit up. "Mark?"
His frozen state continues for a beat longer before he suddenly springs up from his chair. "No no no."
"What's wrong?" Jungkook asks as his brows pull together, leaning onto his knees.
"I," Mark starts, looking down at his feet before he slowly, dreadfully searches for your eyes. "I'm late."
Jungkook scrunches his nose. "You're late for what?"
Your eyes widen when the realization slowly stretches then breaks through you. "Oh my god." You breathe dramatically.
"Stop saying oh my god!" Jungkook snaps, thoroughly lost.
Mark closes his eyes, taking in a long, guilty breath. "I'm supposed to be meeting up with Yerin."
Jungkook's phone falls onto the couch. "You're meeting your ex?"
"You're late to meeting your ex." You correct. "And you're wearing that?"
Mark looks down, eyes taking in the gray sweatpants and the black hoodie he has worn so much it's practically another color now. "Oh my god."
He quickly gathers up his belongings, then slings his bag over his shoulder before making his way to the door. He's able to take approximately three steps before he suddenly stops, and slowly, very slowly, turns to you.
"Can i take your car?"
You blink a few times before responding. "Absolutely not."
"Please," He begs, bending above his knees with impatience. "Please, I'll do anything. Imagine if she thinks i stood her up. She's going to leave me for good this time and I'll be left to crumble and die in my own sorrow."
After two or five separate sequences of long inhales and deep consideration, you give in. "If you scratch it, I'll kill you."
He runs over to you fast. "Thank you, thank you. Oh my god, i love you."
"Okay, okay. Stop." Before you even get the chance to return his hug, he's already grabbing your keys and shoving it into his bag. Jungkook stares from besides you silently until the very last second of Mark's departure, then bursts into laughter the moment the door closes shut.
"Stop."
"I'm trying." Jungkook says between fractions of laughter.
You sigh. "No you're not."
"I'm literally trying my hardest."
Liar.
Because now, he's laughing properly and somehow it's the prettiest thing you've heard all week, minus his singing— which is a whole another problem of its own— and you feel yourself physically falter at the sound of it.
You stare at him for a minute longer before eventually drifting your eyes towards the studio doors instead. It's irritating how you're now painfully aware of everything else all over again. Spring air brushing softly against your skin through the window, the distant sound of laughter and conversation somewhere across campus, the way Jungkook is seated close enough that if you shift half an inch closer your shoulders would probably brush.
"So," Jungkook has finally, and thankfully, stopped laughing. Though the smile is still sitting there loosely. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, swinging them around his finger. "Guess I'm driving you home."
You were about to mindlessly give into defeat when suddenly, you remember one, tiny little detail.
Jungkook doesn't have a car.
You breathe slowly. "You ride that stupid motorcycle."
His brows lift immediately. "That stupid motorcycle?"
Your lips part, then close again when he cuts you off, lips twitching cockily. "You remember."
You scoff loudly. "You spent like twenty minutes talking about it."
"Mhm."
"And your personality is unfortunately very loud."
"Mhm." He hums, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans as he mindlessly collects his things. "You remember." He repeats with a growing grin.
"Stop saying that." You complain, following him behind through the door.
And ten minutes later, you hate yourself.
Genuinely.
Because now, you're standing outside beneath spring air and bright streetlights while Jungkook straddles his motorcycle like this isn't singlehandedly the worst thing that has ever happened to you.
Because suddenly you're surrounded by things you've never considered before. Like leather jackets and silver rings and tattooed biceps you want to suffocate and die inside.
You don't tell him that, of course.
He glances at you over his shoulder before slipping on his helmet. "You coming?"
There is a moment where he is met with a complete, utter silence. Because, first of all, you've never been on a motorcycle before. And second of all, there is a very physical, very obvious problem with motorcycles.
Where the fuck are your hands supposed to go?
Jungkook watches the way something between conflict and irritation flashes across your features, expression faltering slowly. He pauses along with you, then smiles knowingly. "You've never been on one."
And the way he says it is absolutely stupid. Because he doesn't ask, it's not a question. He has somehow read you devastatingly well and has made a statement about it. One that is entirely correct.
"I have not."
"And you're scared."
Excuse you?
You blink. "Scared?"
Jungkook says nothing, then places both of his legs on the sides of the vehicle as he patiently waits for you. You stare at him for long enough, then with the amount of dignity one can preserve in situations involving pussy clenching tattoos and massive biceps, you walk over.
"Need help?" Jungkook asks as you struggle deciding how to position yourself.
You shake your head immediately. "No."
Lies.
Because an entire thirty seconds later, you're still trying to figure out how people get on these things without publicly humiliating themselves.
"You know," He starts carefully, voice softer now." "I can help."
You look up slowly. "How?"
"Come here."
Your eyebrows pull together. "What kind of instruction is that?"
He sighs softly, calling your name. And for some stupid reason, the way your name rolls and falls out of his mouth does something irritating to your nervous system.
You hate that.
Because suddenly, the air feels warmer than it did thirty minutes ago. Because suddenly, he is patiently looking at you with those pretty brown eyes of his and the space between you feels so small that the lack of distance physically blows your breath away.
He holds a hand out towards you. "Come here." He repeats.
You stare at his hand, then at him, then back at his hand. And for reasons you will absolutely be denying later, you place your hand in his.
Jungkook's fingers close around yours immediately. Warm, firm and unreasonably effortless, as if he doesn't even think about the action twice.
He gently guides you forward and suddenly you're standing between his arms for one devastating second too long as he explains something about where to place your foot and how to balance and honestly—
Honestly, you don't hear a single fucking word.
Because Jungkook is standing too close. Because his voice is low and his presence is warm. Because somewhere above you, he quietly lets out that sweet laugh again and you think that's the exact moment you realize this might be becoming a bigger problem than you ever thought.
"You listening?" He asks.
No, you're not. Not even a little.
Some men are just plain irritating.
The kind of men who make you think you're special after two dates. The kind of men who act as if their love and desire for you is past the lethal dose, long sitting far away from what's acceptable after taking you out for one drink.
They start remembering your birthday, then your coffee order, and then the stories you tell absentmindedly. They pay attention in all the ways that matter until suddenly, they don't.
They start disappearing slowly. Late responses transition into cancelled dates and cancelled dates drag over white lies and empty promises. And before you know it— they're gone.
Some people become memories and some people insist on staying as habits. Unfortunately for Kim Yugyeom, habits are significantly harder to quit.
Campus looks a little prettier at night, with string lights tangled carelessly around trees to soften the sharp corners of concrete sidewalks and buildings that usually look painfully monotone and disgustingly gray beneath daylight. Music that's floating around blends into laughter and conversations until everything feels like it's dipped into something warmer, casting the green scenery in a dimly golden hue.
People become prettier at night too. Like darkness reaches over to soften and hide all the sharp edges daylight stubbornly insists on exposing. You think it has something to do with poor lighting and the desire to dress each other up in a way that's aligned with our own fucked up fantasies, but that doesn't change the fact that you'd much rather time stops at nine in the evening instead of morning.
Miyeon walks beside you with a cup of vodka and something fruity in her hand, complaining passionately about one of her professors as if he has something personal against her and is failing her out of spite. When, in reality, she has been way too caught up in toxic ex boyfriend drama and seasonal depression.
Anyone who says spring depression is not real is lying. Because your best friend has been going through one for the entirety of march and april and may and you're not sure if it'll pass by july.
But it's fine. You love her and Mark loves her and you're sure she will be fine. Yeah, maybe Yugyeom is six feet tall with a face carefully structured by the higher powers above us. But he's utterly stupid and completely undeserving of the crazy stupid love provided by your gorgeous best friend.
"No because explain to me why participation counts in my grade." Miyeon complains beside you, taking another sip of her drink as if she has the attendance and exam results to cover up the mess caused by her miserable participation grade.
You blink. "Because participating matters?"
Miyeon stops walking like you've offended her beyond all measure, then turns to you very slowly. "The institution has corrupted you."
You let out a laugh immediately, shoulder bumping against hers as the crowd thickens around you. "Maybe your GPA is a little important and passing isn't always enough." You add with a playful smile.
"You've changed."
"Okay." You drag out the word until she physically can not hear anything after the o.
"Namjoon did this to you. You were fun and sexy until junior year and now you're a disgusting hard copy of that man."
You scoff. "Leave Namjoon out of this."
Instead of responding to you, Miyeon narrows her eyes through the crowd before you can properly defend both yourself and Namjoon's imaginary honor. Your eyes follow her line of sight without thinking too much of it, and you still just a second after Miyeon does.
Because standing near one of the food trucks with drinks sat carelessly in their hands are Mingyu and Jaehyun. But that's not the point, Mingyu and Jaehyun are fine, you've actually shared that infamous econ elective with Jaehyun during junior year and he surprisingly turned out to be sweet and worth a couple hours of your precious time.
Jungkook, on the other hand, is not ideal. But not ideal is also fine, you can bear with non ideal to an extent. What's thoroughly, completely, utterly impossible, is Yugyeom.
God truly does not love you.
Miyeon physically freezes besides you. And, I repeat, she doesn't subtly falter. She stills.
Then, Jungkook looks up at exactly the wrong moment, finding your eyes and catching them in air before anyone else gets the chance to steal them away. His eyebrows lift slightly in amusement before a smile slowly spreads across his face, and it feels a little concerning the way he does it. Because Jungkook smiles like he means it. Like the smile happens to him before he can realize and reconsider.
His line of sight is followed before any of you can do anything about it. It starts with Mingyu, then Jaehyun. Which is fine, because we've already established that Mingyu and Jaehyun are harmless.
But Yugyeom? Not even close.
"Oh no." Mingyu says the moment he spots you. And honestly? Very fair reaction.
Because unfortunately, Kim Yugyeom has always had an exceptional talent for creating versions of Miyeon you hate.
Jaehyun lifts his drink awkwardly. "Hi?" Very brave of him. Very brave.
Miyeon smiles immediately, too animated and too polite, before you can even think of interfering and softening the impact of it all.
"Hi Jaehyun." She says, tone too normal despite the situation.
"Miyeon," Yugyeom greets, voice casual and light like her name belongs naturally inside his mouth. Fucking hypocrite.
"You cut your hair."
No.
No, you're not doing this right now. Absolutely not. Because, okay, first of all, what kind of thing is that to say to your ex girlfriend of two whole years? And the worse part of it all? Miyeon cut her hair three months ago. Three, entire, months.
Yugyeom blinks one whole minute after the words leave his mouth when no one responds to him, like the sentence leaves his mouth and arrives back to him sixty seconds later. But it's already late for realization. Too fucking late.
A long silence passes, and you feel it physically sizzle and slice right through the surface of your skin. "Right." Miyeon mutters a beat later, and you close your eyes with a long, suffering inhale.
Somewhere in the middle of the discomfort settling over everybody like a layer of second skin, you catch movement from the corner of your eye as if the situation isn't terrible enough.
Jungkook, of course, is already looking at you. Because he seems to have made it into a habit.
Miyeon laughs beside you. "Three months, by the way."
Yugyeom falters. "What?"
"My hair," She starts, letting her eyes drag over him. "I cut it three months ago."
It's a little funny now. You know, the entirety of the situation. You do everything in your power to not stare at the two of them, gaze drifting around your surroundings instead. And it turns out that you, as of right now, are not the smartest person in the room. Because across from you, Mingyu suddenly becomes deeply interested in the swirl of his drink, and Jaehyun seems to be counting the birds in the sky. Jungkook? That, you don't know. Because you're sure he's still looking at you and that's the second thing your eyes are trying to avoid.
"Right." Yugyeom says again, like saying right enough times might eventually make the situation right, even though it won't. Because none of you are stupid— well, except for Yugyeom himself, it seems.
Then, Mingyu suddenly claps his hands once, and the sound echoes so much louder than he intended it to. "Okay!" He exclaims with an amount of enthusiasm that should genuinely award him an Emmy. "Amazing! Love this energy. It's so deeply casual."
Miyeon laughs again, a little softer than the one she let escape minutes ago. It's not enough to bounce and spill and take over the atmosphere the way it usually does. But for now, it's enough to let you breathe.
"Sorry," She says through another laugh, shaking her head. "No because, you're unbelievable."
Yugyeom squints. "What did i even do?"
You scoff. Obviously, that's not surprising. Kim Yugyeom deserves a hundred more of those. But Mingyu and Jaehyun scoff along with you. And, oh, Jungkook too.
Maybe society has hope after all.
That's when you stop keeping up with their conversation, because their steps slowly get closer and closer to each other and farther and farther away from you until the volume of their voices lower down enough and exist only for the two of them.
Not that you're complaining. Not at all. You're thoroughly relieved and you do not want to hear another word of this pointless conversation.
Mingyu leans over and lowers his height next to you. "How traumatized are we?"
You laugh, relaxing a little. "A solid eight out of ten."
He places a hand over his chest dramatically. "Thank god." He exhales. "For a second i thought i was alone in this."
You laugh again, and peculiarly, somewhere in the middle of cheap drinks and Mingyu defending his dignity like his life depends on it, your shoulders begin dropping one by one.
Everything softens after that.
Mingyu gets distracted after spotting somebody from one of his classes and suddenly starts passionately discussing basketball statistics with Jaehyun. Miyeon and Yugyeom slowly become figurines in your peripheral vision— still there, still existing, but further now. And somehow, Jungkook ends up right besides you.
Maybe not intentionally, maybe not obviously— but he does. It happens in that natural way he seems to be very adamant on keeping recently.
You become aware of him in pieces. The warmth of his shoulder besides yours, the sound of his laugh whenever Mingyu says something ridiculous, the traces of alcohol and masculine cologne in his scent whenever wind shifts in your direction…Tiny, stupid things people leave behind accidentally.
And unfortunately, you've spent your entire life collecting them.
"You're less guarded tonight."
You blink, then turn around slowly, eyes locking with Jungkook who is looking at you over the rim of his drink, a smile sitting loosely against his mouth.
"I'm always like this."
Jungkook lets something between a breathy laugh and a scoff through his lips. "Liar."
You roll your eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out."
He shrugs. "I just pay attention to you sometimes."
Fucking flirt.
You're only half listening to Mingyu's latest spiral on getting cheated on with a girl when Jungkook's phone vibrates against the grass. Jungkook glances down, picks the phone up, then groans when he reads whatever text that has been sent to him.
"What?" You ask.
"Mark,"
Your brows pull together in confusion. "What did he do?"
Jungkook lets his head fall back slightly. "He forgot the hard drive at the studio."
Jungkook stares at his phone for a beat longer, exhales, then turns towards you. "Come with me."
And he is met with silence. Because for a moment, for a long, dreadful sixty seconds, silence surrounds you too. Music still continues behind you but it feels distant now. People laugh, lights glow, but all of it feels very far away. Solely because of the way he says it.
Because Jungkook doesn't ask. No do you want to come? No you can if you want. He just tells you to come with him as if he already knows the answer.
You narrow your eyes, trying to play it off. "Is that confidence i'm seizing?"
"No." He says, smile growing into something gentler. "I think it's hope."
Oh.
Jungkook pushes himself up from the grass, then extends his hand towards you. Not dramatically, not enough to create a whole deal out of it, but enough for your eyes to drop down to it automatically then back to him as if a hundred different scenarios have just flashed across your mind.
You take his hand.
By the time you reach the studio, you're a little warm. Not because of walking, not because of the weather, but because of something you absolutely can not say out loud.
Jungkook pushes the door open, then lets you walk in first. Warm light spills through the room and reaches straight into your pupils the moment you step in, and you physically have to tap your thigh twice to recollect yourself back together.
Space feels a little different when it's just the two of you.
Jungkook walks ahead towards the mixing desk, still looking through his phone. "Mark said he left his hard drive somewhere."
You hum, eyes drifting around. But it all feels absent, a little pointless. Because you're painfully aware of the tiny things all over again. Jungkook pushing his sleeves up, the way strands of hair falls into his eyes, how the sound of his voice fills in the empty room…
Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's exhaustion, or maybe it's the way spring nights make people a little delirious. Stupid pollens.
You let a quiet breath escape and turn away before your brain decides to become any more humiliating than it already has tonight. "How does a music major forget a hard drive?" You ask, voice bouncing a little too loudly through the empty studio.
Jungkook shrugs. "It's Mark."
Fair.
You snort quietly and drift towards the couch instead, letting yourself drop against the cushions while Jungkook continues opening drawers and moving papers around an unnecessary amount of concentration.
For a minute, for the short time being, neither of you says anything. And maybe that's your first mistake. Because lately, silence with Jungkook has become as dangerous as vodka on an empty stomach.
Your eyes lift before you can stop them. That's definitely your second mistake.
Because Jungkook had pushed his sleeves higher at some point and now his forearms are exposed beneath the dim lights of the studio and you miserably need those long, tattooed fingers curling inside your pussy.
He crouches beside the desk, pushing his hair back before another strand immediately falls over his forehead again. "Found it." He says, and your head snaps back up.
Jungkook, unfortunately, is already looking at you. Not at the hard drive, not at the desk, just you. And for a second, neither of you says anything. Because maybe this is one of those moments where silence becomes too delicate for words. Moments that sit so carefully between people that speaking feels like touching glass with bare hands.
Your stomach tightens embarrassingly beneath your ribs as Jungkook's eyes drag all over you before they settle and stay on your face. He takes a step closer, then another, and then speaks softly. "What?"
Your brows pull together despite yourself. "What what?"
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You keep staring." He says, voice lower now.
"And you don't?" You reply, voice barely above a whisper as you rise up to your feet.
"I do." Jungkook replies. There is barely an inch between your bodies now, his breath hot and heavy on your skin. "But i don't lie about it, pretty girl."
Your entire body stiffens at that. But it's not the pretty girl, not at all. It's the way he says it. Because Jungkook doesn't rush you, he never does. He doesn't smirk, doesn't tease. Just stays there looking and waiting. Like he is giving you room, like stepping away is still an option.
And the worst part is, you don't want to step away.
Silence stretches and stretches until it begins feeling alive. His eyes drop down to your lips, then lifts back up. For one devastating second, Jungkook looks at you like he is trying to memorize something. Like he's collecting little things too.
His hand lifts, thumb softly tracing over the line of your jaw. "I've been patient for so long." He speaks over your lips. "And i know you feel it too. But i need to hear your words if you really want this to happen."
Your breath catches and flips over halfway through your throat, chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy rhythm. "Jungkook,"
"Tell me," He starts, thumb stopping by the bottom of your lip. "If you want me as bad as i want you. Because— fuck, I've been good, i've been patient but i'm terribly desperate and i need to know if you are too."
"Please," You try, but you've already stopped thinking altogether.
"Please what, baby? I need you to use your words."
