I’m going to be honest. It is writers like you that piss me off. I don’t mean to be rude but there is no one on tumblr who wants to pay for fucking smut. no one wants your patreon membership i have like three thousand in my bank account and still won’t pay for shitty smut fics and shitty graphic designs that i could just make on chat gpt. it’s the age of AI no one is paying for that stuff anymore. it’s greedy so please stop or i'm going to block you.
Respectfully, block me.
If it’s not even for the massive disrespect you just spewed in my inbox, then block me for the fact that you think it’s okay to use AI instead of paying artists to make things. I’m not claiming to be an artist of any kind but it is so incredibly disrespectful and disgusting to say “in the age of Ai” no one is paying for anything anymore. So, instead they’re STEALING. that makes me sick, honestly.
“i have three thousand dollars in my bank account” okay? good for you? do you want a cookie? like?
People like you are too comfortable with being disrespectful, i was going to block you anon but i just couldn’t not respond.
nobody asked me and im gonna sound like that dude nobody invited BUT I WANNA PUT IN MY TWO CENTS !! BC YALL ARE NOT GOING TO COME FOR THE SEOKBITE NAH !!
1. you dont mean to be rude but you continue to be rude AS FUCK ? youre either too young for this app or too damn old to be complaining abt ‼️ OPTIONALLY ‼️ compensating an author for their hard work, dedication, and time. again, OPTIONALLY ! no one is forcing you to spend ur little 3 thousand dollars on a $3 patreon subscription 😭 flaunting ur money is nasty too .. not that you have a lot by any means LMFAO but genuinely how old are you to be doing that ?
2. calling coras smut shitty but you seem mad bothered that you have to pay to get in IM PISSY AS FUCK 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
3. now this is what made me wanna say smth and be the dude that nobody invited. we have lost the appreciation in artists opening commissions !! ive been doing commissions for nearly 2 years now — i started voluntarily and then was convinced to start getting paid for it. since then, ive had NO ONE complain abt my pricing or paying me in general. because they are also artists who are aware of the time and effort it takes, and they are willing to be patient. we are also artists who dont use ai for our work.
for this anon to tell someone to stop putting price tags on their work for a little compensation of what they usually give out for free 90% of the time 😭😭😭😭 is genuinely degenerated .. and even more disgusting to tell said artist that their work is being replaced by ai and no one is paying real people anymore.
as a commissioner, we understand that you dont want to pay. again, you are not forced. if you are able to and youre willing to support us, you are appreciated. but do NOT keep using ai to replace us. its actually ridiculous to use ai for graphic design when a real person does it better anyway 😭😭😭
as for this disgusting anon, get the fuck off this app if youre going to harass people and consume ai slop
the concept of turning 20 in 2 months .. i literally made this blog when i was a fresh adult now im exiting my teen years on here FUCKKKK IM STILL A KID LIKE ???
pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader genre. yearner!jungkook. workaholic!jungkook. smut. established relationship. exes to lovers. toxic dynamics.
growing tired of your sexual needs being constantly neglected, you end things with your boyfriend. jungkook, however, is determined to convince you to give him a second chance — and promises to give you everything he's capable of this time. after all, a man who yearns is a man who earns.
FOR TEASER word count. 1.3k words warnings. light angst ? public breakup. jungkook begs. mentions of sex. pet names (baby, babe, honey). argument !! accusation of cheating.
Confrontation had always been something you avoided. You hated uncomfortable conversations, hated the way tension sat heavy in the air and turned everything fragile.
But enduring in silence was worse.
It starts small — swallowing your thoughts back, brushing off your feelings, convincing yourself it’s not a big enough deal to mention. Then suddenly, months pass, and boredom settles into places love is supposed to sit.
Jungkook sits across from you in the dimly lit restaurant, elbow propped against the table, his head resting heavily in his palm. Around you, the restaurant is lively — silverware clinking against porcelain, low laughter spilling between candlelit tables, soft conversations blending into the warm ambiance. Maybe even a quiet first love confession happening at a nearby booth, completely unbeknownst to you.
Still, none of it feels louder than Jungkook’s silence.
Because while everyone around you seems to be falling into each other, you and him sit in silent tension. Painfully distant, neither of you even looking at each other.
His glass of wine sits untouched and forgotten between you. Your fingers fidget anxiously in your lap, unsure of what to do with them. And somewhere between the appetizers and silence, a breakup waits patiently — only minutes away from happening.
As Jungkook sits there, quietly processing your admission, you feel the weight of months spent burying your truth begin to lift from your shoulders.
It’s bittersweet.
Relief settles in first. Your chest feels lighter now that you’ve finally said it all, now that you no longer have to force feelings or sidestep the conversations you were too afraid to have. For the first time in months, your conscience feels quieter.
But guilt settles beside it just as quickly, a lingering pang blooming in your gut when you see your boyfriend ex-boyfriend so visibly distressed.
You and Jungkook had been together for nearly a year. Not the longest relationship by any means, but long enough that loving him had become second nature. Long enough for him to know little things about you — like how you hated leaving your toothbrush in the bathroom or how you couldn’t sleep with socks on, no matter how cold it got. Long enough for spare clothes to accumulate each other’s apartments, for two robes to hang in your bathroom, and for his shoe rack to hold an extra pair of slippers despite the fact that he technically lived alone.
Long enough to feel settled. Long enough to already imagine eternity.
Jungkook had been painfully easy to love. Thoughtful. Dependable. Patient in ways that mattered. The kind of person who never raised his voice when he was upset, who noticed little habits you didn’t even realize you had, who showed up without hesitation even when life was heavy on his own shoulders. He checked every box you thought a good partner should have.