"Kiss me." You fit the entire weight of those words in a tiny little breath and Jungkook's lips are on yours in an instant.
The kiss starts out slow, his lips moving against yours gently as if he is savoring every ounce of its taste on the farthest corners of his tongue. Your hands find the nape of his neck, pulling and pressing him closer until distance can't bear existing anymore.
Jungkook's hands drop down to your waist, tugging you closer so that your hips clash against his. You whimper into his mouth, and he swallows it without wasting a single second.
Because Jungkook has been waiting.
This isn't what the does, not at all. Jungkook has never been a patient man. Not with desire, not with girls. He takes and gets taken in blinks and fractions and seconds— easy, casual, weightless.
But you, you've turned into something devastatingly different. Because for weeks now Jungkook has been wanting without touching, looking without taking— ever since you laughed and rolled your eyes prettily at Yugyeom's party that night. He has spent nights thinking about your lips, mornings replaying the sound of your laugh and entire conversations searching for traces of hidden meanings beneath your words like a man slowly losing his goddamn mind.
Jungkook doesn't wait. He doesn't ache over girls. He doesn't sit awake late at night remembering the way they looked at him beneath dim studio lights or think about the possibility of their hands touching his. But with you— fuck.
With you, he has become unbearably aware of himself. You've made him patient in the cruelest way possible. Because now he notices everything and god, the pretending has been killing him.
And now you're kissing him back as if you've been just as gone. And that thought alone is enough to fold and mold his brain into something disgustingly mushy and achingly dizzy.
"More," You moan between kisses, body practically begging for his touch.
Jungkook's stomach flips upside down. "Yeah? Want more, pretty? Want me to touch you?" He squeezes the plump meat of your ass through your jeans, and your hips jerk into his with the feeling.
His hands roam all over your body before stopping right at the hem of your top. His fingers fiddle with the fabric before he pulls away to look at you properly, and you give him your consent dressed up as a weak nod.
Jungkook pulls your tank top over your head, eyes stuck on the way your boobs bounce beneath the lace of your bra with the movement. He physically, loudly, groans at the sight before plastering wet, open mouthed kisses on the soft skin. Your head falls back in pleasure, hands tangling in his soft locks. Jungkook pushes his head further into your tits before he reaches over your back and unclasps your bra in one swift motion.
Your ass hits the armrest of the leather couch when he lowers himself to take a nipple into his mouth, fingers toying with the other. You moan in short, consecutive whimpers as his tongue laps and flickers over the hardened nub, the wetness in your panties growing and growing.
His cups your pussy over the your jeans, fingers pressing into your core over the fabric. The pressure is utterly mind blowing because the course denim stretches and digs into you further, causing you to cry out in pleasure.
"Touch me properly, Jungkook." You force out, desperate to feel him on your bare skin.
Jungkook scoffs between kisses. "Greedy, aren't you?"
He unbuttons your jeans, fondling with the zipper for a beat too long before he can unzip and get you out of it.
He pushes your panties aside with two fingers before sliding them into you. Your cunt sucks him in immediately, already way too wet and way too impatient for any form of foreplay.
Jungkook tilts his head to look at the way his fingers are slipping in and out of you. "Shit, pretty. Look at that. You're gripping me."
"Jungkook," You cry out, hands curling around his biceps for support. "Need— need your cock, please."
He lifts his eyes up to look at your face properly, then sketches and carves every line of your expression onto the deepest corners of his heart.
He slowly pulls out his fingers, then draws circles on your swollen clit before pulling away to take off his own clothes. His shirt flies away first, and you can't help but gawk at the bare sight of his chest. Arms, shoulders, abs— you're lucky if you don't cum right then and there.
He gives you a small, knowing chuckle before unbuckling his belt, tossing the jeans somewhere across the room along with his boxers. Your lips are parted beyond your knowledge, eyes stuck on the hardened sight of his length.
You've never seen a cock as pretty as that.
You're not sure if you'd ever even thought a cock was pretty— because usually, to you, they're far from that. But Jungkook, god, Jungkook is so fucking pretty with a tip so pink you think you want to suckle on it like a lollipop and a length so massive you desperately want it to choke you.
You wouldn't be mad if your cause of death had suffocated on cock written on it all uppercase in bold letters.
And Jungkook just laughs. He fucking laughs.
"Don't worry, pretty. It's all yours." He says, kissing your lips once more before motioning to turn over. "Now turn around and bend over for me." He adds, pushing your back lightly so that you're completely bent over with both hands gripping on the armrest of the couch.
Jungkook drags his tip across your folds, spreading your slick all over your cunt before he slowly pushes it in. You feel his tip first, letting you adjust to the stretch as he sucks in a sharp breath at the warmth of your walls. You moan loudly when he presses half of his cock into you, fingers firming around the cushion.
"Oh god," You breathe, uncontrollably pushing your ass higher into the air. He slams in the rest of his length at your movement, and your back arches even deeper. "Fuck, Jungkook. You're so— so big. I can't."
"You can, princess. I know you can. You'll take every inch like a good girl. Gonna make me proud, aren't you?"
He completely slides out out slowly, and before you can whine at the emptiness Jungkook slams himself back in. You moan loudly, head empty and thoroughly dizzy.
Jungkook starts fucking into you, one had gripping firmly onto your waist as the other toys with your nipple from the back. He is filling you up so good you're going to lose your goddamn mind. You feel so full, stretched and stuffed to the fucking brim. Your walls suck him in desperately, walls clenching and tightening around his fat cock as he pounds into you recklessly.
"Yes, fuck. Wanna be good for you." You mutter messily as his thrusts get deeper and deeper, cock twitching inside your wetness.
"I'm close." You breathe.
"I've got you." He says, and you hate how assuring the words sound.
You let yourself go just as he starts playing with your clit from behind, stimulating you as you milk your juices around his cock. He helps you ride out your high, chest pressing onto your back as he plasters small, reassuring kisses on your shoulder.
You feel physically nauseous at the domesticity.
"Switch with me." You say after coming down from your orgasm, straightening as his cock slides out of you.
Jungkook's body falters, brows pulling together. "What?"
You roll your eyes, pulling away. "Sit, Jungkook."
Jungkook somehow obeys without another word, dropping his body onto the couch beneath you. You hold his shoulders from above, placing your legs at both sides of his hips before reaching for his cock.
Jungkook's breath stutters when you take him into your hand, pumping him a few times before aligning him with your entrance. You slowly sink down onto his length, and you both moan simultaneously when you take every inch of his dick into your pussy.
"Shit," He moans, your name dancing prettily on his tongue. "You're so hot."
His fingertips dig into the soft skin of your hips, head thrown back lazily as he moans through parted lips. You bounce on his dick with every ounce of energy that's left in you, thighs aching as he twitches inside your walls.
Jungkook lifts his head a little to properly take in the sight of your bouncing tits, nearing his high.
"Where do you want me?" He asks, voice low and breathy. Your stomach churns at the question, nails scratching his broad shoulders.
"You can cum inside."
He's going to die. He is going to fucking die but at least he'll die a proud man with his cum stuffed inside you.
And just as Jungkook was about to close his eyes and release inside you, your phone rings.
His lips part to say something, but you beat him to it. "Just shut it off."
Jungkook's hand weakly finds your phone, pressing the close button twice without looking at it. Of course he doesn't look, he'd be insane to drift his eyes away from the way your soft, perky tits are bouncing up and down in his own hold. But the ecstasy lasts so long as fifteen seconds until your phone rings again.
Jungkook flips it over this time. The name on your phone's screen flashes right through his eyes and he feels his heart stumble and drop straight into the rock bottom of his stomach
wc: 22.5k
content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, no age gap, reader in her mid to late forties, rivals to lovers, med student flash backs, parental death, suicide, suicidal ideation, cat dad!robby, sabbatical!robby, biker!robby, motorcycle accident (minor injuries), whump, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, so much domestic fluff, discussions of mental health, complicated parental relationship, like literally so much domesticity it's sickening, robby nicknamed reader bambi back in med school, mostly used in flashbacks, reader has a tattoo
synopsis: michael robinavitch was practically your sworn enemy in med school. your sworn enemy that you'd slept with, regretably, once. then twenty years passed and back in pittsburgh, you see one michael robinavitch on hinge. ever the hopeless romantic, you can't help the curiosity that leads you to match with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't remember you.
a/n: this one is for all my fellow hopeless romantics. it's so romantic and dramatic it borders on cringe but whatever. i had a ton of fun writing all my deepest romantic and domestic fantasies. welcome to my dream house, i tried to paint it as cozy as possible. <3 -syd
Your favorite part of being called in to the hospital on a Saturday was the peace and quiet of the lab. Doubly so today, because you were called in during the night shift.
Pathology didn't really have "night shifts" or even weekend shifts so the lab was completely empty when you arrived. Immediately, you set up your space, your speaker, pulled out the iced coffee you'd made at home, unscrewing the cap on the Ball jar.
Originally, you'd planned to spend the night on the couch with your tabby cat, Brutus (named in such a way so when he inevitably destroyed your furniture or knocked your favorite mug off the table you could at least find some whimsy in crying "Et tu, Brute?" theatrically), and a movie that you'd heard would make you cry. You'd been meaning to cry for a while now, but hadn't been able to find the time. You supposed you could push it to another night, depending on how long you ended up being in the hospital tonight.
You hummed along to the playlist you'd started on your speaker as you prepared a blood smear from the sample you'd been called in for.
Jack Abbot was the attending on shift in the ED this evening. You had only met him in person once or twice, but you were glad it was him and not Michael. Or, Robby, it seemed he was going by these days. You hadn't yet run into him since being back at PTMC, but you were not eager to reminisce with him, especially since it was becoming more and more clear that he had no recollection of you.
It shouldn't have bothered you so much. It had been two med school rotations and one extremely disappointing hookup when you'd both gotten too drunk after shift. But he had been instrumental in you picking pathology for residency. At the time, the decision had been full of complicated emotions, resentment, a complete misunderstanding of who you were and what you wanted. But now, well, you thought maybe you owed him your gratitude.
Your phone pinged while you were prepping your slides and you eyed it and found it was a notification from Hinge.
From Robby.
You inhaled slowly and looked away as your screen went dark. You had no idea what the fuck you were doing, chatting with Robby on a dating site. You told yourself you just were curious when your thumb tapped the heart on his profile. Middle aged looked really really good on him, you wouldn't deny that, but you still saw the baby faced, skinny rod of a med student when you looked at him. And when he'd first initiated the chat, you realized very quickly he didn't remember you.
You found yourself preening under his attention, how he complimented your photos and your mind through conversations. The both of you established early on that you didn't want to discuss work beyond confirming that you were both doctors working in PTMC. But you repeatedly dodged his attempts to meet up and grab a drink. You weren't sure how long you could keep it all up without admitting that you knew him already. Intimately, even.
You suspected soon enough, he'd get tired of trying to get you to meet up with him and move on to the next thing. But thus far, he'd been persistent, going on weeks now.
But you didn't have time for him right now so you turned your attention back to your slides. Slipping one beneath the microscope, you focused the knobs slowly, letting your world narrow to the blood sample, the blood cells.
This was why you loved your job. How easy it was to slip outside yourself and into whatever sample you were looking at. There was always a clear answer hiding in the shape of the cells, just beneath the surface. There was always a clear path to diagnosis, to treatment, to healing. Everything made perfect sense under the light of a microscope.
And this sample, as always, made perfect sense after just a few minutes. You sighed, "Shit."
You couldn't risk just sending this back via the online portal for whenever the doctor deigned to check the chart next so you picked up the phone. It rang and rang and rang.
You shook your head and put the phone back on the receiver. As quickly as possible, you documented the chart, still trying to get ahold of someone, but no one was picking up the phone. What the fuck was going on down there?
Impatient, you decided to head down yourself after saving your changes in the chart. You walked briskly towards the elevators, rocked on your heels as you waited.
The second the elevator doors opened you were knocked practically on your ass by the noise and the chaos of the ED. It was rare you came down here at all and every time you did it felt like being thrown back to med school rotations. Suddenly you were again the floundering med student constantly being expected to be on the lookout for the daggers of the other students as well as practice medicine efficiently.
But you were an adult now, not the twenty year old naive kid genius walking around on wobbly legs. Pushing your shoulders back, you shook it off and headed for the hub. Luckily, Dr. Abbot was right there.
"Your phones not working down here or something?" You asked without preamble, hands on your hips.
Abbot looked up at you slowly and then over to the phone. You followed his gaze and saw that the phone was lying off the receiver, "Ah, shit, sorry." He put the receiver back on the hook, "What could be so urgent it coaxes path from the comforts of the cave upstairs?"
You smirked, "Your patient has TTP."
He sighed and picked up an iPad, "Fuck," he muttered when he pulled up the chart you'd just updated, "Okay, um," He shook his head, "I don't think we have the resources down here to start TPE."
You frowned, "Okay… Admit to ICU, then."
He laughed, "Yeah, right. Good luck getting the charge to agree to admit a patient on a Saturday night."
You bit your lip, and then sighed, "Alright, give me… fifteen minutes and I'll be back down here with an apheresis machine, I'll run it."
He raised his eyebrows, "Really? You'd do that?"
You shrugged, "I could run apheresis in my sleep."
Slowly Abbot nodded and smirked at you, "Alright, great. Thank you."
Later, you sat in the hub of the emergency department after setting up the patient for TPE and finally opened your messages from Michael—Robby, you corrected yourself.
What's my favorite homebody up to this evening? Any way I can convince you to grab a drink?
You stifled a smirk and typed back, I'm on call tonight. Sorry, cowboy.
"Hey," You looked up to see Abbot leaning over the counter to look at you, "Seriously, thank you for staying."
"No problem," You eyed the chaos around you, "Seemed like you guys could use the help."
"Always." He laughed and nodded, "Listen, some of us in the ED are getting together for a poker night next Friday, would you… be interested in coming?"
You blinked up at him, unsure of what to make of the offer. Was he flirting or just being nice? You'd heard that Jack Abbot flirted with everyone, so likely he didn't mean anything by it at all. While you were trying to figure it out, your phone pinged again. Robby. You flipped your phone facedown on the workstation desk.
"Why not?" You said and smiled up at him.
"Great," He unlocked his phone and handed it to you, "Here, put your number in and I'll text you the details."
Having entered your information, you returned his phone to him and then he was off. Sighing, you turned back to your phone to open Robby's latest message.
They're working you too hard. I thought path was supposed to be easy?
You rolled your eyes at this, but were unsurprised. For as much as you remembered him complaining about surgeons during your rotations, that they had a superiority complex, he had the same issues. And so had you, once upon a time, but you had grown out of it.
Having a work-life balance doesn't make the whole specialty "easy."
Almost immediately, a reply was on your phone: Sorry, I didn't mean to diminish your specialty. The ED would cease to function without collaboration from path, I know that. And your diagnoses have saved our asses on multiple occasions when we were busy chasing zebras.
Well. That was new. An apology without hesitation that seemed to drip through with humility and sincerity.
Though, it also was not lost on you that he had incentive to be nicer to you in the context of a dating app considering he'd been trying to fuck you for the last few weeks.
Apology accepted, you texted back, I know your true frustration lies with the inability to have your way with me tonight. You stifled a smile after hitting send. It reminded you of being in college, the casual flirtation. You hadn't had time for this sort of thing in med school or residency, doing your best to just survive. Then, when you were finally an attending, you were so burnt out you remembered practically sleep walking through the first couple of years. By the time that was all over, you felt so out of practice you'd mostly isolated yourself until now.
You'd had a few one night stands since creating a Hinge profile, but since you and Robby had begun chatting he had taken up all of your mental space. This irritated you greatly on top of the fact that he didn't seem to remember you.
And here I thought I was doing an excellent job at concealing my desperation.
You huffed a laugh and shook your head, Could you show me just how desperate you are for me?
You fidgeted with your fingers anxiously as you waited for his response, wondering for just a few moments if you had been too brazen, too forward—The phone pinged.
You slid open your phone and felt lightheaded as you took in the photo he'd sent you. His fist was wrapped around the considerable length of his very erect cock, dark tufts of hair at the base of his fist. You had both been pretty drunk the time you'd hooked up in the darkness of Robby's messy studio apartment and as he'd had trouble maintaining an erection that night, you'd never gotten a good look at it. Not like this.
There was a lump in your throat and you swallowed hard as another message came through: The photos you sent in that pretty lingerie set will have to do for tonight.
You felt your cheeks heat and blinked the steamy feeling from your eyes. Locking your phone, you placed it face down in front of you and stared off into the distance for a while.
And after a minute or so of this, when your galloping heart slowed and lucid thinking began to ease its way behind your eyes again, you had only a single thought:
Oh, no.
***
An unseasonable heat wave had domed around Pittsburgh the last couple of days and so when Robby headed to Jack's place for poker night that Friday, the sun had gone down, but the residual heat warmed him enough that he didn't need a jacket.
He had been waffling back and forth on whether or not to skip the night all together. The week had been crushing him, slowly, a boulder rolling incremently into a brick wall, an unstoppable force.
There had been a few patients they'd lost that really stuck with him this week. They'd been short on residents which meant he'd had to do a bit more hands on care than usual.
And more and more when he found things growing particularly dark, he'd reach for you. You, with your gorgeous smile and silly cat and constant, almost oppressive optimism.
He'd tease you about it, but really he admired it. How no matter how bleak of a day you had, he had, you'd find a way to turn it on its head.
Sure, you'd had to stage the breast cancer of a woman in her thirties and the news wasn't good, but you'd gotten to hold her hand and tell her about all the ground breaking treatment that was available to her. Sure, you'd cried about her for days later, but she'd sent you a card the next week thanking you for the simple act of holding her hand. Of showing her kindness. And maybe you'd get to see her through to remission as you'd done for countless others.
That was your favorite part, you'd tell him. Diagnosing sucked, but treatment plans and seeing people through to the other side, sliding biopsies under your microscope to see healthy tissue. Remission.
"That's why you're so miserable down there," You'd told him, "You mostly see people on their worst days, you don't get to celebrate with them when they make it to recovery. You don't get to see the returns."
He craved your perspective, wanted desperately to have it himself. But he wasn't sure it was possible for him the way it was for you. With your nine to five and weekends off and time to date—though apparently, not time for him.
He had thought at first that you were simply waiting him out, waiting to see if he'd lose interest. You'd been open about the fact that your time on dating apps had largely led you to become disillusioned with the possibility of a real, fulfilling relationship. He felt the same, mostly. The only thing the apps had ever been good for was a night or two to fill the oppressive silence of his house.
But he continued trying with you, which had led to the two of you sexting and him being as open as he could remember being in recent years about how badly he wanted someone. Still, you avoided him.
He'd texted you earlier to see if you were around tonight and you had left him on read, so begrudgingly, he'd be going to poker night instead. Anything other than being alone with his thoughts tonight after they'd lost a woman with eclampsia and her baby.
But when he walked into Jack's living room, a beer in hand, he was stunned to see you sitting on the couch, immersed in conversation with Mckay and Al Hashimi.
Your eyes darted to his and then quickly away, but he saw the way your eyes widened and your chest swelled. You didn't know he was going to be there.
"Hey man, you made it," Jack clapped Robby on the shoulder, "Glad you came."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you, "You invited path?"
Jack followed his gaze, "Oh, yeah, she helped us out last weekend with a TTP patient. Figured it was only polite. Honestly, I didn't think she'd come. Why, do you know her?"
With effort, Robby tore his eyes away from you, "Wha—? Oh, no. No more than you do, you know, the rare occasion path comes down."
Jack narrowed his eyes at Robby, "Right," he said slowly, "Okay. Well, can I interest you in a round of Blackjack?"
Robby chuckled and shook his head, "No thank you, learned my lesson years ago not to play cards with you."
Jack smirked and watched as Robby's gaze flitted back to you, "I think she's too well adjusted for you."
Robby's head whipped back around, a hot flush crawling up his neck, "Excuse me?" He said through nervous laughter.
Jack shrugged, "I'm just saying, she seems like she wouldn't tolerate your bullshit and you'd probably get bored at how… normal she is."
Robby blinked at him, "Who said I'm interested?"
Jack rolled his eyes, "Please, don't insult me, brother. The last time I saw you look at a woman like that was the first time you met Heather. And you'll recall she also was unwilling to put up with your bullshit."
He knew Jack was mostly being playful, but it stung nonetheless, the thought that someone else besides himself thought he was incapable of being in a healthy and loving relationship. That no one in their right mind could want to stay with him.
For just a second he was eight years old again wondering if he was such a terrible, rotten son that it'd pushed his mother to end her own life—The thought rushed up against the dam in his brain and just as quickly receded. He wouldn't think about that. Not now. Not here.
He forced a smile for Jack, "You don't need to remind me. I remember."
After a moment Jack squeezed his shoulders, "But what do I know, hm? Go shoot your shot."
Robby rolled his eyes, "You have far too many Gen Z staff on your shift."
But still, Robby wandered over to you eventually, surprised to find that he was a bit nervous, "Is this why you didn't answer my text earlier?" He asked quietly as he sat down.
You turned just a bit towards him, "I didn't think you'd be here, honestly. It doesn't seem like your scene."
He laughed, "Meaning?"
"Meaning it's too… jovial," You teased.
He ran a hand over the back of his head, "Well, I'm glad I came. It's nice to finally meet you in person."
You grimaced, "Yeah, we've met before, Michael."
He frowned and turned fully to you, "What're you—? No we haven't."
You nodded slowly, "We have, yeah. We went to med school together. Did rotations together."
For a moment he paused and tilted his head, turned your name over in his head, "No… No, you're too young to have gone to med school with me—" His eyes caught on your wrist as your fingers tapped lightly against the glass of your beer bottle. A tattoo in looping scroll that read As you wish. With a dagger beneath the words. The feeling of nostalgia almost violently overtook him. There was only one other woman he'd ever met who had that tattoo of a quote from The Princess Bride in that exact spot.
"Bambi?" He asked, sounding almost breathless.
You wrinkled your nose and turned away from him, "I always hated that nickname."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you. There were a million thoughts running through his head as suddenly images flashed behind his eyes, the two of you twenty years younger and constantly at each other's throats, desperate to prove you were better than the other. But the first thought that he blurted out of his mouth was, "You went into pathology?"
You laughed and shook your head, "I knew you didn't mean it when you said you respected my specialty—"
"That's not what I meant—"
"What else could you have meant by the condescension dripping from your tone right now?"
He opened and closed his mouth before hanging his head, "I'm just… Surprised, is all. You were… a force in the ER. You could have had your pick of any emergency medicine residency in the country, surely."
You stared ahead for a few moments, tightlipped and eyes glossy, "Emergency medicine nearly burned me out just at rotations, I imagine I would have been… a shell of myself had I stayed. And at the time, you certainly agreed."
He huffed in indignation, "That is categorically false, I thought you were brilliant."
"Well you sure had a funny way of showing it. Talking over me, talking down to me in front of attendings, basically celebrating every mistake I made—"
"Everyone else practically worshiped you. I was just trying to make sure I wasn't overlooked. You know how cutthroat it was down there—"
"Exactly," You nodded, "Which is why I'm actually grateful for the way you treated me. It wore me down enough that I knew if I couldn't get through even a rotation or two, there was no way I'd make it through a residency. Not in that environment."
He pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands, "Look, I'm… I apologize… For how I spoke to you back then, I was a stupid kid, I was just trying to survive as best I knew how. It's not an excuse, I just. I'm sorry."
You didn't seem upset as you looked at him, eyes gently passing over his face. You lifted the beer bottle to your lips and he watched the lights refract off the glass.
"It's fine," You said eventually, "You were far from the only reason I went into path."
"Why didn't you say anything? When we—When we started talking? Why didn't you tell me?"
You shrugged, "I thought maybe you'd forgotten me altogether. Or worse, that remembering me would mean you'd no longer be interested."
You carefully avoided looking at him when you said this, but screwed your mouth down to the side as you chewed your cheek.
Robby sat back and took a sip from his own beer, "It seems like I should have been the one to worry about that. Since I was the one who treated you so horribly."
You cleared your throat and turned back towards him. He was struck again by a sense of nostalgia at the intensity in your gaze. He had nicknamed you Bambi all those years ago because of your skittishness, the way that everything seemed to terrify you. Despite how smart you were and how clearly gifted a doctor you would become, you were easily startled and easily overwhelmed by the din of the emergency room. It hadn't been all that uncommon to find you in the ambulance bay after a hard case, slouched on the ground against the wall, hands trembling as they cradled your face.
But it had also been the intensity in your eyes, how every emotion was always so clearly reflected in their glossy pools, that had been the real inspiration behind the nickname. He had never intended it to be cruel, though it appeared that's how you'd interpreted it. It was something he had admired about you, the ease with which you'd connected with your patients because the empathy was so clear on your face. Of course, he had never told you that. Afraid to let on to any perceived weakness around you.
He suspected, though, that you hated the nickname because he had also used it as a weapon against your naivete. He remembered the ways he'd called attention to your age and when the Bambi nickname had spread there had been no way for you to escape it.
Now, though, your eyes were glossy again and he felt bowled over by the way you stared at him, a wistfulness in your expression, "Are you actually sorry or is it just that you think I'm hot now?"
He was so surprised by your question, he gave out a short laugh, "Please, I thought you were hot then, too."
You snorted, "Well, now I know you're lying."
"The nickname Bambi, if nothing else, implies that I found you adorable at the very least."
You rolled your eyes, "Even if I agreed with that assessment—which I don't—it was very clear from that one time we slept together that you were uninterested—"
"Woah—woah—woah— back up. When we slept together?"
You looked at him blankly for a few moments, "Oh my God," You said quickly, seemingly embarrassed as you looked away from him, "You don't remember. It was so bad you don't even remember."
Robby's brain was still working overtime to catch up with you, "Hold on—I would remember sleeping with you."
You stood up from the couch, and he remembered this about you—You had been spooked, you were about to dart back into the woods, never to be seen again. But he stood at the same time, towering above you, "Don't go," he said quietly, "whatever happened was twenty something years ago, it doesn't mean anything—"
"It does to me." You said firmly, "Excuse me," And you forced your way past him.
Robby watched you walk away for a moment, then turned his head to see Jack shaking his head, a slight smirk on his face. A very blatant I told you so if Robby'd ever seen one.
"Shit," Robby muttered under his breath and hung his head.
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Michael was being very touchy that evening and overly kind, paying for your drinks and wrapping an arm around you in the booth. It was making you shy. Despite the way he talked to you, at you, over you, there were cases every now and then when you caught him looking at you with what looked like awe or reverence. But just as quickly, it'd dissipate and you'd be left wondering if you'd imagined it.
"Let me walk you home," he said, slurring only a little, his words just slightly stumbling into one another like dominos. He wrapped your jacket around your shoulders as he spoke.
"I'm fine," You smiled at him, "I think you're the one who needs to be walked home."
He held up his hands in mock surrender, a boyish grin on his face, "You got me. I do need to be chaperoned home if you would be so kind."
You rolled your eyes, but secretly you were pleased. You wanted to be his friend, wanted him to respect you so you didn't have to keep having panic attacks alone in the bathroom. You were still very much like a scared little kid in that way, just wanting at least one other person to just see you, truly.
So you allowed Michael to swing his arm around your shoulders as he directed you towards his place. It was just a couple of blocks from the hospital, but when you got to the building, a rundown, brutalist slab of concrete, you frowned, "You live here?"
"Now, don't sound so disgusted, princess," he teased and pulled you along behind him inside the building, "Not all of us have wealthy parents to fund our gorgeous apartments in buildings that have doormen."
You felt your cheeks heat, "That's not—That's not entirely true." He looked at you dubiously, eyebrows raised, and you furrowed yours, "I pay for my utilities," You grumbled.
He chuckled and ran a hand over his jaw before sliding his key into his door.
"If it's not too revolting to you," He said softly as he pushed the door open, "You're welcome to come inside for a drink."
Something changed in the tone of his voice and as you tried to place it, you saw the way his eyes roved down your body.
You had never had sex with anyone before, had never had the time. You were in college by the time you were fifteen and because you were so young no one really wanted to hang out with you. You didn't get invited to parties or study sessions (unless someone was trying to inadvertently get you to do their homework). Once you got to medical school, you were still only seventeen, still too young for any of your peers to show much interest.
When you turned twenty one, the shift had been subtle. But suddenly, you were being included to go out for drinks. Then people raised their eyebrows less when you said you were in med school. The stares lingered longer and traveled farther.
And now Michael was looking at you like that, too.
Maybe you should've thought it over more, said goodnight and gone straight home. But you were so painfully lonely. You should've hated him for the way he'd treated you, but it only spurred you on. You were used to having to compete for scraps of love from people who seemed to not like you much. Had been doing it since you learned to talk.
So you followed him inside.
It was freezing inside his apartment. So cold, in fact, your breath was beginning to cloud in front of you.
"Jesus Christ, Michael, is your heat broken or something?"
"Uh, no," He said from the kitchen. You heard the sound of glasses and bottles clinking before he reappeared, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other, "Just… trying to conserve. But we can turn the heat on for you, princess." He said with a wink.
You sat on his couch with your arms crossed and felt your lip jut out in a pout, "I'm not spoiled, you know. I just—It's just as cold outside as it is in here. Can't be good for you. Or the pipes."
"Many of us," He said as he poured you each a glass, amber liquid sloshing up the sides, "Had to learn to live without. I didn't grow up in a mansion like you."
You scoffed, "I'm not the sort of rich you think I am, I grew up in the suburbs. My parents still have to work for a living. Yes, it was comfortable, but we're not fucking millionaires. We don't have, like, a fucking second house in the Hamptons."
He nodded, "Still seems pretty rich to me."
You rolled your eyes, "Well, what do your parents do then?"
That insufferable smirk finally fell from his face and for a second you felt vindicated.
"If you must know," He started, staring intently at the liquor in his glass, "I don't know who my father is, never met him. And my mother killed herself when I was eight. I found her swinging from the rafters one day when I got home from school."
You stared at him, stunned, while he knocked back the rest of his whiskey and poured himself another, "My grandparents took me in after that and then when I was sixteen, my grandfather died. When I was twenty, my grandmother joined him. So now it's just me."
He raised his glass, forced smile on his face, "May their memories be a blessing." He said, and tossed back the entirety of his drink in one go.
"Michael," you said softly, reaching for him when he began to pour more whiskey, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
Not unkindly, he pushed your hand away, "You know, I've been thinking that I want people to start calling me Robby."
You frowned, thrown by the change in subject, "What?"
"Yeah, I just, people have trouble with Robinavitch. And Adamson asked me, if he could call me Robby. And I—I really like him and I want him to like me so I think—I think I'm just gonna have everyone call me Robby. It sounds friendlier, don't you think? Once I become a doctor? Doctor Robby."
You felt a sort of tenderness towards him now, after he'd revealed so much of himself to you. You had the distinct urge to hold him, cradle him to you, tell him it was all going to be okay.
"I like Michael," You said quietly, "If it's alright with you."
Finally he met your gaze again and his eyes softened just slightly. Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, he reached a hand out to cup your cheek. When you leaned into his palm, he stroked his thumb against your cheek bone.
"Sure, Bambi. You can still call me Michael."
You couldn't say which of you closed the distance first, just that the next thing you remembered, his warm, wet mouth was on yours.
At first, the kisses were slow and hesitant. You remembered it was you who deepened it, a whine clamoring out of your throat and into his mouth.
Before you knew it, you had climbed into his lap and pushed him down into the couch. You felt him harden against you and it felt instinctual, the way your hips ground down against him, chasing the friction.
"Fuck," he breathed into your mouth, his hand cradling the back of your neck, "This good?"
You nodded fervently, "Do you have a condom?"
He raised his eyebrows, "Are you sure?"
You nodded again and so he pushed his hand between you, pushing his hand into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a foil packet.
You blinked, "Were you… planning this?"
"No," He said and teared the packet open with his teeth, "But I like to be prepared just in case."
Rolling your eyes, you pulled back to allow him to push his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprung up between you and you felt your breaths grow shallow as you watched him work the condom on.
Carefully, you hiked your dress up to your hips, hoping he didn't notice the way your hands shook. His eyes stayed on yours as you shifted your underwear to the side and slowly lowered yourself onto him.
"Oh, God." He sighed, sounding just a breathless as you felt at the stretch of him. It burned for just a moment, almost pleasantly, "Look at me," He said and your eyes locked back on his.
You leaned your forehead against his as you slowly moved your hips along the length of him, "Is this—Is it good?" You asked, your voice small and uncertain.
"Yeah," He said quickly, pushed his mouth up into yours, "So good," he whispered into your mouth.
But less than a minute later, the sensation changed. It was difficult to move against him, in fact, you weren't even sure he was inside you anymore, "Did you—I mean—Are you—soft?" You could hear your own panic and desperation in your voice as your hips slowed.
A scarlet flush was creeping up his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if to avoid your gaze, "Yeah, I—I think so. S'probably whiskey dick." He finally opened his eyes and maybe sensed your impending humiliation, "Hey—hey—it's not you," He cupped your cheeks with both hands, "It's not you, I swear, you're perfect."
He pulled your face down to his again and you allowed yourself to get lost in the taste of him again, "It's me," he murmured between kisses, "I'm fuckin' defective, it's my fault."
"Michael—"
"Come up here, sit on my face," He said abruptly.
You raised your eyebrows, "Wh—what?"
"Please," He said, sounding desperate, "Please, I wanna taste you. Lemme take care of you."
You sighed and hid your face in your hands, "You don't have to, like, make it up to me—"
"I want to," he said again, "If you do, too. Please."
You couldn't deny that the idea of it had embers of arousal stirring in your belly. You hadn't prepared for the possibility of someone's mouth on you like that, but you didn't want to admit that to him. You didn't want to have to explain the depth of your inexperience lest it kill whatever remained of his desire.
So, you swallowed and moved your way up his body, let him position you, his arms wrapped around your thighs and pulling you to his mouth.
You were immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, gasping and whimpering when he moaned against you, your whole body twitching as it reverberated through your core.
But again, it wasn't long before things slowed, and then—stopped completely. Blinking, you looked down and saw that Michael had fallen asleep.
No, he couldn't have—could he? You leaned in a bit closer, leaning back to fully pull yourself off his face. Oh my God, was that drool on the corner of his mouth?
Mortified, and at a loss for what else to do, you carefully and quietly climbed off him, grabbed your things, and slipped out of his apartment. Heels in hand, you paused outside of his door and exhaled in relief.
You left his apartment feeling even more conflicted about him than before and also feeling a bit dejected. This was the guy who had once tripped you up in a trauma and then said "Don't worry Bambi, it's normal to be a bit wobbly on your legs when you're still just a fawn."
It shouldn't have surprised you at all that he found you unattractive, that obviously he had only allowed you to initiate because you were sat in front of him, willing and able. Like an idiot. Like the naive little kid he had told everyone you were.
You felt stupid and humiliated. And God knew you didn't believe in the fucking patriarchal construct of virginity, but you couldn't deny it made you feel a bit bitter that you had wasted it on Michael Robinavitch. You wouldn't make such an idiotic decision ever again.
He could say a lot about you, but you'd never made the same mistake twice. You didn't intend to start now.
***
Robby watched you through the glass, leaned over Jack's balcony with your arms wrapped around yourself.
This had to be a new record of how quickly he could fuck things up with a potential romantic partner. Once he'd recognized you, he'd felt stupid that he hadn't recognized you immediately when he saw your profile. And maybe there had been some familiarity there, something he'd mistaken for instant attraction and chemistry.
That said, he had wracked his brain and the two of you sleeping together he was near positive had never happened. Or at least, for the life of him, he couldn't remember it. And yes it was true he'd always given you a hard time, but he had also always been enamored by you. Honestly, he'd thought it'd been obvious, especially towards the end of M4.
So he found it hard to believe that he wouldn't remember that. But he also didn't think that you were a liar.
Carefully, he slid the glass door open and stepped outside. The night had cooled significantly since his arrival and as he got closer to you, he saw goosebumps along your arms. You didn't startle when he came up next to you and positioned himself at such an angle as to shield you from the breeze.
"I'm sorry that I don't remember," He said softly after a few moments, "But I'd like you to tell me about it, if you're up for it."
You shook your head, "It's not your fault. It was really horrible, I don't blame you for not remembering."
He groaned, "You know, you could say a lot of shit about me and I wouldn't blink, but hearing I'm bad in bed is a new one for me and I'm not a fan."
You laughed and turned to him, "Oh yeah? You've become something of a casanova in your old age?"
He winced, "Not that old."
You hummed and turned back towards the treeline, "What was it? That made you finally remember me tonight?"
"The Princess Bride tattoo."
You looked at your wrist, "Huh. I would've thought this was one of the things you picked on me for behind my back. Called it childish."
He shook his head, "Nah, The Princess Bride's a classic. I actually always really liked it, thought it was romantic."
You rolled your eyes at that, as if you didn't quite believe him, but didn't comment further. After a moment you sighed, "It was during MS4. We were almost done with our last rotation in the ER and some of the residents invited us out for drinks."
"Oh," Robby said, frowning, "I do remember that. I got really drunk and you walked me back to my apartment."