However, there was just one he didn’t quite complete.
Your heart is with him, but your body isn’t satisfied.
“Let me get this straight,” Jungkook says, elbows planted against the table, fingers intertwined tightly in front of him. His expression hardens with disbelief. “You want to leave me because we’re not having good sex?”
“Okay, maybe lower your voice,” you mumble quickly, embarrassingly glancing around the restaurant before looking back at him. “Kook, when’s the last time we actually had sex. And I don’t mean morning quickies right before work, I mean like… sex.”
Jungkook exhales through his nose, gaze dropping briefly to the table before reaching for your hand.
“Baby, you know how hard things have been,” he says quietly. “I work, you work. Whenever we have the time, we’re too exhausted. Half the time we barely even see each other.”
“I just don’t get it,” you say, pulling your hand back before he can fully take it. Frustration bleeds into your voice now, embarrassment fading away as something sharper takes its place. “It was never an issue before! We used to have sex all the time, Kook.”
Jungkook’s lip presses into a thin line as he watches you hesitate, like you’re standing on the edge of something you don’t wanna say — a word that feels almost forbidden on your tongue. But you’ve already gone this far.
So it comes out anyway.
“Do you just not love me anymore?”
Jungkook’s expression shifts in an instant.
“What?” he says quickly. “No. No, baby, don’t do that.” His voice softens, quieter now. “You know I love you. That'll never change. Why would you even think that?”
“Can you blame me?” Your eyes sting as you look down at the table. “You barely kiss me anymore, Jungkook. You barely touch me unless we’re leaving for work or going to bed. I feel like I’m constantly begging for your attention.”
“Honey…” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know my hours have changed. My position at work is different now, there’s more responsibility and-”
“There you go,” you cut in, voice cracking despite yourself. “That’s exactly the problem.”
You shake your head, blinking hard.
“Every conversation somehow turns back to work. Every excuse is work.” Your chest tightens. “I get that you’re tired, Jungkook, I do. But it feels like your job gets all of you and I just get the short end of the stick.”
“Okay,” Jungkook says quickly, nodding like he’s already trying to solve it. “Okay, I get it. Look, I can take time off work, we can spend more time together and-”
“And then what?” you interrupt, brows knitting together. “We just go back to whatever this is?”
His mouth closes.
You shake your head.
“I don’t want you to fit me into your schedule. I should already be a part of it.”
“Babe, just…” He leans forward now, desperation and panic slipping into his expression. “Just tell me what you need, okay? Tell me what to do. I’ll fix it.”
And maybe months ago, hearing that would’ve been enough.
“I think…” You pause, looking down at your hands. “I think we need to take a break.”
The words land between you and settle into something ugly. The silence is thick and suffocating.
You don’t even have to look up to know Jungkook is staring at you now, eyes widened, nostrils flared slightly like the air had just been punched from his lungs. You can feel it — the disbelief, the panic, the hurt beginning to settle over him.
Because everybody knows what a break means.
At best, it’s the soft launch of an actual breakup — dragging things out before eventually never speaking again. At worst, it’s an excuse to sleep with other people while technically avoiding the guilt of calling it cheating.
Whichever one it is you’re offering, Jungkook won’t have it.
“No.”
He shakes his head immediately.
“Yes,” you say quietly, through your voice wavers. “I think it’s what’s best for right now.”
“What does this even mean?” he asks, pushing back in his seat slightly. “A break for what? So you can go find somebody else? Forget about me?”
The accusation stings, mostly because of how afraid he sounds.
You stand slowly, fingers reaching for your purse. “I need space, Jungkook.”
The words feel cruel leaving your mouth.
You turn toward the restaurant doors, exhaustion finally catching up to you. You just want to go home. Crawl into bed. Stop feeling everything at once.
But Jungkook isn’t ready to let the conversation end.
“Baby…”
His hand closes gently around your arm before you can make it far, enough to stop you but not enough to hurt — he would never. Before you can even turn back, he’s already standing in front of you.
“Please don’t do this,” he says, voice cracking around the edges now. His eyes search yours, glossy and pleading in a way that makes this harder than it already is. “Don’t leave me. We can fix this, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
You swallow hard.
“We will,” you say softly, forcing steadiness into your voice. “Just… not tonight, okay?”
just wanted to post this so yall know im still very much here and writing ^_^ this will prolly be posted in june if im quick enough !! obviously inspired by babys seven mv <3
pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader genre. yearner!jungkook. workaholic!jungkook. smut. established relationship. exes to lovers. toxic dynamics.
growing tired of your sexual needs being constantly neglected, you end things with your boyfriend. jungkook, however, is determined to convince you to give him a second chance — and promises to give you everything he's capable of this time. after all, a man who yearns is a man who earns.
FOR TEASER word count. 1.3k words warnings. light angst ? public breakup. jungkook begs. mentions of sex. pet names (baby, babe, honey). argument !! accusation of cheating.
Confrontation had always been something you avoided. You hated uncomfortable conversations, hated the way tension sat heavy in the air and turned everything fragile.
But enduring in silence was worse.
It starts small — swallowing your thoughts back, brushing off your feelings, convincing yourself it’s not a big enough deal to mention. Then suddenly, months pass, and boredom settles into places love is supposed to sit.
Jungkook sits across from you in the dimly lit restaurant, elbow propped against the table, his head resting heavily in his palm. Around you, the restaurant is lively — silverware clinking against porcelain, low laughter spilling between candlelit tables, soft conversations blending into the warm ambiance. Maybe even a quiet first love confession happening at a nearby booth, completely unbeknownst to you.