You nodded, "Right."
"But we didn't… I invited you in for a drink and…" He trailed off. He was drawing a blank, "Did you come inside? I just thought… You never liked me, I thought for sure you declined. I don't remember anything after that."
You narrowed your eyes at him and then sighed, "Well, you did down something like three fingers of whiskey in quick succession once we got in your apartment so I guess it's possible you blacked out."
"You always made me nervous so it's no surprise I drank so much."
You opened and closed your mouth for a moment, but then shook your head quickly, "Yeah, I guess that was it."
"Then what happened?"
You sighed, "We really don't have to rehash this—"
"Please," he pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, "I want to know."
You shook your head and then shrugged, "Fine. About a minute after you put it in, I was riding you and you went soft. So then you… you asked me to sit on your face instead. Which I did. And a minute or two later you… fell asleep."
Robby was silent for a moment as he processed what you'd said. You were deliberately looking away from him, running a hand nervously over the back of your neck.
"Wow," He said finally, "And you still liked my Hinge profile decades later?"
You gave a short laugh, "I was curious if anything had changed, I guess."
He hummed, "A lot has changed, I would say." He ran a finger lightly over the back of your arm and watched as goosebumps spread—But you didn't move away, not even when he bent to your ear and said lowly, "I'd like a chance to make it up to you."
You swallowed and then turned to face him, your faces impossibly close, "Have you ever been married, Michael?"
He frowned and pulled away marginally, "Um… no? Have you?"
You shook your head and looked off into the distance over his shoulder, wistfully, "I got close, once." You sighed, "Listen, I'm too old to be doing this… friends with benefits, situationship, whatever, bullshit. Sex is great, but I have plenty of vibrators that do the job just fine and without the emotional turmoil. So I'm not interested in casual sex. I'm looking for a partner, not a dildo. If you want me you'll have to romance me and mean it."
Robby's eyes roved over your face. Maybe it was your shared memories or the fact that you knew him before he was broken beyond repair, but he felt a tender ache in his chest looking into your eyes. Just as warm and inviting as he remembered.
There were few people these days who could entice him to commit to anything. A real relationship meant having to open himself up to someone else. Allowing them to see the ugliest parts of himself and hope they didn't leave. It usually ended in him lashing out instead so at least he had some semblence of control over the end of the relationship.
Or at least, that was the hypothesis of his last therapist, who he still wasn't entirely sure wasn't full of shit.
But either way, when he thought about pursuing a real, full relationship with you, he didn't feel his usual urge to run. Instead, he felt a curiosity. The need to take you apart, to learn you like he would a medical procedure.
Maybe he wasn't broken after all. Maybe he could have full, healthy relationships like everyone else.
He brought one of his hands up to your neck, watched how you tried to stifle the urge to lean into his touch—Good, you were touch starved, just like him—and his thumb lightly toyed with one of the hoops hanging from your ear.
"'As you wish'." He said softly, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward.
"What? You don't believe me?" He tilted his head downward to force eye contact with you, "I've been the one begging you to go on a date with me for weeks."
"A date?" You raised your eyebrows, "They're calling a drink at the bar before taking someone to bed a date now, are they?"
He scoffed, "What, so you want a string quartet and a night out at the ballet?"
You furrowed your brow, "And so what if I did?"
He stared at you for a moment and then chuckled, "Then I'd tell you to wear your favorite dress."
You narrowed your eyes, but then shook your head, "Just dinner would be more than enough."
He nodded, "I can do that. Would you allow me to cook for you?"
You smirked and ran your hands up his forearms, "Sure, but it has to be at my place."
He grinned, ran his thumb back and forth across the skin just below your ear, "Friday night?"
You tilted your head a bit, "You're serious about this?"
"Yeah," He said softly, eyes heavy lidded from both alcohol and desire as he looked into your face, "Are you?"
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as your eyes darted back and forth between his eyes, assessing. You still didn't quite believe him, he could tell. You had always been distrustful, convinced everyone was out to hurt you to a nearly paranoid level. The decades it seemed had done nothing to smooth that over.
But still, you nodded and leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek, "See you Friday, Michael."
He watched as you walked back inside, conscious of the heat that pulsed against the skin where your lips had been just moments before.
***
"What do you think, Brutus?" You asked, your cat sidling between your legs as you looked at yourself in your floor length mirror. You had chosen form fitting, but simple clothes. A ribbed black sweater and your favorite pair of jeans. "Do you think he'll like it?"
Brutus trilled and stood up on his hind legs, stretching his front paws against your legs, a very clear request to be picked up. You looked down at him and smirked, "You're gonna get cat hair all over my sweater."
He mewled again, claws gently pricking at your jeans before quickly receding. You sighed, already defeated. You could never say no to him. You bent to scoop him up to your chest, pressing your nose into his face as he immediately began purring, "I know you don't like guests, but you have to be on your best behavior tonight, okay? No knocking glassware over if I'm not paying attention to you," You peppered kisses all over his head, "It's not polite."
The doorbell rang and you quickly lowered Brutus back down, running your hands over your sweater in an attempt to brush off the cat hair.
Sliding across the hardwood in your socked feet, you took one deep breath before pulling your front door open.
There in your doorway stood Michael Robinavitch in a button down and jeans, one hand holding a thermal bag you assumed was full of groceries, the other a bottle of wine.
He grinned when you opened the door, his eyes trailing lazily down your body, giving you a once over before meeting your eyes again.
"Hi," You said and stepped to the side, "Come in."
You watched him take in your home as he walked in, kicking off his shoes by the door without you having to ask.
Without a partner to appease or children you'd spent a lot of time creating a calming, beautiful space just for yourself. It resulted in a lot of warm lighting and soothing colors. Lots of windows and cozy nooks. The kitchen was big and open with huge bay windows looking into your backyard behind the sink. As you padded gently behind Robby, you watched him take stock of the sun setting through those windows.
"This is gorgeous." He said, eyes on the fresh tulips that sat in a vase on the island.
"Thank you," You said, and took the wine bottle from his hand, "It's my favorite place in the whole world."
He smirked as he placed the groceries on the counter, "Now I understand why it's so hard to get you to leave."
You took wine glasses down from your cabinet and opened the wine he'd brought, pouring you each a glass and bringing his over to him as he began unpacking the groceries he'd brought.
"What're you making?"
He pulled out a loaf of Challah bread and offered you a piece as he spread everything else out in front of him, "Um, some salad, roast chicken, and potato kugel."
You hummed, "Where'd you learn that?"
He began prepping the veggies and you watched his hands. You remembered from med school you had always been enamored by watching skilled hands at work, especially in the ED. Watching him now you had that same feeling as the wine began to warm you from the inside out.
"They're my grandma's recipes. She used to make this every Friday for Shabbos dinner."
Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise and immediately, you felt touched, "That's… really lovely, Michael. I'm honored that you'd share them with me."
He looked up at you for a moment, smiling, but shrugged his shoulders, "It's the only meal I really know how to cook well because she taught me. I don't do much cooking these days."
You tried not to let his dismissiveness disappoint you, "Do you still… I mean, are you observing Shabbos this weekend?"
He shook his head, "No, no, if I was I'd already have broken the rules," He jerked his head towards the bay windows, where the sky was beginning to bruise, "No cooking after sundown. I don't really practice anymore, but I sometimes go to synagogue on High Holidays."
You let a few moments pass in silence before speaking again, "Can I help?"
He shook his head, "No, you just sit there and look pretty."
The two of you made small talk about work, discussing funny patients or over eager med students, until he put his dishes in the oven.
"Do you want to sit on the porch?" You asked as he washed his hands.
"That sounds lovely," He said, drying his hands on your dish towel before following you outside with his glass of wine.
You tucked your legs underneath yourself as you sat on the love seat, the chill of the spring night had you reaching for the throw blanket. But Robby got there first, gently draping it over your legs and then his own lap. You pretended not to be flustered when he pulled your feet into his lap, tenderly kneading his fingers into the arch of your foot as he sipped his wine.
Over the years, you'd brought men to your place many times. You'd even had the occasional relationship that grew to the point of your partner moving into your place, because it was a nonstarter for any partner to suggest you sell your house, something you were always clear about at the start of the relationship. Maybe it would be the reason you never had a lifelong partner, but you had put an enormous amount of work into this house to create a sanctuary of sorts. It was where you were happiest. You had no desire to live anywhere else. You doubted you'd ever love anyone as much as you loved this house.
But Robby being here, it felt different than it had felt with all others. It felt natural to have him here, like this, cooking dinner in your kitchen, sitting on the porch with you while you told him about the study you'd just been awarded a grant to start. After residency, you'd sworn off dating doctors all together. But there was something refreshing about discussing renal cell carcinoma with Robby and him asking follow up questions that were more complex than "what's a renal cell?"
It felt like he fit here with you, like he could slot into your life effortlessly. But you supposed that could just be the forlorn romantic in you desperate for anyone to desire you again.
"Where'd you go for your residency?" Robby asked.
"Chicago," You said, "Northwestern Memorial. What about you?"
"New Orleans. Big Charity Hospital."
You opened and closed your mouth, thinking silently for a few moments. Trying to remember what years the two of you had gone off to residency and when you would have finished. And the realization of when had your stomach slowly sinking. "Wasn't… Wasn't Katrina during residency?"
He wasn't looking at you, staring off into the darkness of the trees behind your house. His face was partially lit by the candles you'd brought outside. When he nodded, you couldn't get a good read on his expression, but it suddenly felt very cold around you. As if the ghosts had lowered around his shoulders.
"That must have sucked," You said softly, "I'm sorry."
He cleared his throat and looked down at his wine glass, "It was a long time ago."
One thing that had changed about Robby was his openness. Years ago, in med school, you only needed to get him a single beer deep before he was pouring out his most intimate thoughts. Obviously, the time you'd slept together, that had been the most he'd ever revealed to you. About his parents and grandparents. But even before that, he'd opened up to you about his insecurities as a doctor and even when he was having trouble with significant others.
Now, he seemed to be dismissive of his troubles. Never wanting the focus on him for too long. He used to be what your mother would call a peacock, charming to an almost offensive degree. He was impossible to dislike and had everyone thinking they were his best friend. That had all changed. You could feel the barrier he'd put up between you. What had happened to him between then and now to have changed him so drastically?
Likely, you supposed, it started with Katrina.
Another reason you had decided against going into emergency medicine had been that you knew you were too soft for it. Just the rotations had been so detrimental to your well being. You had thought you loved it while you were in it, but the second you were out of it, you realized you had been in survival mode the entire time. Outside of it, you cried for weeks straight, grieving every person you'd watched die and especially the ones that had died on your watch. The heaviness of that responsibility was too much. A lifetime of it would've broken you.
It would break anyone, you imagined. And as you watched Robby curiously, you realized for the first time since reuniting with him just how haunted he had become. You had thought with his easy charm and smile that he was still the same kid, but he had changed. The years had slowly eroded him, smoothed some edges and sharpened others.
A timer went off a few moments later and Robby flashed you a quick smile, carefully removing your feet from his lap, "You hungry?"
"Starved," You said, allowing him to take your hand and gently pull you to standing.
The food was delicious. You caught Robby staring at you more than once over the candles when you licked your fingers or groaned in pleasure, mischief in his eyes.
You had to fight him to let you do the dishes, insisting it was only fair since he had cooked. He protested for a bit until you sternly repeated that you'd be doing the dishes and since he was a guest here, you demanded he relax on the couch while you cleaned up. Eventually, he gave up, sighing heavily and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, "Thank you," he murmured, sounding bone tired.
When the last dish was loaded in the dish washer, the cookware washed, the counters wiped down, you found Robby nearly fast asleep, stretched out on your couch. Brutus had come out for the first time since he'd arrived and was now hesitantly sniffing at his hand which hung over the edge of the couch.
"What d'you think, Brutus?" You whispered, "Is he good enough to eat?"
A chuckle rumbled deep in Robby's chest and Brutus scampered off, sufficiently frightened by the sudden movement. Robby cracked an eye open to look up at you, reaching with both arms towards you, "C'mere before I eat you."
You hesitated for just a moment before crawling over him, sighing contentedly as his arms wrapped tightly around you, your ear pressed to his chest.
You were reminded again of that one night with him decades ago, you atop him not unlike this, trying to warm yourself with his body in the frigid apartment.
"It's strange," you said softly, "I don't really know you anymore, but I feel like I understand you more now than I did then."
He hummed, "That's funny. You're still just as much a mystery to me as you were twenty years ago."
You lifted your head from his chest so you could see his face and felt his breath fan your cheeks, "I'm an open book, you just have to ask."
"Why pathology?"
You pursed your lips, brow furrowed in thought, "I liked the simplicity of it. That there were rules and structures and always a correct answer. There's always a clear path to and from diagnosis."
He shook his head, "I know you applied to the emergency medicine residency at Big Charity. I was the second choice, they wanted you."
You felt your cheeks heat, "I—It was so long ago, it doesn't matter—"
"No, you're right, it doesn't matter anymore," He ran a soothing hand down the back of your head to your neck, "It certainly mattered to me then. I was so pissed off at you those first few weeks of intern year when I found out. I tried calling every emergency medicine department in the country I could think of to find you."
You smirked, "You looked for me?"
He nodded, "Never crossed my mind that you would've gone into a different specialty. And pathology even? I never would have guessed. You were so good in the emergency room. A natural. I bet if I threw you in my ED now you'd do just as good as most of my residents."
You gave a short laugh, "Absolutely not, I don't even remember most of my rotations. Honestly, they were so hard for me I think part of my brain blacked it out."
He narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, they're hard for everyone, it's the emergency department."
You nodded, "I know. And I didn't want the rest of my life to look like that."
"Look like what?"
You opened your mouth for a moment and then sighed, "Like I was struggling to stay afloat in a sea of constant compounding grief."
He shook his head slowly, "I remember those rotations, you helped save a lot of people."
You nodded, "At the expense of my sanity, yeah."
"You don't think it would be worth it?"
You tilted your head slightly, "To martyr myself? Do you?"
He sighed and looked away from you, "I used to think so, yeah."
Robby used to come alive in the emergency department, as you recalled it. You knew he was empathetic and had his own struggles because he'd told you on occasion and because you'd seen it. Maybe he hadn't broken down visibly as often as you, but you recalled finding him at least a couple of times out in the ambulance bay, eyes red rimmed and wet.
But you had never doubted that he would thrive in the emergency room. You had been so busy feeling like an imposter yourself and he had made everything look so easy, it had never crossed your mind that maybe he had been struggling the same as you. He just hid it better, even from himself.
"You've lost a lot," You said softly, "the last twenty years, haven't you? Not just patients."
His eyes floated slowly back to yours and it didn't matter what he said, it was sitting there in his eyes as he looked at you. All the ghosts that haunted him, clawing to get out just behind his eyes. He looked tired. He looked shattered.
After a few moments he brought a hand up to your face, brushed the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, "I don't want to talk about that tonight." When he spoke, his voice hitched just slightly, but you politely acted as if you hadn't noticed.
It was a first date, after all. He didn't need to crack open his chest for you tonight, though part of you wished he would. You had never been one for small talk and you were always all in long before anyone else was. You were used to this, being the one kept at the perimeter, debating whether to ignore the Beware of Dog sign and hop the fence.
But he looked so tired and sad. You could be patient for now. Maybe befriend the dog while you waited, tossing treats through the hole in the fence, whistling gently on the wind.
"Okay," You pushed yourself up so your face was closer to his, "We don't have to talk."
A moment passed, two. Your eyes stared longingly at his mouth until his hand slipped to the back of your neck and pulled you to him, mouths crashing together.
You sighed at the feel of his lips on yours, simultaneously soft and rough from the scratch of his beard. It chafed against your chin, but still you pushed yourself closer, the new, but still somehow familiar taste of him intoxicating.
He still kissed the same, teeth digging desperately into your lower lip, tongue stroking against yours almost sweetly. But it was more refined, somehow. Like he'd perfected the art of kissing over the decades.
You'd had many lovers over the years, but few who would make out with you like this for very long without it quickly escalating. Robby's hands, hot and needy, worked their way beneath your shirt, thumbs stroking just below your breasts. Then, one of his hands slid down until it was on your ass, squeezing and groping over your jeans. It was at this point that he whimpered into your mouth and you felt yourself clench instinctually around nothing at the sound.
It had been a long time since you'd been touched like this and longer since you had enjoyed it this much. Usually, it was other partners that acted impatient, that were already tugging at your pants when you were nowhere near warmed up yet, but now it was you who had started grinding on his thigh, searching for friction. You who was frantically pulling at the buttons on his shirt, trying to get it off. You who was now fumbling for his belt when Robby finally stopped you.
"Mmm—Hold on—Wait." Easily, he secured your wrists in his hands and pinned them to his chest which was rising and falling rapidly as you both attempted to catch your breath.
"Are you—Are you sure? I don't want you to think—I'm happy to just end the night like this. I can go home right now—"
You pressed your mouth to his again, kissing him deeply before playfully nipping at his lip, "Do I seem unsure to you?" You asked, nudging your nose against his.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "No," He said and kissed you again, fervently.
"Do I… need to beg you to fuck me?" You asked, sucking lightly on his neck as you spoke, "Because I can do that."
Robby sighed and gripped your ass tighter, "Fuck."
You dragged your center across his thigh, "Not an answer."
His hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his gaze, "You would beg for me?"
You weren't exactly thinking straight as you looked at him, wild with want. You would have done anything he asked in that moment, you were sure of it. But still, looking at him now, you were dragged back twenty years to his icy apartment. To the way he'd opened up to you and then swiftly rejected you. He denied it now, chalked it up to alcohol, but somewhere in you was still that dejected girl, begging for any scrap of affection.
It'd been a while since you felt her, small and weak, at the edges of your consciousness. She'd been shortsighted and easy, pan handling for love on the side of the road. You still loathed her, felt she was pathetic. Robby could still pull her out of you. It felt easy to slip into her and her wants. You remembered insisting to yourself after that night with him that you'd never let him that close again.
And yet you found yourself tangled in him yet again. You were different, you assured yourself, lied to yourself. In reality, he already had you wrapped around his fingers. He could break you with a single word, a change of expression.
You pushed all that out of your mind, suffocating it with your mouth on his, his all consuming taste in your mouth, "Is that what you want?"
"I want," He said, hand still firm on your neck, kissing you between his words, "Whatever you want. Just want to make you feel good."
You sighed, "Then take me to bed."
Quickly, he sat up, keeping you in his lap. He kissed up the column of your throat to your earlobe, sending chills down your spine, "Lead the way, sweetheart."
On your bed, he undressed you carefully, taking his time in a way you weren't used to. After the way you'd been talking over texts and swapping photos back and forth, you thought he'd be ravenous. And he was, you could tell from his groans and whimpers, but still, he remained steady and patient.
Once you were topless, both of you kneeling across from each other on the bed, you reached to unbuckle his pants before he could get to yours. Robby had been competitive as you remembered it, but in bed it seemed he was fine with handing over the reins. He watched you with heat in his eyes as you spat in your hand and reached down his pants to fist his cock.
As your hand stroked his shaft down to his balls, his eyes rolled back and he swore. You were on fire watching him, his desire seemingly contagious.
"Please," He whimpered after a minute of so of this, "Please, can I… Can I suck on your tits?"
Your belly somersaulted at the thought and immediately you were nodding, scooting closer to him.
As his lips puckered and pulled at your nipple, he was whining more loudly than you were with each stroke of your hand. He muttered praises and pleas into your breasts, heat bubbling up at the sound from your belly to your chest to your neck.
Looking down at his cock in your hand, you noticed the small amount of precum beginning to leak. You leaned down to lick it off, but Robby stopped you before you could.
"No—Wait. Need to take care of you. Please." He was breathless and flushed pink. Needy and desperate to please. You weren't sure that anyone had ever been this desperate to please you.
You gave him a short nod and released him. Immediately, he kissed you, the momentum pushing you flat against the mattress.
As he crawled over you, you opened your eyes to look up at him. There had been times when you were students that he had been vulnerable with you, but that had only been under the heavy influence of alcohol. Mostly, he had been very guarded. And still, earlier this evening you'd sensed the same guard up, though it had been reinforced throughout the decades.
But now he was looking at you with a gentle, almost tender look on his face. Before you could fully digest what that meant, he had leaned back down to kiss along your jaw, rough fingers gently grasping your chin to kiss down your neck.
He kissed all the way down your body, looking up at you occasionally through heavy lids whenever you made a noise he particularly liked.
Down at your waist now, he carefully unbuttoned your jeans and wriggled them down, you lifting up your hips to assist.
In just your panties now, you watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he looked at you, ran his rough hands over your soft thighs, kissing and nipping gently at your hips, "So, so pretty for me." He murmured into your skin.
The man in front of you now so at odds with the boy you had imagined was revolted by you. Now he worshiped your body with lips and tongue and teeth. He kissed you now over the fabric of your panties, slowly and methodically, until you felt the fabric begin to soak, both from his saliva and your arousal.
You whined and tried to lift your hips, but he quickly braces an arm over your thighs, "Michael, please." You whimpered.
He groaned against your cunt, sending shockwaves through your body.
"Sorry, baby," He murmured and began tugging your panties down your hips as well, "You need my mouth on you properly, is that it? Need my tongue inside you?"
You nodded, a burning in your eyes from embarrassment or pure desperation, you weren't sure.
Panties out of the way, he ran a finger down your slick folds to separate them. As he sighed, your eyes rolled back, jaw going slack.
"Gorgeous," he murmured, fingers running slowly and gently around your entrance.
It didn't feel like teasing, but admiring. Your hips jumped when he pressed a chase kiss to your puffy clit. You had barely begun to whine again when he licked, long and slow, from the bottom of your entrance up to circle your clit.
The sensation was dizzying as he continued to repeat the motion, moving faster and applying slightly more pressure each time.
"Okay, sweetheart," He said breathlessly, your juices glistening all over his beard, slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside you, stroking the spot deep inside you that had your abdomen tightening in anticipation, "Think you can finish for me?"
Unable to form coherent words, you writhed against him, whining until he relented and lowered his mouth back down to your clit.
It was over quickly after that, though his tongue kept working you until you lightly tugged at his hair, pulling him off you. He wiped his mouth on the back of his forearm and crawled back up to you, pressing kisses all over your sweaty face.
Without preamble, you reached for his cock with the intention of lining it up with your entrance, but he pulled away, "Not yet." He said mildly, propped up on one elbow as he looked at you, his free hand stroking the backs of his knuckles gently against your cheek, "I'm not done with you yet."
You were still a bit dumb from the aftershocks of your orgasm and you blinked blankly at him, "What?"
"I figure I owe you at least three orgasms before I get to cum, that should wipe the previous horrendous encounter from your memory, no?"
A slow, sleepy smile spread across your face and he traced his thumb across your lips, "It's gonna take a while for me to cum again, never mind twice more."
He nodded, "That's why I'm giving you a break, sweet girl."
Flustered, you looked away from him. Who would have thought one man had the potential to be both your best and worst sex?
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Your eyelid was twitching as you sat at central, a phone receiver pressed to your ear as you listened to your mother drone on. As she spoke, your eyes drifted to a fresh blood stain on your white sneakers from the man who'd died maybe an hour or two ago from several gunshot wounds to the chest.
"I hear you, I just—" You tried and failed to scrub the bloodstain out with a wet wipe from behind the desk. The grueling twelve hour shift had ended something like forty five minutes ago with you crying into your hands in the ambulance bay. You were exhausted. "I just don't think now is the time for this conversation—"
"Well," Your mother huffed, "Maybe if you ever answered your phone at home we wouldn't need to have this discussion now."
You ground your teeth together, "I appreciate all the support you and dad have given me—"
"You know, I don't think you do. We clawed our way through law school with no help from our families, started our own firm, saved thousands just so you could be as educated as you wanted without having to struggle like we did—"
"—And I'm immensely grateful for that privilege—"
"Then why would you throw it back in our faces by choosing pathology, essentially a glorified lab technician—"
"That's not what it is at all—"
"You should be in neurosurgery."
You had had this argument what felt like a thousand times over the last few weeks when you had first admitted interest in applying to path residencies. Your mother's insistent argument that she knew best and neurosurgery would provide you with the best career and would utilize your strengths—an excruciating attention to detail and laser-like focus—in a way no other specialty could.
But you disagreed. And what you could never admit to your mother was that your emergency medicine rotations had proven to you that you would crumble under that sort of pressure.
"Hey, Bambi," Michael leaned over your desk, "Get off the phone and glove up, incoming MVA in two minutes."
You gave him an incredulous look, "Our shift ended almost an hour ago."
"Okay…" He said slowly, pulling on a clean pair of gloves, "So you're gonna let me just take this one myself? What if it requires intubation? You're gonna pass up that opportunity? You still haven't done one by yourself."
You were so burnt out and frustrated and once again on the verge of bursting into tears, you didn't have the energy for this, "So, what, you're keeping tabs on my procedure log now?"
He pretended to think about it, furrow between his brow, "Yeah, guess I am."
Neither of you had spoken about the night you'd slept together—if you could even call it that—and Michael had been acting like it never happened. Occasionally he'd reference the night it happened, but always before you went home with him. This was fine with you, it saved you from the embarrassment. Though, sometimes, it had you wondering if maybe you'd somehow hallucinated the entire thing.
"Who are you talking to?" Came your mom's tinny voice in your ear.
You hurriedly said that you had to go and hung up the phone, knowing it would lead to more phone calls later, but you had taken to leaving your phone off the hook when she began calling repeatedly like that. Which was often. It was the only way to ensure you got enough sleep.
Normally, you would jump at any opportunity to try to show up Michael in a trauma, but you were barely holding it together right now. The thought of watching another person die on the table today had you fighting back the instinct to dry heave.
You rested your elbows on the table in front of you and kneaded lightly at your temples, "You can have the MVA, I'm going home."
"That your mom on the phone?" Michael asked, leaning forward and apparently ignoring what you'd just said, "Is she waiting at home for you with a fresh meal and a warm bath?" He taunted, "Bambi needs to be pampered? The ER is too rough for the princess?"
Slowly, you tilted your face up to look at him, "You jealous that I still have a mother who takes care of me, Robinavitch?"
If you weren't as tired, you wouldn't have said it. As it was, your stomach churned when the smile melted off his face. Yes, he had taunted you and teased you and tortured you for most of both MS3 and 4, but you shouldn't have sank to his level. Really, you had sunk below his level, you thought. Even with how cruel he could be, he'd never mocked you when he found you crying out in the ambulance bay. On occasion he'd actually silently stood next to you or offered you a cigarette.
Your relationship was strange as he could be downright abusive in front of attendings or other colleagues, but when it was just the two of you it was like being on hallowed ground. He had only ever been nice to you when it was just the two of you with no one else around to hear. Something you struggled to reconcile. And now you had weaponized one of the only times he had opened up to you.
He shook his head, but otherwise didn't say anything, ducking away from you, "Michael—Wait—"
"It's fine, Bambi," He called over his shoulder, "Go home. As you've so astutely pointed out, not all of us have one of those."
Later, after you'd crawled into bed and couldn't sleep despite your exhaustion for the guilt that wracked you, you picked up the phone next to your bed and dialed Michael.
It rang for a while and you thought he might let it go to voicemail, but when he finally picked up his voice was rough with sleep.
"Hello?"
You hesitated, then breathed softly, "Hi."
A moment of silence passed, "Bambi?"
"Yeah."
"It's… late."
You sighed, "Yeah, um, sorry. Did I wake you?"
You heard him stifle a yawn, "You did, yeah." Silence again, but for the sound of both your breathing, "Um, did you need something?"
"I—Yeah, I, um… I couldn't sleep."
"Okay," He drew out the word, long and smooth, "Have you tried… Counting sheep?"
You huffed a laugh, "No, I—I can't sleep because I feel horrible about what I said to you earlier. About—about your mom. I'm so, so sorry, Michael. It was awful and—and it was unacceptable and unprofessional."
He was quiet for a moment, then, "It's alright, Bambi. I've said worse to you. You didn't know about—It was just a lucky shot."
Your mouth fell open slightly, confusion clouding your brain, "What?"
"You—What you said earlier hit a nerve, but you couldn't have known. I've—I've never spoken about my mother to anyone."
You stared at the popcorn ceiling of your apartment, mouth still agape. Did he not remember?
And you were nothing if not a coward, so you kept quiet. Didn't correct him. The fact was, what you said was so much worse knowing what you knew. And he didn't even know you knew.
"Right," You said, swallowing, "Well either way, it was a really shitty thing for me to say. So I'm sorry."
"I appreciate it and I'm sorry for pushing you earlier."
You exhaled slowly and closed your eyes, "Thank you."
"Think you can sleep now, princess?" Despite the nickname, his tone was playful, almost gentle in your ear. You had the insane thought that you'd like to hear him talk you to sleep.
"Yeah. Goodnight, Michael."
"Goodnight, Bambi."
***
Robby shot up in bed, his skin tacky with sweat and his chest heaving, lungs struggling to fill. Nightmares were common for him, but what was so disorienting this night was that at first, he wasn't sure where he was. The bed sheets were unfamiliar to him where they stuck to his skin. They felt more expensive than what he had at home, reminded him of hotel sheets. The mattress was softer as well.
And then there was the soft sigh the came from the pillow next to him. His eyes followed the noise and he saw you laying beside him, fast asleep. At the sight of you, his panic began to recede just slightly. He was in your bed. Had shared a lovely dinner with you and slept with you and spoke in hushed whispers across pillows until you'd fallen asleep.
When he had nightmares at home, he would often get out of bed, crack open a beer or smoke a cigarette, unable to properly fall back asleep. But looking down at you, he feared he'd wake you if he did that. The last however many hours he'd spent with you had been the most at peace he'd felt in recent memory. Even with the nightmare, he already felt his heart rate slowing, just watching the even rise and fall of your chest.
He sank back down into the mattress and laid his head down on the pillow, his forehead nearly touching yours.
Unable to help himself, he rested his hand against your neck and ran his thumb over your cheekbone. You mewled and then your eyes began to blink open.
"Sorry," He said immediately when your eyes opened into his, "Didn't mean to wake you."
You gave him a sleepy smile and nudged your nose against his, "S'okay… It's almost nice to wake up in the middle of the night when there's someone else here."
Lying close to you, he allowed himself to believe that he deserved love like this. That he deserved a life like this. That you could love him and stay despite the ugly parts of him he'd try like hell to keep from you.
He kissed you then, to avoid thinking about all the ways in which he was bound to disappoint you if this continued. And you kissed him back, pulled him closer, your hand at the nape of his neck and he catalogued it—the feeling of your gentle fingers stroking the back of his head.
"Mmm," You hummed and pulled away from him slightly, your brow furrowed, "Is it raining?"
Sure enough, as both of you stilled, there was the sound of rain tapping against the windows, "Sounds like it."
You grinned at him, "Would you like to drink tea and watch the rain from the porch?"
You seemed already giddy by the idea so he couldn't say no, not that he wanted to. It was so simple, really, the act of watching the rain. But you stood outside wrapped in a throw blanket, your hands warming a mug of tea, and looking out into your yard with awe as the sun started to stretch over the horizon, lighting up the storm clouds from behind.
He wanted to see the world like that. To be enamored by simple pleasures, the way you were.
"You seem so happy," He said into your ear.
You hummed, "I am."
"Is this what it's like being you? In this stunning house? Just a cup of tea while it rains can bring joy?"
You turned slightly in his arms to see his face and he recognized it when you scanned his face: You were trying to gauge if he was making fun of you. Old habits died hard, he supposed.
Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't mocking you, you turned back toward the rain, "It's a lot nicer when there's someone to share it all with."
You said it casually, but he heard the note of sadness in your tone, "You've been alone for a while?" You nodded, "What about family? Your parents?"
You stiffened in his embrace and he almost regretted it. He knew what happened when you got like this, if someone moved too quickly or suddenly—you bolted.
But after a moment, you softened, "We don't really talk much anymore."
"Oh," He said softly in surprise, "Sorry, I thought—You always seemed close when we were in school."
"You mistook financial support as love. And even if it was, they promptly cut that off the second I moved to Chicago."
He frowned, "You haven't spoken since residency? Why?" In the silence that followed, he sensed your hesitancy, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"I don't mind," You said softly, "I just haven't thought about it in a while. We have talked since, but sporadically. It's mostly just happy birthday texts now." You sighed heavily, "The short answer is that they wanted me to go into neurosurgery and treated me going into pathology as some personal affront to them. It felt like they only ever saw me as some sort of investment instead of their kid."
Robby had been guilty of assuming that you had it all. After thinking it over more, he'd come to the conclusion the way he treated you had had more to do with jealousy than anything else. You always seemed so put off by talking to your parents, your parents who took care of everything for you. What he would have done to have anyone like that in his corner when he was in his twenties. He felt you were ungrateful.
But now, having done a lot of growing up himself and watching residents with all sorts of parental issues come and go through his ER, he understood that just throwing money at a kid was no way to raise them.
"I'm sorry," He said again and leaned down slightly to kiss the back of your neck, "You deserved better than that."
You turned in his arms to face him, "Do you really believe that? That what I do is just as important as what you do? Or neurosurgery?"
"Yes," He said immediately, "If it was me I might be… bored out of my mind, but we need pathologists. The ED needs them, surgery needs them, oncology needs them, hematology needs them, you're absolutely vital to all of us. But that's not what I meant. I meant that you deserved better parents."
Though you had changed over the years, not so skittish and quiet, there were things about you that remained. Your anxious state, bordering on paranoia the way you worried that others would betray you. Your quiet but desperate need of approval—of love. Your empathy, the way you felt everything so deeply and openly, even when you tried to hide it.
Right now, you were scared. Of him, of his ability to hurt you. He was also scared of his ability to hurt you. Terrified, really.
But still, you swallowed and looked away from him, "Thank you," you said quietly and tugged his arms tighter around you.
Bambi—his fawn—now stable on your own two feet. It'd be you that would have to keep him steady now, keep him from running.
***
When Robby was at work now, when the shifts got bad, he excused himself for just a moment and closed his eyes. He'd conjure your home in his head, your cat Brutus, the sound of your laugh, watching rain from your covered porch while drinking coffee, waking up to the smell of your shampoo on the pillow, movie nights on your couch, long showers and your hands on his skin.
It had been weeks now since your first date and things had moved quickly. It hadn't been discussed explicitly, but Robby spent most nights at your house now. The simple domesticity of it, of having someone to come home to, had felt nearly life changing. You often asked if he wanted you to stay at his place for a change to which he always turned down.
He loved everything about your place, from the way it always smelt like something delicious, to the fact that Brutus was always there, to just how lived in it felt. Just last weekend the two of you had spent entire days digging up the garden beds so you could start planting vegetables and fruits and herbs. You talked about cucumber salads and fresh baked pies and it all felt so… domestic. Mundane. And it was the only place he felt peace.
Today's shift had been horrible. And so after calling time of death on a patient that he'd worked on for far longer than was clinically appropriate, he told Dana he'd be outside for a few minutes. In the ambulance bay, with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, he tried to slow his breathing. In through his nose, out through his mouth.
Closing his eyes, he willed the images of the woman away, of her child. Instead, he pictured you, the sleepy smile on your face when he woke up first in the morning, whispered in your ear that he was going to make pancakes. He pictured you fast asleep on your couch, a paperback abandoned in your hand and Brutus snuggled up on your chest. He pictured you spinning around your backyard in the rain, green rain boots up to your knees and your wild laughter.
As his breathing slowed, the sound of the ambulance bay doors sliding open had him turning his attention to the doors to see Abbot walking toward him.
Silently, Jack stood next to Robby and crossed his arms, "Your girlfriend's down here looking for you."
Robby sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, "She's not my girlfriend."
"Sorry, your pathologist."
Robby huffed a laugh, "I guess she is sort of my girlfriend."
"Well, you better watch out because I hear all the nurses warning her about your… 'seven week itch' I think they're calling it."
He shook his head, "She's not the type to listen to rumors."
Jack hummed, "She might start if you keep her waiting much longer."
"Alright, alright," He sighed and pushed himself off the wall, "I'll go find her."
"'Atta boy," Jack said and clapped him over the shoulder, the two of them walking back into the Pitt.
Robby's eyes found you almost immediately, talking to Dana, and you, as if sensing his gaze, looked up to meet his. There was concern all over your face and Robby didn't even have the time to properly wonder if Dana had filled you in about the terrible shift they'd had before you were marching over to him.
You were apparently so intently focused on him, you didn't notice the puddle of water on the floor and before Robby could warn you, you'd slipped.
Your feet went up over your head and your back hit the ground—hard.
Instantly, Robby was there, a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you tried to sit up— "Hey, don't move, don't move."
"Ow," you groaned and tried to push him out of your way, "I'm fine, Michael."
"Did you hit your head?" His penlight was already out, ready to assess.
You sighed, "I don't know, I don't think so."
"Dana," he called over his shoulder, "What's open?"
"Central 11."
"I just wanna go home," You said softly, "I'm fine, I swear."
But seeing you fall like that after the shift he'd had, he couldn't seem to slow the spiral he was beginning to fall down. What if you had a concussion? A brain bleed? Untreated one could lead to irreparable brain damage and the other, death.