Still, none of it feels louder than Jungkook’s silence.
Because while everyone around you seems to be falling into each other, you and him sit in silent tension. Painfully distant, neither of you even looking at each other.
His glass of wine sits untouched and forgotten between you. Your fingers fidget anxiously in your lap, unsure of what to do with them. And somewhere between the appetizers and silence, a breakup waits patiently — only minutes away from happening.
As Jungkook sits there, quietly processing your admission, you feel the weight of months spent burying your truth begin to lift from your shoulders.
It’s bittersweet.
Relief settles in first. Your chest feels lighter now that you’ve finally said it all, now that you no longer have to force feelings or sidestep the conversations you were too afraid to have. For the first time in months, your conscience feels quieter.
But guilt settles beside it just as quickly, a lingering pang blooming in your gut when you see your boyfriend ex-boyfriend so visibly distressed.
You and Jungkook had been together for nearly a year. Not the longest relationship by any means, but long enough that loving him had become second nature. Long enough for him to know little things about you — like how you hated leaving your toothbrush in the bathroom or how you couldn’t sleep with socks on, no matter how cold it got. Long enough for spare clothes to accumulate each other’s apartments, for two robes to hang in your bathroom, and for his shoe rack to hold an extra pair of slippers despite the fact that he technically lived alone.
Long enough to feel settled. Long enough to already imagine eternity.
Jungkook had been painfully easy to love. Thoughtful. Dependable. Patient in ways that mattered. The kind of person who never raised his voice when he was upset, who noticed little habits you didn’t even realize you had, who showed up without hesitation even when life was heavy on his own shoulders. He checked every box you thought a good partner should have.
However, there was just one he didn’t quite complete.
Your heart is with him, but your body isn’t satisfied.
“Let me get this straight,” Jungkook says, elbows planted against the table, fingers intertwined tightly in front of him. His expression hardens with disbelief. “You want to leave me because we’re not having good sex?”
“Okay, maybe lower your voice,” you mumble quickly, embarrassingly glancing around the restaurant before looking back at him. “Kook, when’s the last time we actually had sex. And I don’t mean morning quickies right before work, I mean like… sex.”
Jungkook exhales through his nose, gaze dropping briefly to the table before reaching for your hand.
“Baby, you know how hard things have been,” he says quietly. “I work, you work. Whenever we have the time, we’re too exhausted. Half the time we barely even see each other.”
“I just don’t get it,” you say, pulling your hand back before he can fully take it. Frustration bleeds into your voice now, embarrassment fading away as something sharper takes its place. “It was never an issue before! We used to have sex all the time, Kook.”
Jungkook’s lip presses into a thin line as he watches you hesitate, like you’re standing on the edge of something you don’t wanna say — a word that feels almost forbidden on your tongue. But you’ve already gone this far.
So it comes out anyway.
“Do you just not love me anymore?”
Jungkook’s expression shifts in an instant.
“What?” he says quickly. “No. No, baby, don’t do that.” His voice softens, quieter now. “You know I love you. That'll never change. Why would you even think that?”
“Can you blame me?” Your eyes sting as you look down at the table. “You barely kiss me anymore, Jungkook. You barely touch me unless we’re leaving for work or going to bed. I feel like I’m constantly begging for your attention.”
“Honey…” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know my hours have changed. My position at work is different now, there’s more responsibility and-”
“There you go,” you cut in, voice cracking despite yourself. “That’s exactly the problem.”
You shake your head, blinking hard.
“Every conversation somehow turns back to work. Every excuse is work.” Your chest tightens. “I get that you’re tired, Jungkook, I do. But it feels like your job gets all of you and I just get the short end of the stick.”
“Okay,” Jungkook says quickly, nodding like he’s already trying to solve it. “Okay, I get it. Look, I can take time off work, we can spend more time together and-”
“And then what?” you interrupt, brows knitting together. “We just go back to whatever this is?”
His mouth closes.
You shake your head.
“I don’t want you to fit me into your schedule. I should already be a part of it.”
“Babe, just…” He leans forward now, desperation and panic slipping into his expression. “Just tell me what you need, okay? Tell me what to do. I’ll fix it.”
And maybe months ago, hearing that would’ve been enough.
“I think…” You pause, looking down at your hands. “I think we need to take a break.”
The words land between you and settle into something ugly. The silence is thick and suffocating.
You don’t even have to look up to know Jungkook is staring at you now, eyes widened, nostrils flared slightly like the air had just been punched from his lungs. You can feel it — the disbelief, the panic, the hurt beginning to settle over him.
Because everybody knows what a break means.
At best, it’s the soft launch of an actual breakup — dragging things out before eventually never speaking again. At worst, it’s an excuse to sleep with other people while technically avoiding the guilt of calling it cheating.
Whichever one it is you’re offering, Jungkook won’t have it.
“No.”
He shakes his head immediately.
“Yes,” you say quietly, through your voice wavers. “I think it’s what’s best for right now.”
“What does this even mean?” he asks, pushing back in his seat slightly. “A break for what? So you can go find somebody else? Forget about me?”
The accusation stings, mostly because of how afraid he sounds.
You stand slowly, fingers reaching for your purse. “I need space, Jungkook.”
The words feel cruel leaving your mouth.
You turn toward the restaurant doors, exhaustion finally catching up to you. You just want to go home. Crawl into bed. Stop feeling everything at once.
But Jungkook isn’t ready to let the conversation end.
“Baby…”
His hand closes gently around your arm before you can make it far, enough to stop you but not enough to hurt — he would never. Before you can even turn back, he’s already standing in front of you.
“Please don’t do this,” he says, voice cracking around the edges now. His eyes search yours, glossy and pleading in a way that makes this harder than it already is. “Don’t leave me. We can fix this, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
You swallow hard.
“We will,” you say softly, forcing steadiness into your voice. “Just… not tonight, okay?”
just wanted to post this so yall know im still very much here and writing ^_^ this will prolly be posted in june if im quick enough !! obviously inspired by babys seven mv <3
HELLOOOO im so happy you asked 😭😭😭 the outline for part 2 is COMPLETED 🙂↕️ and i have started writing 😙 HOWEVER .. this is my longest fic ive wrote IN MY LIFE !! so itll be a while 😔 im also planning on making edits / rewriting part 1 so be on the lookout !! as for part 3 .. i wont be saying anything until part 2 is done !!
Yuuus give us ur fave bts writer/fic recommendations!! Or any other fandoms pls 🤲
well hello !! im sorry this took so long, i've not checked my inbox at all recently bc i've felt extremely lazy (im going through some shit atm but on the mend oof)
i've only recently started rereading bts fics after a longgggg time but here are some writers that have stood out to me:
@missenu (pls go read in the frame like yesterday !! it's a masterpiece)
@sparklingchim
@dreamersparacosm
@voyter
@inthelow
@jenyluv
@words-in-purple
@lovieku
@leahsfavefics
@peoniesnro
@gukcnt
@spideyjimin
@seokbite
@soft4gguk
these are a few off the top of my head, though i know there are many many more talented writers that my pea brain is forgetting rn :)
big news .. we got an update on the T8 Trilogy !! ITS BEEN A LONG LONG TIME ..
the outlines are completed so i finally know where im going with everything. its become a story i want to get a little deeper with .. so ive made a few changes to the plot and im really happy with it ^_^ !! unfortunately for you guys .. i still need to write it + ive a busy life + im a slow writer 🤣🤣🤣 THAT BEING SAID .. no fics for a while but i am fixated and working on this one for you 👩💻 i ask for ur patience, i promise itll be worth it ♡ Keep me in ur prayers tho thx
ON ANOTHER NOTE .. we are so close to 3k Voyers !! i said this before already but i mean it this time !! we’re RIGHTTTTTT THERE its so good its so close i can taste it .. ill be back when it happens !! Thank you 🥹🥹 i love you guys besos x
hello again friends!! life’s been quite hectic and tho I haven’t read as many fics as I’d hoped I would I’ve still read plenty of banger fics these first few months into 2026 😌 and I hope you’ve all had a good start to the year btw!!!!
as I’ve always said and emphasized this, please reblog and share your thots feelings on these wonderful fics!! it’ll make these writers’ day I promise 💕
january 2026
made of honor by @kookooluvr
fuckboy!jjk x baker!reader, (slight) knj x reader; friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, love triangle, fluff, angst, smut
Mention the authors ( mention so let them know)who do you think is best at expressing feelings and putting words together beautifully? ‘How can someone be so skilled at portraying emotions in words and crafting a unique storyline?’ Kind of authors you have even read a Drabble , one-shot, series or anything…
- 🧀 cheese anon on the way to ask everyone
these are a few authors i l personally love ۶ৎ
• @lovieku
• @missenu
• @voyter
• @dreamersparacosm
their descriptions are so vivid, i can picture everything clearly! i love how they build the tension, and their realistic characters genuinely pull me in 🫶🏻 you should definitely check out their fics if you’re looking for some beautiful writing!
(also, sorry for misunderstanding your question earlier.)
looking at it now, it all seems so simple. your neighbour is burn-in stubborn, you’re no better, and somehow you become another fire he feels compelled to put out. but flames don’t just burn — they leave everything changed. jeongguk knows only how to run, never to let himself be consumed. you’re willing to see what happens if you stay in the heat.
pairing firefighter!jk x vet!fem reader
genre neighbours au, frenemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut
contents slice of life, crack-ish rom-com energy, banter & bickering, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, Or sassy x sassy, dog dad! jk, hurt/comfort, healing process, dog seizure, panic attack, vet talk, mentions of weed and drugs, mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation, hints at sh, crybaby jk, burn scars, hints at minor character death, fluffiest sweetest glimpses of their life, jk wears glasses!!!!, subby jk if you squint, oral m&f receiving, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, protected & unprotected penetrative sex, handjob, happy ending hehe
word count 12.3k
author’s note i’m emotional !!! this beautiful journey comes to an end 🥹 ootw reawakened my passion for writing, especially about complex people who only need a little love after all. i’m proud of myself for finishing a series, never thought i’d have seen this day ! and i got another one planned too, so lovies wait for me… i’m sadly going to take a long writing hiatus because your girl is graduating in a few months and needs to lock in academically! but i’ll always be here more than happy to interact with you guys 🩷 i wanna thank Everyone who’s interacted and left feedback for ootw, every little comment has been so special and i’d love to hear more of your opinions … hopefully this has been a fun journey for you guys as it’s been for me!! thank u and enjoy 🫶🏻
beta read by my sweet lover @voyter who’s been supporting ootw couple and me through Everything, and my amazing best friend @missenu whom i have to thank so profusely and infinitely and profoundly for literally cowriting this chapter ! she’s been an immense source of help and wisdom and this whole fic has only seen its light because of her magic mind ᥫ᭡.
banner creds ⋆ masterlist ⋆ series playlist
prologue ⋆ one ⋆ two ⋆ three
Relearning life on the fifth floor without the oddly familiar uncertainty of your front-door neighbour is harder than you’d imagined.