"It'll be quick," He said, "Promise. Just… Please, it'll make me feel better."
You tilted your head slightly, doe eyes out in full force. Like you were concerned about him. But you nodded anyway, conceded to him, even when he insisted on a wheelchair to transport you.
When it was just the two of you and he had started your exam, you continued to watch him carefully.
"Did something happen today?" You asked softly, "During shift?"
He hummed in question, gently turning your head this way and that, "What d'you mean?"
"You're being… hypervigilant. I'm just wondering if something happened today to trigger that."
The two of you had discussed covid and Adamson. You had been back in Pittsburgh at that point, but at Westbridge. Robby had felt a pang of resentment at first, thinking that you likely hadn't had to be on the front lines like he had.
But then you told him about the autopsies. How there were so many bodies that you, who had built a career off studying cancers and blood, had had to assist with autopsies. You told him how you hadn't really done an autopsy since residency, but now with how many you'd had to do during the pandemic, you could do them with your eyes closed.
"It fucked with me," You'd told him, "I saw those bodies everywhere, even if I wasn't in the hospital. I could smell them no matter how many candles I lit at home. I dreamt about them for weeks after. I cried for months."
And when you'd divulged that, the flood gates had opened for him. He told you everything, from covid to PittFest. When he got choked up, he found himself instinctually reaching for your hand, needing you to anchor him. Without hesitation, you practically pulled him into your lap, cradled his head to your chest and whispered soothing words in his ear.
So then it shouldn't have surprised him that you would catch on so quickly. For being so young when you went through med school, he had assumed upon first meeting you that you'd have no idea about anything. But it had struck him immediately how emotionally intelligent you were, how you had from the very beginning been able to read even the most closed off of patients.
Still, he felt himself recoil at your assessment, "You fell," He said, "I'm just making sure you're alright."
"Well I'm also a doctor and I'm telling you, I'm fine. There's no tenderness at the back of my head, no nausea, no dizziness—"
"I'm ordering you a head CT."
Your mouth fell open, indignation in the tug of your lips. After a moment, you scoffed, "I don't want that so please get me the AMA forms to sign, if you don't mind."
He raised his eyebrows and finally met your eyes, "Really?"
"You're exposing me to unnecessary radiation when I have zero symptoms—"
"You don't remember if you hit your head—"
"Robby?" He whipped his head around to see Dana in the doorway, "The cops are here, they wanna talk to you about the boy and his mother who—"
"Yeah, okay, I'll be there in a minute."
Dana left and he hung his head, braced his hands against his legs, hoping they didn't shake, "I would really appreciate it… if you could please stay for a CT."
He felt your gaze even as he avoided it, "Why are the cops here?"
He sighed, "A kid's here with no parental guardian."
There was a pause, then, "What happened to his mother?"
"I really can't talk about this right now—"
"Then I'd like the AMA forms, please."
He made an exasperated groan and looked up at you, tried pleading with his eyes, but you stayed firm, expectant, until he sighed, "A woman was brought in today with her ten year old son who'd found her unresponsive in the bathtub when he came home from school today. She'd slashed her own wrists. We couldn't get a pulse back." He ran a hand along the back of his neck, "The kid doesn't have anyone else."
In a moment, you were on your knees in front of him, his hands clasped in yours, "You worked the resuscitation?"
He nodded, and to his surprise salty tears fell onto your clasped hands. Embarrassed, he tried for nonchalant as he spoke, "It's uh—It's been a long day, but that happened almost first thing this morning. I don't know why I can't shake it."
"Well… That's unsurprising." You said slowly, "Considering your childhood."
His entire body stiffened and he pulled away, "What'd you say?"
You opened and closed your mouth, still lowered to the ground in front of him. He watched as you seemed to calculate your misstep too late and then rush to correct, "I just, um, I remember you telling me once that… that your parents weren't really… present in your life."
Robby shook his head, "I never told you about that."
You bit your lip for a moment and then shrugged, "You told me… everything, Michael. The night we slept together in med school. You were very drunk."
He bristled and scoffed, "Right, we got drunk, I told you that my mother killed herself, and then we fucked?"
It seemed absurd. The truth that he was so ashamed of, that he'd held so close to his chest, that he hadn't allowed anyone to know, he had told you. His grandparents had been the only other people to know and when they died they took it with them. He had assumed he would do the same. But here you were, this contradiction to the one fundamental truth he'd had. That no one would ever need to know the ugly truth that the single person on this Earth who was supposed to love him unconditionally had abandoned him with such violent permanence.
You seemed a bit embarrassed at his hostility, lifting yourself back up to your feet again, "Look, you don't have to try to humiliate me just because you don't believe me. I'm sorry I brought it up, I was just trying to let you know that I understand why that case was difficult for you."
"Yeah, well, it's not your fucking place."
He thought he saw you flinch, but just as quickly, you became stoic, "I think it's time for me to go and I'd prefer it if you stayed at your own place tonight."
You left without waiting for him to respond and immediately, the anger left him in a rush, replaced with shame. When he walked back towards central, you were gone, Dana looking at him now with a question in her eyes, "Your girl left in a rush, I thought you were leaving with her?"
He sighed, ran both hands over his face, "Where's the kid?"
"BH1," She said and leaned closer to him, "It's her birthday today and you let her leave here without you?"
Fuck. "It's her birthday?"
Dana nodded, "You don't know your own girl's birthday?"
"She's not—How do you know it's her birthday?"
"She told me about ten minutes ago."
Unbelievable.
"Well," He said, fingers interlaced at the back of his neck, "I don't think she'll want to spend it with me now."
Dana watched him for a moment, "Tell you what, Baran's still here, I'm sure she wouldn't mind handling the police. You should go. Get her a cake and flowers and apologize. You had a hard day, she'll understand."
You had understood, but he thought you'd likely be heaps and bounds less understanding now.
But hadn't he promised himself, when he first agreed to date you, seriously, that he'd be different this time? That he wouldn't fall back into old habits? That he wouldn't push people away when they got too close?
You already knew the worst of him, apparently. Had known it for decades it seemed and still, you wanted him. And as always, he'd hurt you anyway.
So, he was really prepared to grovel when he finally got to your place, a bouquet of tulips and white bakery box in hand. He knocked gently on the door and waited until he heard the twist of the doorknob, and then saw you. You were in sweats and a tank top and you crossed your arms over your chest when you saw him.
"Hi," he said softly.
"I thought I asked you not to come here tonight."
"I know, and I'll go, I just, Dana mentioned that it was your birthday so I got you a cake and some flowers and I just wanted to say that I'm—I'm really sorry. I just, I've never told… anyone about her, or so I thought, and it just caught me off guard. But, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way, you were only trying to help."
You stared at him for a few moments, mouth twisted to the side and bounced on the balls of your feet, "You got me a birthday cake?"
His mouth twitched into a smirk, but he fought it, "Yeah, but I didn't know what sort of cake you like so I—I got you funfetti cake. It reminded me of you."
Now it was you fighting a smirk, "Funfetti cake reminds you of me?"
He nodded, "Yeah, you're bright, colorful, pretty, happy—You're everything. Funfetti."
You uncrossed your arms and interlocked them behind your back instead, "You can come inside."
Ten minutes later, you both sat on the couch with a slice of cake, "No one's ever gotten me a birthday cake before."
Robby balked, "What?"
You shrugged, "My parents were always too busy to celebrate my birthday. I think they forgot most years. And I didn't have many friends growing up. And then when I got to be an adult I just… stopped telling people when my birthday was. To avoid being disappointed."
He felt an ache in his chest for the child he saw in his head, the kid he used to know. How lonely you must've been. "Why'd you tell Dana?"
"One of my students is a bit of a kiss ass and found out it was my birthday from the internet. Got the whole class to sign a card for me. Dana just happened to see it."
He sighed, "I'm really sorry if I contributed to your day being shitty."
You shook your head, "I really don't even think about it much anymore, truly. And anyway, it sounded like you had a much harder day than I did."
"That's not an excuse."
You put your plate on the coffee table and turned your attention fully to Robby, taking his face gently in your hands, "You came here and you apologized," You said softly, "And I've forgiven you. So enough with the self flagellation, hm?" You stroked your thumbs gently over his cheekbones, "And why don't you tell me about the mother that came in today."
Again, he felt the involuntary raise of his hackles at the suggestion that he discuss today. But there was warmth and tenderness in your eyes. Your fingers ran through his hair and scratched at his scalp gently, and his eyes fluttered closed, hackles falling.
And so the words flowed out of him. He recounted the horror and fear that reverberated through him as the woman was rolled in, her son shaking and sobbing at her side. How difficult it was for him to focus on anything other than this boy, this baby, now alone in the world. It was frightening, really, to come face to face with the boy he used to be. How young he was when his mother had passed, something he'd been unable to appreciate at the time.
He'd done a lot of work to forgive her for leaving. Had studied up on suicidality and bipolar depression. In his career he met many people who reminded him of his mother and his empathy had stretched and grown and while he'd thought he'd forgiven her, there was still just a kernel of bitterness deep in his chest.
He had never been confronted with himself, with the child he used to be, until today. How his heart bled for that child. He could recall every memory of that day, every smell, every sound, every touch. The world had fractured and reassembled for that boy today, much like it had for him so many years ago. And he'd had to listen to his colleagues all day, talk about that boy as if he was the one who had died and it pissed him off. That they could so easily written off that kid's future because of a single day, because of the choices his mother had made.
But then came the small, nagging voice at the back of his head, But wasn't it true? Aren't you broken beyond repair? Isn't that the one truth you've been running from all this time?
"You're not broken," You said softly to him when he'd finished speaking, still holding him tightly to you, now with one hand beneath his shirt and running your nails soothingly up and down his back.
You repeated it to him like a mantra until he leaned up, captured your soft, warm mouth with his. And whenever he opened his eyes to look into yours, he knew you didn't believe your own words. Walls that you had begun to deconstruct over the last few weeks were now built back up. Now, barbed wire adorned the walls like vines.
He had the distinct feeling that you'd never allow him to see over the walls again.
***
"Well I heard from Edith who heard from Sam who sometimes has lunch with Dana that Robby's been staying late and picking up more shifts again, since he bought that motorcycle… You know what that means."
"The seven week itch has struck again. That motorcycle's a breakup motorcycle if I've ever seen one."
You sighed heavily as you adjusted your microscope, "You guys are not being as quiet as you think you are."
Your students giggled at your admonishment, "Sorry, the drama is just way more fascinating in the Pitt than it is up here."
You were silent after that and their whispers died down, but never completely. You had never paid much attention to rumors around the hospital until you and Robby started seeing each other. The women in the hospital loved gossiping about him. And more and more it ate away at you.
Things hadn't been quite right between you since your birthday. You had forgiven him for how he'd acted, but still there was a cold dread in your stomach that seemed to intensify every time you saw him. You felt yourself overcompensating, looking for reassurance. You had convincingly kept up the illusion of confidence, but now it waned.
You had the feeling he had sussed it out, how desperate you were. Before, for any companionship. Now, specifically, for his. You were frightened by the way your heart squeezed when you woke up to him beside you in the morning. The way he had slipped into your routine so effortlessly. Helping you out in the garden on the weekends. Putting the kettle on at exactly 9PM for tea before bed. Trying all your desserts even after insisting he needed to watch what he ate. Recently, he'd began reading your well-worn, tattered copy of The Princess Bride aloud to you, using character voices that got more and more ridiculous until you were crying with laughter. More and more regularly, he fell asleep on the couch, glasses askew and Brutus on his chest.
It was terrifying how easily he slotted into your life. This was what you'd wanted, what you'd always wanted, had wanted so badly at times you'd forced relationships you knew would never work.
And you kept waiting, day after day, for him to leave and not come back. The day he'd been short with you in the ER, you'd been flung back to an earlier relationship. Remembered in vivid details the ugly fights you'd had.
"You're not listening to me!"
"Maybe I just don't like the sound of your voice."
It didn't matter how he apologized after, the words had burrowed deep in your head. They stuck with you from relationship to relationship and you'd heard similar disdain from Robby that day.
So with all of this, you were already struggling before the rumors and before the motorcycle. You felt him pulling away from you inch by inch and you clung to him harder, certain if you just enticed him the correct way he'd want to stay.
And for a while, you thought it was working, until dinner one day on the porch. The vibrant strawberry sky was beginning to bruise with dusk as you each sat in silent after cleaning your plates.
Then Robby cleared his throat, "You know how I've been fixing up the motorcycle with Duke?"
You nodded. You knew the fact that you were jealous of a sixty year old biker spending time with your boyfriend was not healthy. You were glad he had picked up a hobby outside of the ER, it was good for him. And still, you couldn't help the way dread curdled in your gut every time he spoke about it. What it really felt like was an escape plan. No matter how you tried to convince yourself it wasn't, you couldn't stop the constant spirals. The souring of your mood whenever he stated he was going to Duke's or he couldn't make it tonight because he stayed too late at Duke's so he'd just sleep at his own place. You knew he noticed the shift in energy whenever the motorcycle was brought up, but he never commented on it.
"It's finished," He gave you a wry smile, "It's rideable now, in really good shape."
"Oh," You said, "That's… great."
Again, he ignored the uneasiness in your tone. Or maybe he truly was oblivious. Because next he said, "I was thinking about taking some time off from work and doing a cross country ride."
"Oh," You said again, feeling dumb at your sudden lack of vocabulary, "For how long?"
"I don't know," He avoided looking at you as he said, "Three months?"
The pain in your chest was spectacular. Again and again you were reminded of how unlovable you were. You tried so hard and it was never enough, not for your parents, not for friends, not for every other partner who left quickly and quietly. Your eyes burned as you pushed back from the table and picked up your plate, "You don't have to flee across the country to get rid of me, you could just break up with me like a mature, grown man." You said bitterly and walked back inside.
Assumedly shocked at your outburst, it took him a minute before following you back inside, "This is not about us," He said quietly over your shoulder as you dropped the dirty dishes unceremoniously into your sink.
"Frankly, it doesn't matter if it isn't," You said turning to face him, "If you leave for three months our relationship is effectively dead. And you know this."
He scoffed, "Three months is not that long—"
"Three months is not that long when you've been in a relationship for a decade, it's everything when you've barely even been together that long."
He watched you and slowly shook his head, "It doesn't have to be. You could come with me."
You laughed and pushed past him, "What, and bring Brutus as well? Let my garden wither away? You don't really want me to come, you're just offering out of guilt."
"That's not true, I—I want to be here with you, being with you is the only thing that feels right in my life right now. I don't want to lose that."
"Then why are you running away?" You asked, exasperated and humiliated when tears began to blur your vision.
You were sitting on the couch now and he crouched in front of you, looked at you with his big wet, brown cow eyes. Eyes you adored, crow's feet you wished to sink into, freckles you'd counted and memorized over many nights.
"I feel like…" He said slowly, "Like… if I don't get out of that hospital, of this city soon that I'm a ticking time bomb."
You nodded and sniffed, pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes, "And I feel like if you leave I'm never gonna see you again."
He tilted his head to the side, eyebrow furrowed and watery eyes studying you. You waited and waited for him to say it wasn't true, but he obviously couldn't. Instead he cupped your cheeks in his hands and gently brushed away your tears, "C'mon sweetheart, don't cry. It's okay. I've got you."
Leaning in, he gently kissed your forehead, the tops of your cheeks, your nose, then your mouth, his beard scratching the soft skin of your face. Stifling the cries that attempted to crawl up your throat, you kissed him back fiercely, wondering if it would be the last time you got to do so. He matched your fervor, groaning into your mouth as you deepened the kiss—and then his hands were everywhere.
He hoisted you up and around his waist and walked you to the bedroom, a path he knew well at this point, could do it with his eyes closed. He placed you down and then crawled over you, arms bracketing your head as he kissed your lips swollen and raw. The smell of him, the taste of him, had become so comforting to you it was agony to imagine a time when you couldn't have them whenever you wanted. That he would be so far away from you, your house lonely and empty once again. And it was this thought that had you burst promptly into tears.
"Wh—What's wrong? Sweetheart—Do you wanna stop? We can stop—"
"No, no," You said quickly through hiccuping sobs and opened your eyes into his, "Please—Please don't stop, Michael, please—"
"Okay," He kissed all over your face again as your sobs began to quiet, "Okay, baby. I'm right here—" In response to his words, you pulled him closer until his weight was almost fully on you, "I'm right here." He repeated.
When your tears dried, he slowly undressed you, his kisses painfully tender and eyes that melted you. It took everything in you not to rush him along. The need to have him inside you, to fill you up, felt almost primal. You needed to be close to him, as close as you could be. Soon he'd be gone and all you'd have was the ghost of a feeling.
He leaned his forehead against yours as he slowly pushed inside you, both of you sighing into one another, "So perfect," He murmured and kissed you, "Feel so perfect, baby."
"Please," You kept saying over and over as he pushed himself in and out of you. You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, for him to fuck you? For him to stay? For him to love you?
Pulling out of you, he turned you onto your stomach, positioned your hips until you felt him press into you again, his belly against the small of your back and the cold chain around his neck falling against your shoulders, sending a chill down your spine.
The feel of him inside you was exquisite, like nothing else you'd experienced before. He pushed his hand beneath your belly until his fingers found your swollen clit and this coupled with the way he filled you up was too much, the sensation overwhelming. You were coming before you even had the chance to warn him, unraveling as he moaned and kissed the back of your neck when he felt your walls pulse around him.
The pleasure was so overwhelming and the feel of him so stifling, it was almost involuntary when you blurted out, "I love you, Michael, I love you."
With your face partially obscured by the mattress, you hoped he hadn't heard it. But his hips stuttered for a second and panic seized in your chest until— "Oh, God, fuck—" he came inside you.
His skin stuck to yours as he caught his breath, still inside you as he softened. You laid like that for a while in silence, spooning in your bed. The sun had still cast shadows in your room when you first came in here, but now it was nearly pitch black.
"You're still leaving?" You asked, voice steadier than you felt, unwilling to hope.
He was quiet for long enough that you wondered if he'd fallen asleep. But then came the soft, "Yes," in your ear.
You said nothing else that night. Neither of you spoke about what you'd confessed during sex and when you woke in the morning, he had left. There was no trace of him left in the house. He'd taken his toothbrush, his beard trimmer, his duffel of clothes and other toiletries. All gone.
He left a single t-shirt—by accident or not, you couldn't say—draped over your hamper. When you picked it up and brought it to your face, it smelt like him.
You sank to the floor of your closet like a child and cried.