It’s hard when every morning you pluck a pair of shoes from the rack he built for you in diligent silence, and Ratatouille sits unfinished in your recently watched list. Hard when you can’t bring yourself to give back his jacket, leaving it to hang behind your bedroom door like shed skin.
Hard when even hiding in Grandma Mimi’s living room, curled on her worn couch, doesn’t keep you away from thoughts of Jeongguk. Especially when the old woman sits in the armchair facing you, but her eyes remain fixed on the calendar across the room.
Only a few days remain until the date marked with Jeongguk’s initials. You’d initially assumed it was his birthday, but the finality of the red ink and the contrast from the heart shape signaling her own anniversary suggest it might be something entirely different.
Grandma Mimi has been eerily quiet, you’ve noticed, a stark departure from the woman whose tongue is usually rolling with gossip or recipes.
Sitting straighter on her couch, you fiddle with the skin around your nails, and your frail voice has her slowly turning her head toward you.
“I feel like there’s something you know about Jeongguk that I should, too.”
She swallows hard, eyes looking to the side where her calendar resides and takes a moment to gather her words. Then, she offers a reassuring smile, the one she always uses to soothe your easily agitated nerves, though it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.
“What do you mean, dear?”
“It’s just…” her welcoming expression does little to calm your mounting anxiety as you reposition on the sofa, legs crossed. “I thought there was something. Then, the next second, he goes all cold on me. I… I don’t get him.”
Grandma Mimi looks unusually torn. Beneath the fond affection you’ve come to rely on, you find a new layer: restraint. It’d be unfair of you to ask for Grandma Mimi to pick sides; she wasn’t one of your girlfriends, though, she’s more. Which is an added layer of hurt knowing her loyalty to your front-door neighbour supersedes the bond you both shared in the time of your residency.
With resolution and a heavy sigh, she inhales. You lean in, eager to welcome a possible solution to all this uncertainty.
But she opts for a short explanation. “He’s been… hurt, in the past.”
“Grandma Mimi…” You’re truthfully sick of half-sincere reasons, and it filters through the exhaustion etched in your tone. Your eyes beg for honesty, and a dull ache that has started to feel familiar spreads through your chest. “I know you care about him. But … I’m hurting, too. I just want some clarity.”
Sad how you need to turn to another person instead of the direct source for said clarity.
The old woman purses her wrinkled lips into a smile. One that tells you her heart carries the same hurt now reaching your features. She reaches out and takes your hand in her cold one, lacing your fingers together.
Exhaling, she begins arranging pieces of the puzzle, yet the picture remains blurred. “There was this girl… their relationship was turbulent. She was messed up. Then, she cheated and left him.”
“Oh, that’s… that sounds rough.” You swallow, unconsciously nodding along with her bobbing chin.
But you know that can’t be all there is to this story. Right? It’s so clear across the lines of her face, how her eyes drop to your joined hands and drift toward somewhere distant, hauntingly mirroring the look Jeongguk wore in his kitchen.
Instead of closure, further confusion merges with a sudden indignation. “I still don’t get why I’m being treated like this.”
“You didn’t deserve that, sweetie,” she reaffirms, meeting your eyes again with fierce compassion, and her hand grips impossibly tighter around yours. “Look, dear… I care so much about you both, my angels. I don’t think it’s my place to tell this story. Jeongguk carries so much love, but that spark was stolen from him.”
You suddenly feel ridiculous. You’d spent weeks thinking the spark you saw in Jeongguk’s eyes — the one that seemed to burn wherever his skin brushed yours — was a shared flame. Turns out it’s just been a reflection of your own.
You thought you were both willing to stand in its light together, slowly swallowing everything around you and making the flare impossibly high. But when you turn around, you realize he’s left you alone to be consumed by your own making.
So much for a firefighter.
Teeth harsh on your bottom lip, you let Grandma Mimi’s next words sink into your growing resentment, aimed mostly at yourself for being so naive.
“He’s a boy with baggage. I get if you don’t wanna embark on this journey with him. You gotta take care of yourself, too. You don’t have to understand him, just… show him a little patience.”
Gulping down the bitter taste on your tongue, your brows knit together at the bridge of your nose. You, showing him patience. That’s all you’ve done.
The bitterness grows sour as it appears the one person who could understand the predicament with Jeongguk is inevitably showing him more compassion, even when he’s not around.
Will she do the same for you if Jeongguk comes to her for advice? You could only hope. Though small, you smile and nod at the older woman, ready to move on from the topic.
And days later, when resentment blends with acceptance, you think you could offer him patience.
You’ve been moving through the week on autopilot, finding refuge in the dog shelter where you often volunteer. You sit in silence with stray puppies and older mutts who only ask for so much patience and care when they softly whine the first time they feel the touch of a kind hand.
More often than not, your stomach grumbles by the end of your shifts, demands a patience of its own. You’ve rarely been feeding it properly: when you do, it’s with instant ramen or whatever processed food you can grab without thinking.
You find yourself asking your heart for that same patience, too, as your mind constantly runs on a loop of unanswered questions and stalled feelings. Peace only comes when you feel yourself finally drifting into sleep, but then the alarm always blares just as your body begins to relax, and the cycle repeats.
So, when his door happens to open just as you’re unlocking yours after work, his eyes resemble those of shelter puppies, and patience is supposedly all you’ve learned to give during the time spent apart.
You haven’t seen or heard from Jeongguk for almost two weeks. Gureum never once whined through the wall, so you’d presumed he was either locked inside or that you’d simply been lucky enough to never cross paths.
Jeongguk wears exhaustion on his face like patience hasn’t been his replacement as it’s been yours, and when he sees you he stops dead in his tracks, brows twitching upward in an expression that feels painfully akin to relief.
You tell yourself to stop presuming things you don’t know the clear answer to.
Gureum emerges from behind him, tail wagging, and he sniffs excitedly at your feet. You flash a small, instinctive smile at the dog, but when your gaze lifts back to Jeongguk’s, your lips tighten into a straight line.
You’re about to turn your back to him when he speaks your name, agitated, taking a tentative step toward you and letting his door fall shut behind him.
“Can we talk?”
Brows furrowed, you witness his face fall once again at your stunned silence. You hesitate, still carrying those flames within you, feeling them slowly merge with the patience you thought you’d mastered, and that you eventually manage to show him.
“Jeongguk, I think it’s best if we don’t.”
He nods, and you immediately recognize the compliance in his eyes, the one he’s always had ready for you, even when you’d asked him to get up for the third time after you’d finally settled on your couch for Ratatouille just to grab another blanket.
“I just need one minute, please. I’m sorry—”
“I’m not ready to talk yet.” Ironic how days ago you were wanting clarity and he’s willing to give it to you now. Still, your heart’s too fragile to hear him out.
“But–”
“You hurt me.” You stop him, words, heart and all. Your words burn — a first responder whose livelihood depends on saving and rescuing … is responsible for hurting now. Patience shaped acceptance, and made you realize you might simply not be the person he longs for, no matter how well you fit together. “I feel like we should keep our distance for a while.”
“I—”
“Goodbye, Jeongguk.”
Your own heart breaks at the finality in your tone, shatters when you see its effects on his face. He inhales sharply, extending a hand to stop you from disappearing into your apartment, though it never actually touches you.
“Is your ex boyfriend still bothering you?”
The mention of Mingyu has you stalling your reply for longer than you thought you’d have to think for it. You’ve been so deep in your own head that you hadn’t even noticed his constant texts ceasing — no calls, no accidental meetings. You study Jeongguk’s expectant face, blink to try and make sense of why he’d ask this now.
You can only shake your head no.
“Okay,” he licks his lips, nodding to himself as he tugs lightly on Gureum’s leash when he starts whining at the lack of attention. You desperately wish you could kneel and pet him like you usually would have done, but you’re held captive by the way your neighbour’s face morphs, expression suddenly loosening.
“That’s good. Be safe, okay? Please, come to me if you ever need any help.”
Patience has been a virtue you’d tried cultivating. But after knowing what it feels like to have looked for him, looked in his trembling orbs as you asked for something as essential as truth, only to find no one there, something inside you snaps at his words.
“Come to you?” You let out a short scoff, keys jangling in your shaking hand. “Only for you to disappear again? You know, Grandma Mimi said I don’t have to understand you, but—”
Suddenly, he moves, stepping closer, far over the boundaries of what’s now allowed, and Gureum lets out a low bark. “What did Halmeoni tell you?”
You instinctively step back, retreating beyond the threshold of your apartment where you won’t let him reach you. Disappointment etched into every line of your face as you shake your head slightly.
“Nothing that she wouldn’t want you to tell me first. She wouldn’t betray your trust like that.”
It’s a pang ringing simultaneously into both of your chests, vibrating with the silent implications. Jeongguk betrayed your trust the very moment after he’d asked you for it, and the reminder has his nose twitching in visible shame.
He swallows hard, withdrawing to an accepted distance as the surge of panic washes out of him. “Look, I just wanted to apologize—”
“And you did.” You finalize, gaze dropping to anywhere but him. Your worn out heels, Gureum’s panting mouth, your bitten nails. “I don’t think there’s anything else we should talk about. I’m tired of this back and forth.” You’re tired of never knowing where you stand with him.
Then, you offer him one last flash of dejection before stepping inside your space and letting the door shut, signal an erect wall between you, one that trembles under the pressure of the unsaid but that you both fight to keep standing.
Another week passes without a glimpse of his sleep-deprived eyes or a single sound from the fifth floor. Jeongguk asked you to look for him exactly when it comes to the kind of help he knows you struggle to accept.
You wish you could look for him simply because you get lonely on your walks, and the other day you found a jazz song in one of your dad’s vinyl compilations that you think he’d really like, and you baked too many cookies once again but you can’t knock on his door.
Time will mend the hurt. In a month, it’ll probably feel less awkward to say hello in passing instead of dodging him at the grocery store, the way you do the next week. In two months, you might even return to friendly terms, listen to what he wanted to say in the hallway, accept that he can only find solace in your friendship, not your lips on his.
And you’ll be okay with that. You’d take it over this abrupt loss, how the tide stripped him from you cold turkey. It’s been a brutal process relearning life on the fifth floor, relearning lunches at Grandma Mimi’s without him in the seat opposite of yours, relearning Pixar movies without him overanalyzing the animation.
You give yourself the grace to do it gradually.
Gradually, just like when you convince yourself none of your own jackets fit. So you wear his over a short dress you picked for drinks with friends — strictly because the oversized look pairs better with the leather of your boots, not because almond-and-pine-equals-shelter is still something you can’t unlearn.
Gradually, so that when you finally get to Ratatouille, you sniff and wipe at your cheeks as Remy combines strawberry and cheese, and the flavors merge with jazz instrumentals, and the colorful shapes on screen would have had him go off on one of his geeky animation tangents.