***
Robby saw you everywhere and in everything. He thought about you most mornings when he put on a pair of pants and noticed how they were a bit too snug—Having regular meals most days at your place had meant he'd put on a few pounds while dating you. He thought about you and Brutus whenever Trinity showed him pictures of her new kittens. Whenever he had a cookie or a slice of blueberry pie, he remembered the sweet buttery smell of your house whenever you were baking.
He missed you with a devotion that felt almost religious, but he never picked up the phone. After having made you cry and then hearing you admit that you were in love with him, he'd been absolutely certain he couldn't have you. He'd thought in the beginning, he'd been able to delude himself that he could have someone like you. That he deserved someone like you, so sweet and gentle and loving. But despite his precautions, you'd still crumbled to dust in his hands.
He was terrified that if he didn't leave he'd repeat his mother's mistakes and leave you even more devastated than you were now.
But when you looked at him and said you didn't think you'd ever see him again, he'd wondered if you'd understood. If you'd understood his fears and instead worried that if he did leave he'd become his mother.
He didn't want to think about that and so as he packed up his gear and clothes and whatever else he thought he might need onto his bike, he tried and failed to stop thinking about you.
As he left town, he rode by your house knowing you'd be at work. He rolled slowly, memorized every detail he could of the house, the only place he'd ever felt at home besides his grandparents' house. In a last minute decision, he pulled out his phone and took a quick photo.
This was when he saw Brutus in the window, watching him, tail swishing back and forth. He'd miss that little rascal, too, even if he had broken his favorite mug. He gave a quick salute to Brutus and then he left before he could change his mind.
For a while, being on the road felt as freeing as he hoped it would. Everyone before he left seemed so worried he was about to kill himself, but honestly, with new air in his lungs, he felt great. For around four hundred miles.
He was a few days into the trip, having only driven something like a hundred miles each day, and closing in on Chicago when the fatigue really began to set in. Every part of his body ached. He had been very careful not to let his mind wander to you since he'd left, but it wandered anyhow. Now he thought of the Epsom salt baths you insisted on whenever he had aches and pains. He wished more than anything that you'd be there in Chicago, waiting by the hot bath, pretending to resist when he coaxed you in with him. You'd sit between his legs, back to his chest as you told him about your day as he gently kneaded your shoulders with his thumbs. You'd talk about the study you were working on. Or, since it was a Saturday, maybe you'd spent time in the garden, pulling weeds as you listened to an audiobook for a new mystery novel.
Robby was so immersed in the fantasy, he didn't register the oncoming headlights until it was already too late. Still, as the car crossed the double yellow line into his lane, on instinct, he jerked the bike away from the oncoming collision.
He was able to avoid the car, but lost control of the bike, skidding off the road and into a guardrail. He felt it when the gravel tore through his pants, then his skin, the weight of his bike pinning him to the ground as he came to a complete stop.
Robby was so used to watching other people die, he thought he knew what it'd be like when his time came. Stupidly, he thought he'd made his peace with his own mortality, his inevitable demise. But in the split second it took for him to see the oncoming headlights and jerk his bike out of the way, he understood immediately and with complete clarity that he didn't want to die.
As he felt his skin being torn up and his leg being crushed, time slowed, and he saw your face. Heard your voice tell him you loved him. The sound of your laugh. The smell of your shampoo.
And just as quickly as it happened, it was over, and the pain exploded throughout his body.
Pain, glorious pain, and as he categorized it all he understood it meant he was alive and he laughed, wildly. The paramedics that showed up afterwards and told him how lucky he was likely thought him insane as he laughed and laughed.
He was alive. He was fucking alive. And the realization filled him with indescribable joy. Logically he knew most of this was due to the adrenaline rush, but he couldn't help but feel like this had to have been some divine intervention. And soon enough, as the adrenaline fled him and the pain meds kicked in, he couldn't stop crying.
The nurses and doctors looked at him with sympathy and one nurse, Angela, asked gently, "Is there anyone we can call?"
The only person he wanted to call right now was you. His bike was totaled and he found he didn't even care. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to play chess on your porch while it rained. He wanted to play hide and seek with Brutus while you giggled from the sofa, watching him. He wanted to let you pick a movie for movie night only to have you unceremoniously fall asleep in his arms less than ten minutes in. He wanted to beg your forgiveness. He wanted to tell you he loved you, was in love with you, like he should have before he left. He wanted to go home.
But he shook his head, wiped his eyes and asked if he could have his phone. He would be waiting a while for imaging on his leg. The thought for sure something was broken and based on what he felt when he went down, he concurred with that opinion. He thought it possible he might even need surgery, though they hadn't said as much yet.
Angela returned with his phone and a smile, repeated as he looked at his cracked screen that she'd be happy to call, but he thanked her and waved her off.
His phone seemed to be working fine and he immediately scrolled over to his photo album where he pulled up photos of you. Photos of the two of you together, you making a silly face at the camera and him with a toothy smile on his face as he looked down at you. Happy.
He felt suddenly very stupid for how he'd handled everything. Wished he'd listened to you when you asked him why he seemed to be sabotaging the one good thing in his life.
The answer was that he didn't think he deserved anything good, least of all, you. He was destined to a miserable life and a miserable death and he had no desire to bring you down with him.
But looking at this photo, it was becoming more and more clear to him that you had changed him. He thought he was destined for tragedy, but you'd rewritten his ending. Only he'd been much too stupid to see it.
Eventually, he worked up the courage to call you, not expecting you to answer. As the phone rang he could picture you in your pajama set, sleepytime tea on your nightstand and Brutus curled up in your lap as you stared at the caller ID with rage in your eyes.
But you surprised him. You picked up after just three rings.
"Hello?" You sounded a bit breathless and a lot confused.
"Hi."
"Michael?" He closed his eyes at the sound of his name, always so sweet from your mouth, "What's wrong? Where are you?"
"Why are you assuming something's wrong?"
"Because I haven't heard from you in weeks," You said bitterly, "And I can hear beeping monitors in the background and I know you're not at work because Abbot told me you left for your sabbatical days ago."
"So you've been asking about me?" He said, teasing lilt to his voice.
You sighed, "Michael, so help me, I will hang up this phone—"
"Alright, okay, sorry, sorry, you're right," He ran a hand over his face, "I'm sorry—I—I'm in an emergency room in Chicago and I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Why are you in an emergency room?" He could tell you were fighting to keep your voice level from how slowly you asked the question.
"I totaled the bike," He scratched at his beard, "I was driving too late and I was tired and a car drifted into my lane and I swerved and went into a guardrail."
"Oh my God—Fuck—Are you—Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I have some pretty bad road rash and think maybe my leg's broken—" He heard movement on the other end of the phone, "What're you doing?"
"Packing." You said matter of factly, "If I leave now I should get to Chicago by morning."
He felt his eyes burn immediately. That after everything you'd still go to him without hesitation. Again, he felt that pang in his chest, that overwhelming ache that said he didn't deserve you.
"You shouldn't drive this late," Was all he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
"Please," You said dismissively, "Do you need anything from your house? I can stop on my way."
"Sweetheart, I'm—I'm so sorry for leaving. You were right, you're the only thing that matters and I thought I didn't deserve it—Deserve you and so I ran away. I'm a coward. And I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'll beg for it anyway. I love you so much and I just want to be with you, if you'll still have me."
There was silence on the other line and then a soft sigh, "You're on so many drugs right now, aren't you?"
"What? No—Well, yes, but that's not why—"
"We can talk about it in a few days when you're not high out of your mind. Do you need anything from your house?" You repeated it like you were talking to a petulant toddler and he felt stupid again. He hadn't considered what this would look like to you. And yes, his accident had forced him to confront what he was actually doing and feeling, but that didn't make it less true. He'd known he loved you long before he left, long before you even said it. He thought he'd likely been a little bit in love with you since med school.
Your caution was understandable, though, so he wouldn't push.
"No," He said finally, "No, thanks. But would you mind sharing your location with me since you insist on driving through the night? Would make me feel better if I can follow along."
"Sure," you said, and he heard the way your voice softened at his concern, "Goodnight, Michael."
For a moment, time seemed to crunch like an accordian and he was back in med school, your voice in his ear in the middle of the night, asking for his forgiveness. He felt a bit fuzzy at the edges.
"Goodnight, Bambi." He murmured and his phone slipped from his hand.
***
Michael was asleep when you got to the hospital and had been admitted to Ortho upstairs for surgery.
Your emotions were all over the place, but seeing him in a hospital bed, a bit bloodied up and hooked up to monitors, you felt your defenses falling. You wanted to be angry with him, but how could you be? When you had been so close to losing him for good?
As you got closer, you noted that he'd let his beard and hair grow out a bit longer since the last you saw him. It made him appear softer. You had been pleased before he left when his cheeks began to fill out a bit having made him eat properly since you began dating. That weight was still there, if not as obvious as before.
The rush of affection that filled you upon seeing him was nearly suffocating.
As you pulled up a chair to his bedside, he began to wake and you smiled at him with watery eyes, "Hi."
He smiled back and reached a hand out for you which you immediately took and brought to your lips.
"I'm sorry," He said immediately, but you dismissed him with a shake of your head.
"What did the doctor say? Why do you need surgery?"
"It's… shattered. The bike fell on it, crushed my leg. Have to screw it all back together."
You frowned as he grimaced, "Are you in pain? Let me go get a nurse—"
You stood to go, but he wrapped a hand around your wrist, "No, no, don't. I asked them to… take me off the meds."
You stared at him, mouth agape, "Why would you do something like that?"
"So that I could tell you how in love with you I am with a clear head."
You nearly laughed, "Michael Robinavitch, have you lost your goddamn mind?"
"You said we should wait," He shook his head, "I don't want you to go another second thinking that I don't love you."
Your eyes watered, but you shook your head, "It's gonna take a lot longer than you saying it once for me to trust you again."
"I know that," He grimaced again, "I just wanted to say it now."
You brought a hand to his cheek and scratched lightly along his jaw, "Can I go grab a nurse now if you're done with the dramatics?"
He smirked and nodded and you hid a grin as you stood and walked from the room.
It was a day or two after surgery that Robby was finally cleared to go home with you. On the way home, high on pain meds, Robby read The Princess Bride to you in his silly voices to keep you entertained.
At home, you set him up in bed with strict instructions to Brutus to keep him company while you made him food.
And slowly, the two of you settled back into the usual rhthym. He told you he loved you many times a day. Even when he didn't say it, he'd run his fingers over the tattoo on your wrist, or say something just to make you laugh. He watched you with an expression on his face that you'd never seen before and when you asked if something was wrong, he shook his head, said "Everything's perfect."
As he got back on his feet, you took slow walks to and from the park, fed the birds. Robby even downloaded an app on his phone that could identify the birds by thsid song. His face would light up with joy whenever the app told him a bird he didn't recognize was around.
Life was quiet and peaceful and love found a way to fill every crack and crevice in each of your hearts.
A year later, when Robby's leg had healed entirely, when the only pain was used to predict the rain, was when he asked you.
"Sweetheart?" Your head was in his lap on the sofa, you watching TV while he did a crossword. You hummed in response so he knew you were listening, "I've been thinking and I think it's time I put my house up for sale."
You sat up slowly and looked at him. Your eyes instantly scanning for deception.
Robby was a great roommate. He was pretty handy and so could usually fix most minor wear and tear problems without having to call in an expert. He took care of Brutus and the plants. He loved gardening with you. He never let the chores go too long without being done. Always washed the toilet because he knew it was your least favorite chore.
You had no qualms about living with him. But you always assumed, even though most of you had grown to trust him again, that he'd keep his house as a backup plan. It was realistic, you told yourself. Relationships all had expiration dates.
"Really?"
He nodded, "The last year I've only ever gone home to to make sure nobody's broken in. I've moved everything I use here already. My clothes, my toiletries, my tools, my books, my records—everything's here. It's a waste, don't you think?"
You opened and closed your mouth, ran your fingers absently over the tattoo on your wrist, "What if… What if we fight and you want space?"
He shrugged, "I don't think that would happen, but I could always get a hotel for a night. I still have the cabin in the mountains."
You swallowed and looked down at your hands, "If we break up you'll hate me because you sold your house."
You felt the couch shift as he sat up and took your hands, "If we broke up, I could never hate you. Besides, this is my decision. You didn't pressure me into it. I also figured this way it was only fair that I start helping out with the bills here. Now, if me permanently moving in feels like too big of a step to you—"
"No," You said quickly, "No, I want you to. I love having you here, it's been…" You shook your head, "It's been the best year of my life."
He smiled and brought your hands up to his lips, "Mine too."
And as the two of you talked over a bottle of wine about the logistics of moving the remainder of his things into your house and calling realtors and what you should do with the extra money (Should you travel? Put it into retirement?) it was like the final piece of your previously shattered heart was glued back into place.
Before Michael, you often wondered if you were too picky. If your standards were too high as your mother loved to tell you and that's why you'd end up a spinster. Alone and bitter, always denied the one thing you wanted and craved most in the world: love and companionship.
But as you and Michael talked late into the night and fell asleep in each other's arms, you knew you'd been right to wait.
You couldn't rush soulmates and you would've waited forever and a day if it meant you got to know love like this. Luckily for you, you'd only had to wait twenty something years for Robby to realize he was in love with you. In the face of forever, it was a blink of an eye. And for that, you'd thank the sun and the moon and all the stars every day for the rest of your life.
summary: the everyday conversations between pittsburgh's most beloved trauma doctors (mostly.) and you! small snippets of how i think the pitt characters would interact when not over a patient.
warnings: MDNI 18+ . swearing, inappropriate usage of a work gc, bullying of characters (no one is safe), slight nsfw, crack fic. reader is referred to as 'burn', roommates with santos and whitaker trope, hucklerobby mentioned, afab reader.
6. What is your favourite gender? not your gender. your favourite.
7. What is your least favourite colour?
@incognitostunner @woman-offical @stagefrightbaxter @callofwinter @holymolyitssam @tagging-officals-offical @archangel-gabriel-offical @eric-cartman-offical and open tags. ok? answer my questions. DO IT.
2. Crashed at 21:30, but i woke up multiple times during the night
3. 4:10 am and i started doing homework
4. NO
5. ofc i do i have one big teddy, then one small teddy, then my first plushie ever which should be a dragon but looks more like a donkey so we called it "ciucciodrago" (ciuccio is dialect for asino which is donkey) then an autism creature i made, two kitties i made, harethur Lester which i also made and then a hermit crab my mother gifted to me
I DON'T KNOW maybe like... 12:45-1:00... I was tired
ooughh like. 9:00 (eight full hours of sleep !!!!! this is so rare for me)
YES ::(
YEAH I have three on my bed rn 🥰 duck (matching with my best friend), corgi Thing (qlsooo from her) and this freaky long cat thing from my other friend, her name is Debby
dunnoo if they have specific names for specific sets of neopronouns but ? neopromouns usersss ooo... I rememeber seeing big long comprehensive lists of neopronouns and thinking they were so epic
y'know the color of those butter or snot flavored jellybeans. ickkyy color and icky candy I do not like
@hauntieannes @entity-system @howardisawkwardlyexisting @jadealaide anndd anyone else I am not great at remebering usernames
Well there’s: Willoughby the Buffalo, Mimikyu, A white cat with pink wings that @featured-the-creature gave me, a plush dog that looks like and is named after my childhood dog: Stryker, Luffy and two Laboons (one big and one small) that mom crocheted, and a couple of others I can’t remember rn
I quite enjoy the people who looked at gender and said: “No thanks” like Agender, Nonbinary, Voidgender, etc.
Uhhhhh I’m not sure I actually quite like most colours… But if I had to pick then like the colour of cat puke, yk? That dull greenish-yellowish shit.
@thetravelingfrogwizard, @featured-the-creature, @ramdomassaccountname, @blinddetective, @churchedcannibal, @urfriendlyneighborhoodbiderman + the ones who scroll now past this post (open tags)
honestly cloudgender and colourgender. But the thing is im genderfluid so sometimes those are mine. There are no genders that are not occasionally mine.
orange. I quite emphatically dislike orange
@myphycopharmacologist @ink-stained-ambition @hyyl18 + open tags!
A Mexican pizza from taco bell…don’t judge me, I’m broke.
went to sleep at 2:00 am.
woke up at 12:00 (again, don’t judge m…
Yeah, decently often, actually.
Yeah, I still have most of my childhood stuffed animals.
Um? Is this something I’m supposed to know? Is this something people think about? Do people have a favorite gender that isn’t their own? Huh… well, I like being a woman (y’know, apart from the oppression and misogyny) and generally think women are pretty cool. And nonbinary and agender seem pretty cool. I’m pretty androgynous myself so I can vibe with people who looked at gender and said ‘nah’ (of course nb and agender people can look very binary, but I just mean I vibe with that aspect of it).
I really tend to dislike blue. But it’s, like, everyone I know’s favorite color. I don’t care for it. I think it’s mediocre.
2) Probably 00:00 listening to The Mentalist on my phone (again)
3) 8:00 my dad was making bacon otherwise would have slept more
4) Depends. 90% of the time you’ll be lucky if I say a thing. If you’re non threatening in the slightest or info-dumping me I may say a couple sentences. If i’m tired or forgot my adhd pills then no I do not shut up
5) I love the hugging, I can without, but a hugging-size body pillow with emotional value is great (no does not work with a man I tried you can’t fucking move and they us you like a pillow, forget their place too easy)
6) green. I get a feeling Men official wants some specific answer here, tho I believe answering men sounds kinda weird, and I definitely don’t prefer men for so many reasons, not sorry guys, except for torture as ocs, and I do love the ladies, but going for the hottest cool mix of both options: shrek- ok equal with the ladies ladies are cool
7) Any bright colour but especially orange
@learningtoliveanddream11 @paperrobins @drag0ns-in-cyb3rspac3 @daturas-are-pretty @alexthecr0w @1-key @ani-is-my-username @niks-does-art @nebulae-astros-official and everyone who wants in!
thanks for the tag loviieee 💗 @hamzair-is-my-otp
for the answers-
1- mango ice cream hehe
2- ummm i think at 4 am? trying to sleep after lying down for 2 hours-
3- at 8 30 cuz i had to go out or else i usually wake up around 11
4- no
5- i sleep hugging a human so no-
6- bisexuals- by god they r so indecisive-
7- hmmmmmmmmmmmm green?
now this is THE TOUGHEST PART-
for the tags- @hyade @immortalconfluxmuse @harrystyleskiwi9 @yalinasinghrangi @darkdemonriddle666
1. What the thing you last consumed?
-iced coffee.
2. When did you go to sleep last night?
-around 3 am.
3. When you wake up this morning? Hmm?
-8:30 am probably *says hi energetically*.
4. Do you ever shut up?
i kind of actually do, man.
5. Do you still sleep with stuffed animals?
-a side pillow?