Gradually, like how you’ve been staying after hours at the clinic, offering to take on the mindless, end of day tasks. Your coworkers thank you when you confirm that, for the second week in a row, you’ll be the one preparing the clinic for the morning rush.
It’s a way for you to stall time, be here where it doesn’t truly feel like you’re alone, even as the clinic is dimmed and quiet. The pharmacy prep area becomes your sanctuary smelling of antiseptic.
The only sound heard is the repeated tink-tink-tink of the small plastic spatula as you move the yellow tablets across the counting tray. It’s a robotic motion, the one to count a massive prescription of heart medication for a regular patient, a Great Dane.
You’re hunched over the counter under a single pool of fluorescent light, and the silence might even be loud enough for you to become aware of the pace of your pulse — relaxed, echoing in your ears.
Tink, tink, tink. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
When a loud thump resounds from the lobby, you think you can feel your heart bursting against your ribs in perfect sync with the way the front door is slammed open.
You flinch, spatula jumping in your hand and sending a dozen pills skittering across the floor like marbles, mimicking the door bells chiming.
All of it gets drowned by a rough, panicked voice that has you standing up out of a sharp instinct. “Help, please!”
You bolt from the prep area, lab coat flapping behind you as you round the corner into the lobby. The voice was unrecognizable, a jagged, breathless wreck of a sound. But the sight in front of you is unmistakeable, stopping the air in your lungs.
Jeongguk is staggering toward one of the chairs of the waiting room, frame trembling so violently you almost miss the cause: Gureum is clutched to his chest, and his knuckles are white and slimy with the dog’s saliva. It’s the little maltese vibrating with him that sends you hurrying their way.
“Jeongguk, put him down!” You assert, professionalism surging through you and overriding the panic that rushed at the sight of him, voice sharp enough to pierce through his own fright. “What happened?”
You recognize the throes of a grand mal seizure, Gureum’s tiny body rigid, head arched back at an unnatural angle, his paws paddling the air. You still urge a response out of Jeongguk, whose wide eyes are bloodshot and fixed on the dog’s flickering eyelids.
“We were— we were on a walk, he— he fell,” his voice cracks, yet he doesn’t let Gureum go. “He started shaking, his eyes… he wouldn’t look at me. Please, I can’t— he’s dying—”
You drop to your knees in front of him, hands moving with practiced grace. “He’s not dying. It’s a seizure. You have to lay him down before you drop him.” You pry his shaky arms open, guiding him so that Gureum would be safe on the linoleum floor.
The heat radiating off the dog’s body is intense against your palms once you gently reposition him and check the pulse in his groin. Gureum’s breath comes in hot, wet gasps, and it almost matches his owner’s hysteria.
Jeongguk looks like he’s about to follow the dog into a collapse. He’s hyperventilating, fingers digging into his now empty thighs as he watches his dog shake with the last of the muscle tremors surging through his body.
“I’m sorry. Puh—please, help him,” Jeongguk hiccups, and your heart constricts. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him lose control, lose composure like this, let go completely the way he’s now breaking apart in front of you. You’re momentarily stuck, eyes flickering all over his shattered face.
His eyes are glossed over with succumbing as they follow your every shift, as you recover and reach over to grab Jeongguk’s wrist to pull his hand flat onto Gureum’s flank.
“Jeongguk. Gguk, hey. Look at me.”
He gasps, vision tunneling and drowning once he feels the dog’s beating heart beneath your warm hand, body unmoving save for his heaving chest and shaky fingers.
You beg, “Breathe with me.”
When his face snaps up at your wobbly voice, he’s a wreck of tears and exhaustion, his bangs matted to his forehead. His head twitches with a quick shake. “I’m sorry. I duh—don’t wanna lose him.”
You don’t break eye contact, don’t risk losing him to the void, and force strength in your tone. “You won’t, okay? Gureum is okay. Look.”
As he follows your gaze down, you both witness how Gureum’s tiny legs have stopped paddling. The dog blinks, head lifting a few inches, looking up at his owner with a dazed expression.
The seizure is over.
Jeongguk cracks a relieved smile, breath hitching, “Gureumie… My baby.” His large hand slides from your hold to gently cup the side of Gureum’s muzzle, eyes still wide and now blinking heavily.
You let them stay like that for a moment, allowing Jeongguk to catch his breath, unconsciously regulating with your own deep inhales, slow exhales. Batting away a pair of very unprofessional tears, you gently encircle Gureum’s weak body and lift him as you stand.
Looking up, Jeongguk sniffs and abruptly wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. “What— what’s going on?”
“It was a seizure,” you repeat, watching how his brows pinch like he’s just now letting the information filter through his padded ears and sink in. You’re quick to reassure him. “It’s over now. I just need to do a proper check-up, but he’s already coming around. Wanna come with us?”
You hold the dog closer to your chest, mindful to keep your grip gentle, as well as your tone when speaking to your neighbour, clearly still shaken up. He nods, hesitant, and stands to follow you into an exam room.
On the stainless steel table, Gureum shivers against the cold and unforgiving surface, a tiny tremor that sends a fresh wave of agony across Jeongguk’s face.
“He’s shaking again,” Jeongguk rasps, hands hovering near the table, twitching as if he wants to snatch the dog up but knows better. “Is he having another one? Is he—”
“No,” your voice is steady, settles low between the both of you. “It’s the post-ictical phase. He’s just disoriented.” A raised hand comes forward to halt his forward lean, keeping your expression stern but reassuring. “I know what I’m doing. I need you to be calm and stay where you are. Can you do that for me?”