6. What is your favourite gender? not your gender. your favourite.
-rabbits.
7. What is your least favourite colour?
- uhh green?
tagging some sweet people, @silverozy @gukcnt @maraudersbitchesassemble @inthelow !
𓄲 Jungkook had always been just sex to you and you had always been just sex to him. At least that's what you had believed. But when the line between you goes dry and your dating life takes off — you find him on your doorstep, and for once, it's not about sex.
fwb!전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙‹— cw friends with benefits pining jealous!jungkook kissing mentions of past hookups ft. jimin yearner!jungkook oblivious reader possessive!jungkook suggestive content
⧽ word count ⋮ 2.8k
Jungkook had been in your life for as long as you could remember. One lonely night at your local bar, a tap to your shoulder and a shared drink turned into a kiss, then two, then three. What had started as a casual hookup quickly grew into a mutual exchange of sexual favors between the two of you. His name was bumped up ridiculously high on your contact list, your fleeting conversations all leading up to the very same thing. Whenever he came over it was always straight to business. Small talk was made between kisses and clothes being torn to the floor.
"How's your week been?" Jungkook would murmur as his lips trailed down your neck, hands groping at your hips when he pushed you back against the mattress. His knee parting your legs, fingers skimming across the expanse of your thigh before coming up to fiddle with the waistband of your pants.
You would respond in a similar manner, face hot and hands traveling over the hard planes of his naked chest. "It's been alright, you?" One arm looping around his neck when you brought him in for a kiss, you'd let his tongue slip inside your mouth without second thought — sighing when he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth.
Jungkook would chuckle against you, hand squeezing your thigh as he grunted out a soft, "It's been alright."
That's how it would always go. He would press a chaste kiss to your cheek before taking his leave, never staying the night. And as the front door clicked shut behind him — when your apartment was plunged back into its usual silence, you would take a shower. It was routine. It was familiarity. It was you and Jungkook. There were never any questions, no 'Where do we stand now?' your feelings were put aside for those intimate nights spent together.
For years now he had been an almost weekly part of your life. At least, that was until a couple of weeks ago…
You and Jimin bumped into each other at the small cafe just a few blocks down from your place. He'd been standing in line behind you when your card declined, offering to pay with a warm smile on his lips. After that the two of you had stayed in contact. The walks in the park were innocent, as were the ice cream— and cinema dates. Soon enough you were sharing brief kisses, lingering touches and longing glances — all the things you and Jungkook never had.
With Jimin you took things slow, carefully watering a flower you hoped would one day bloom.
As time passed you saw less and less of Jungkook. The call button next to his name no longer enticed you and you found yourself craving something other than the mindless sex you had been having for so long.
For a while you thought about telling him why you weren't asking to see him any more, but just as quickly as the idea struck would you brush it off again. The two of you had made it very clear that your relationship was nothing more than sexual. No strings attached, feelings aside and personal matters unimportant.
Surely Jungkook was seeing someone else as well? There had to be someone he sought out whenever the two of you weren't hooking up, right? You weren't exclusive and you never had been.
It was late into the evening when your doorbell rang that Friday night. You had been lounging on your sofa since arriving back home from work, exchanging selfies back and forth with Jimin as you giggled at the silly photos he would send. Things were easy with him, lighthearted and unserious — the subject of sex hadn't even been breached between the two of you yet, and for once, you didn't seem eager to bring it up.
The familiar tune of the bell rang down the hall before making its way into the living room and a moment later three sharp knocks followed. They echo like drums, making a shudder run through you as your attention is ripped from the screen.
Confused, you sat up a little straighter, phone slipping from your grasp and landing on the cushion beside you. Who would come barging on your door at such an hour? With a heavy sigh you rise to your feet, already dreading another complaint from your stingy neighbors. The old lady in the flat opposite yours was probably out to whine about the new recycling system.
Making your way past the kitchen and the bathroom, you approach your front door slowly. The knocks do not return, whoever was on the other side seemed to be waiting patiently. Inhaling a deep breath, you twist the handle and push the hard wood open. But the exhale never makes its way past your lips as your eyes fall on the figure leaned against the doorframe.
Jungkook stands with his arms folded across his chest. The sleeves of his shirt are bunched around his elbows, tattoos on display over his forearm. His dark gaze is fixed on you, brows furrowed enough to let you know that there was something troubling him. He doesn't speak and for a moment you don't either. The silence stretches thick and long, time slowing down until you could count each second loudly in your head.
"Jungkook?" You finally manage to blurt his name, fingers curling a little tighter around the door handle. "I haven't called…" That was code for, 'What the fuck are you doing here?'
He only scoffs, averting his gaze for a moment as he mutters, "Yeah. You haven't for a while now."
The truth behind his words stung more than you had anticipated for them to. It had been weeks since you texted him to come over. The last message had been sent by you, declining his previous offer to come see you. You didn't think he would have noticed, and you certainly didn't think he would actually show up at your door to question your lack of sexual encounters.
Jungkook doesn't wait for you to respond as he straightens up, his arms drop to his sides, a sharp exhale slipping through his teeth, "Can I come in?"
It was weird, having Jungkook here and not being all over each other the second the front door closed behind him. Now he sits on your couch, hands clasped together over his parted legs as his thumbs flick mindlessly against one another. He appears lost in thought, the frown on his face has yet to ease up and he has not uttered a single word since asking to be let in.
You sit beside him, close enough to where you could reach out and touch — yet you find yourself holding back. It wasn't like you and Jimin were actually dating yet, neither of you had made it official. Calling Jungkook over still felt like some kind of betrayal. Now that he was sat in your living room without having made as much as one attempt at kissing you, the quietness weighed heavier than ever.
Next to you, Jungkook heaves a sigh. "You haven't been in touch." He doesn't lift his gaze when he delivers the statement, keeping his attention firmly on the floor beneath him. A moment later he adds, "Why?"
Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you glance to your hands, placed awkwardly in your lap. Should you tell him about Jimin, would he even care? Relationships were never something the two of you discussed. He had never confessed to seeing someone else but you never took for granted that he didn't.
Shifting awkwardly on the sofa, your lips part as you prepare to struggle your way through explaining how you had met Jimin. But Jungkook cuts you off before you can even start.
"Are you seeing someone?"
His voice is devoid of any emotion, giving away nothing short of how he was feeling. Though his attempt at hiding the way his jaw clenched, proved futile. You could see the frustration simmering just beneath the surface, barely contained as his fingers twitched against each other.
"Does it matter?" Your voice is uncharacteristically small, barely audible over your own breathing. Selfishly enough you wanted to think that what you and Jimin had wouldn't change the way things were between you and Jungkook. It was a lie you had been feeding yourself for weeks now as you avoided picking up his calls. You could not have your cake and eat it too, you knew that much.
Jungkook scoffs, his brows twitching. "Of course it fucking matters." He grits out, still not looking at you as he inhales through his nose. He pauses for a second before muttering in a most bitter tone:
"Who's the guy?"
Stunned into silence, it takes you a moment to respond. Jungkook would never ask you about the people in your life, no less would he entertain the conversation of a possible partner. "He… We've been going out for a little while. It's nothing serious." Yet. It's nothing serious yet. The unspoken truth lays bare between you, painfully obvious in the silence of your living room. "His name is Jimin."
For a good while Jungkook doesn't respond. His tongue prods against the inside of his cheek, flicking over the ring around his lip leisurely — a subconscious habit of his. He grunts, "It's serious enough for you to avoid me."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't bullshit me." He snaps, finally lifting his gaze from the floor as he turns his head to look at you. His eyes are brooding and cold, nothing like the soft and brown ones you had grown so accustomed to. Never had you seen Jungkook like this before, never had he even as much as attempted to raise his voice at you.
He exhales slowly, like he was trying to reign his emotions in before continuing. "Three weeks and five days", he says, "That's how long it's been since you last called me. Did you know that?"
You couldn't say that you did. Sure you knew it had been weeks since the last time the two of you hooked up. Weeks filled with nothing but Jimin and his flirty messages. But you hadn't been keeping count, not the way he had. For some reason it made your stomach clench uncomfortably.
Jungkook swallows, shifting on the couch as he creates spaces between the two of you. It was the first time he had done that. "Do you like him?" He asks, hands now braced on the cushion either side of him like awaiting your response physically pained him.
It was such a blunt question. You had never actually thought about exactly how you felt for Jimin — the same way you'd never actually thought about how you felt for Jungkook. After a moment's of strained silence you quietly whisper, "I don't know…Maybe?"
You can see what shatters behind his eyes at your answer, his face flashing with something almost like hurt before he conceals it again. He nods to himself, fingers unclenching against the couch. Jungkook's eyes don't stray from yours, not even as he utters his next words. "Then we should end things. Whatever this is, let's have it stop."
End things. The line repeats itself over and over in your head as you stare at him. He wanted to stop seeing you, he wanted to cut contact? A lump forms in your throat, impossible to swallow down even if you tried. Had he really meant what he said — even if he did, there was nothing you could say to justify a rejection of his proposal.
When your silence grows awkwardly prolonged he gruffly asks, "Do you want to end things?"
Why would he ask you that? Why would he force those words from your throat when you knew you could never utter them. Jungkook had been such a prominent figure in your life, even if it was just sex. You hadn't. realized just how much you thought about him, just much it meant to have him over, if only for a few short hours in the dead of night.
The lingering touches. His breath mingling with yours. Lips pressed against your own. Could you really give it all up for a man you had met a few weeks ago? The answer is so painfully obvious that you almost want to scoff.
"No."
The confession slips out before you can stop it. That one single word of truth dangling between you both like something sacred and forbidden. You don't move, you don't even dare breathe. It was selfish to admit that, no, you were not ready to give up what the two of you had even if your affections had been spent elsewhere. And so you did not expect anything but anger in return.
But Jungkook is eerily calm. His eyes are glued to your own, hands flat against the sofa's cushion. The only thing giving him away was the slight hitch to his once steady breathing. "No?" He echoes, like he needed to hear you say it again.
"No." You whisper, your voice cracking on the single syllable.
The couch groans under his weight when he suddenly moves forward, crossing the distance between you until you could feel his knee brush against yours. His hand is warm against your cheek, a warmth you didn't even realize you had missed during these past weeks. Thumb brushing over your jaw with a tenderness you didn't recognize, Jungkook exhales.
"Do you mean that?" He murmurs, gaze dropping to your lips as his tongue darts out to wet his own.
You didn't understand why he was acting the way he was — like this had all meant more to him than he'd ever let on to. Without thinking you nod, leaning into his touch as your eyes flutter. This time you don't hesitate before replying in a breathless sigh, "I do."
His lips mold against your own before the admission can even fully leave you. The kiss is nothing like the hungry ones you'd shared so many times before. It's soft, careful, like one wrong move would shatter whatever fucked up and fragile peace you had both just found.
Jungkook's hand is still cupping your face, tilting your head back enough for him to slip his tongue inside your waiting mouth as he deepens the kiss. His other hand finds its way to your hip, a familiar touch that somehow sends unfamiliar shivers down your spine.
His dark hair is soft beneath the pads of your fingers when you run them through his locks, tugging gently on the ends as you earn yourself a content sigh from him. You barely even register what's happening until your back hits the soft cushion beneath you. Jungkook slots himself between your thighs, hips meeting yours with unrestrained need.
Just as you think things are starting to revert back to the way they had always been, he pulls back. It's only enough to where his forehead can rest comfortably against yours. He's so close that you could count each individual lash when he blinked.
"Your phone", he rasps, the grip on your hip tightening.
It takes you a second to realize what he was asking for. Shifting awkwardly, you search for the discarded device that you had dropped earlier.
Jungkook's hand drops from your face, fingers locking around the phone with noticeable force as he waits for you to unlock it. The second he's in, he finds his way to your contact list, thumb scrolling until he lands on the name that had brought him here tonight.
You don't get to question what was happening before he's wiped yours and Jimin's entire conversation from your phone. Once he's done he lets it drop back against the couch. "You won't be seeing him anymore", he murmurs when he leans back in to drag his lips across your jaw.
He doesn't give you time to respond before he's kissing you again, this time harder, needier. The worst part? You didn't even want to protest. Instead your hands move down his chest, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt as you begin tugging it off.
Only when you've got it over his stomach, does Jungkook pull back. His eyes are darkened with something other than lust, something devoted.
You frown, wanting to ask why he had stopped all of a sudden. This was what you always did, did he not want to…? But he only smiles, an actual smile — not one of those playboy smirks he'd flash you before giving you exactly what you wanted.
His fingers are soft against your cheek when he brushes your skin. "Let me take you out", he murmurs, gaze trailing over your face like he was trying to commit it to memory. After a moment's silence he adds in a quiet whisper:
Ahhh first of all, thank you to everyone for all the love and notes on my new blog!! My intention with this blog was just so I could go back and find all my fave fics in one place, but I’m super glad that others are finding it useful too!
It’s been a few weeks since I last posted, and I’ve read so many fics since then that I thought I needed to update 😭 Mostly Yoongi & JK this month (that man has seriously been bias wrecking me since tour started omg I think it’s the tattoos 💀)
I’m also looking for more Jimin fics to read, so if you have any recs please send them my way!!
Love to all the talented Army authors ♡
-Ruby xx
───── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ─────
───── ⋆⋅☽⋅⋆ ─────
Kim Seokjin
Seven Seconds In Heaven by @jimlingss [angst, fluff, smut] 5.8k
In the moment of your death, heaven drops the hammer of punishment; making him travel back in time to relive memories that can never be changed. Seven memories. Seven minutes in each. Seven seconds before they are ripped away.
───── ⋆⋅♩⋅⋆ ─────
Min Yoongi
Cybersex by @gimmethatagustd [smut, fluff, humour] 14.5k
The whole point of being a phone sex hotline operator is that you’ll never have to meet your clients. So what are you supposed to do when you find out your favorite client is your brother’s best friend?
if you know, you know by @soverdant [fluff, idol!au] 3.2k
you appear as a guest on suchwita after dating rumours of you and its host, min yoongi swoops the internet.
Bultaoreune by @xjoonchildx [implied smut] 0.7k
min yoongi should be a lot more careful at the beach.
Reflection of you by @agustdakasuga [timetraveller!au, historical!au, idol!au]
Confirming you were dating the famous Min Suga of BTS, you knew you were bound to make some enemies. But what you didn't expect was to be cursed, leading you to meet a cold-hearted, arrogant king that shares the same face as your rapper lover.
Forever, Together by @wildestdreamsblog [Yandere!au, angst]
You were nine when the world ended for you. You were twenty-five when you met him. You were twenty-six when life ended again, whether you wanted it to or not.
Dating advice by @taleasnewastime [fluff, angst, smut] 54k
It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.
Love Language by @yoonpobs [fluff] 5.1k
how min yoongi loves you
2 Years by @joonam [major angst, grief & longing]
even with someone new by his side, Yoongi can't stop looking for you in all the little things.
───── ⋆⋅❀⋅⋆ ─────
Park Jimin
beneath the water by @jungshookz [mermaird!Jimin, fluff, comedy, angst, smut] 20.5k
moving to an apartment by the beach just got a whole lot more interesting.
If Snow Decides to Fall by @pjmmania [idol!au, fluff, angst, smut]
What started as a casual hookup with Park Jimin blossomed into something that resembled a real relationship. Just as you were beginning to discover what this could be, an impassioned and impulsive decision unveils a life-altering consequence.
Serendipity by @lilmeowzsworld [fluff]
You and Jimin have been together for three beautiful years now, and tonight he's acting completely suspicious. He's got that specific smile on his face, he's secretive and his hand hasn't let go of yours the entire drive. What starts as a simple anniversary dinner leads you to a rooftop straight out of a dream with fairy lights overhead, rose petals at your feet and Seoul glittering in the night. And you begin to understand that tonight was not just about the dinner after all.
───── ⋆⋅❦⋅⋆ ─────
Kim Taehyung
Crazy for You by @oddinary4bts [fluff, smut, angst, idol!au, 18+] 46.8k
You’ve known Kim Taehyung your whole life. When you meet again at a party hosted by your best friend, alcohol loosens your lips and you spill your secrets to your childhood crush. Will Taehyung give in to your desire, or will you be struck by remorse?
bsod by @whatifyoulivelikethat [fluff]
A fortune teller on the street told him that you, a complete stranger, were his future wife. Sweet! So, how does he get to know you? That’s right, by continuously asking you to come over and fix his fossil of a computer instead of buying a new one.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Jeon Jungkook
The Boy with Galaxies in his Eyes by @oddinary4bts [angst, smut, fluff, idol!au, 18+] 52.9k
You had never thought the night sky could be found in someone’s eyes. That is, until you met Jeon Jungkook and his gravity pulled you in. Will he crush you with the galaxies in his eyes, or will you learn to explore his worlds and make them yours?
When the End Comes by @oddinary4bts [major angst, smut, fluff, breakup!au] 77.9k
Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?
Eye-Opener by @taeshobipop [fluff, angst, smut, college!au, 18+] 6k+
drabbles leading up to the moment when Jungkook finally grows a pair and reveals his feelings to his obvious best friend... but wait, is it too late?
Unplanned, Unavoidable, Us by @midnightjeons [fluff, angst, pregnancy!au] 12.4k
in which…when you fall sick, your beloved boyfriend Jungkook stays by your side as caretaker, but your symptoms turn out to be something neither of you expected - you’re pregnant. What follows is fear, uncertainty, and two people trying to navigate an unplanned future together while holding on to each other.
love me again by @tarathetic [angst, fluff, husband!jungkook] 4k
In which a single moment erases two years of memories and a brand-new marriage. You wake from a soft, porcelain-like coma—a long, dreamless sleep that kept you safe while the world waited—only to find a beautiful stranger whose eyes hold a lifetime of devotion you can no longer name. Faced with a love that has suddenly become one-sided, Jungkook chooses to bury his own heartbreak to become your patient anchor, winning your heart all over again with the softest of touches. It is a journey of unconditional love, proving that even when the mind forgets, the soul always remembers the way home.
Moldy Fucking Muffins by @raceme2hell [fluff, crack/humour, idol!au] 8.3k
your best friend vs. your unhealthy obsession with pop mart dolls.
The Wife Trap by @wintrbears [major angst, fluff, smut, twin!Jungkook] 79.4k
Your husband and his identical twin brother are complete opposites, but when the pair are in a horrific car accident together, and the nurse asks Jungkook which twin he is, he decides to spare you the heartache of losing your beloved husband by becoming him.
When you meet Jungkook — an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?.
temporary fragments mentioned 🗣️🗣️, thank u for recommending my fic n my birthday month >_< wth was wrong with me btw +200k words is insane take me back to the psych ward
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
dededos
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