His nod is frantic, as if he’s suddenly snapping out of a daze, and he takes a step back. He moves his eyes up at you with a desperate guilt that tells you it has nothing to do with the dog. “Yes. Sorry.”
Reaching into your lab coat, you pull out a small silver penlight, the beam cutting through Gureum’s dark, glassy stare.
“Pupils are equal and reactive,” you murmur, watching the irises contract. “That’s good. He’s coming out of the woods.”
You continue the examination in silence, moving expertly as you look for further signs of recovery. Checking his gums for that healthy flush of pink, monitoring his temperature. As expected, Gureum is burning up, little body still reeling. You remain collected, although the weight of Jeongguk’s eyes on you has your expression flickering.
After you’re finished scrubbing Gureum’s tiny paws and the thin skin of his ears with alcohol-soaked pads to regulate his temperature, the weary whine he gives into the medicinal-scented room has Jeongguk letting out a half-hiccup, morphing into a broken smile.
Gureum leans his head into your touch, his core temperature cooling down and his body readapting to his surroundings. Jeongguk grips the edge of the exam table so hard the metal groans.
Finally, you tuck your stethoscope back into your pocket after having checked for a rhythmic heartbeat, and you look up into the widened eyes in front of you. “He’s fine, Jeongguk. His heart is strong, this was a fluke. He just needs to rest.”
Jeongguk nods repeatedly, reaching out with hesitance to pet Gureum's fur. “Thank you, thank you so much.”
You hum, turning your back to him to wash your hands. The scent of alcohol evaporating from Gureum’s paws still waltzes in the air, mingling with a thick, regretful silence.
He’s the one to break through it, voice returning to its usual regulated tone, yet it’s pitched low with the realization of his complete loss of control dawning on the both of you. “I’m sorry for… Hell, I’ve a lot to be sorry for.”
“It’s okay,” you whisper. The exhaustion of the day, of these past weeks, sinks into your chest all at once. The familiar void begins taking up more than its allowed space, and with Jeongguk in the same room but nothing left on your tongue to say, you find yourself searching for an exit.
“No, it’s not,” Jeongguk lets out with a voice as frail as yours, and your brows twitch as you turn around. He sniffs, and there’s a sudden resolution across his features. “If you give me the chance, I… I think I’m ready to be honest with you, now.”
Gureum presses his face further into Jeongguk’s palm, and you’re both looking down at his timid tongue licking over his skin rather than witnessing the hurt tightening both your expressions.
You hesitate, inhale shaky, “Look, I’m still working, and…”
“I know, I know,” he nods, pointer finger sliding gently across the dog’s wet nose. “Whenever you want to, you can knock on my door. Just… consider it. Please.”
You do consider it. Let another week pass as you do.
Before work, when your leg bobs restlessly under the table and you forcefully wrap your mouth around a spoon of soggy cereal.
After work, spotting him from a distance in the park, sitting on your bench, while Gureum trots freely through the grass.
When you close your eyes, and all you can see behind your lids is his tear-streaked face and the tremor of his brows.
At the grocery store, when you’re buying apples and find yourself wishing Gureum would rip another of your plastic bags, and hoping the dog’s doing better.
Whenever you’re closing your door or opening it, and the vision in front of you is always his closed one.
Exactly one week later, coming back from another of your increasingly long walks, you finally hear sound coming from beyond the piece of wood separating you. You think you can distinguish Gureum’s nails clicking on the floor and Jeongguk’s small giggle resounding in the space.
And it’s as if your heart finally gives up the fight, longs for that melody to vibrate through it again. You clearly don’t think of it enough when your knuckles meet the wood.
Followed by an eager bark, you hear Jeongguk’s feet hastily making their way to the door. As it swings open, you wonder if he’s worn that same expectant expression every time someone has knocked over the past seven days.
Eyes large and sparkling, his lifted brows relax once he takes you in, standing in front of him, wearing the same baby blue set you had on during your very first walk together.
“Hi,” he breathes through a smile, and you think that vision alone might be enough, him looking at you like this is worth the risk of whatever rejection or truth follows.
“Hey,” in return, your smile is weak and doesn’t fully form. You spot Gureum behind him, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Returning your gaze to his owner, you ask, hesitant, “Is this a bad moment?”
“No, not at all.” Jeongguk is quick to step aside, pulling the door wide. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He says he’s been waiting for you — just as you’ve punished both of you by stalling this conversation, you suppose — yet, after the meaningless small talk has faded and you’ve acknowledged how much better Gureum is doing, his words desert him as he fiddles with his fingers on his lap.
His couch feels firmer than you remember, and you reposition yourself as you cross your legs and turn your front to fully face him, sitting next to you.
“You said you wanted to talk.”
Jeongguk nods, locking his gaze onto yours. “I do. I owe you an explanation.” It’s not long before his eyes drop back to his hands. “I’ve been such an asshole to you this whole time, and you’re still here willing to listen to me.”
You gulp, fighting the lump in your throat and trying to silence the anxiety whispering in the back of your mind, anticipating what he might say.
He licks his lips before inhaling, “I’ve been in a dark headspace for quite some time. The time apart from you… made me realize I’ve been pushing away the only person who made it all a bit brighter.”
Looking up, he lets his glossy eyes speak to your swollen pupils and the silence speak for his regret.
Jeongguk tells you about a girl named Nora who once occupied your apartment, long before the family of four. He explains how she’d always get into trouble, pair that with his unfortunate hero complex, he’d always mend the damage.
“I fell for her because she gave me purpose. I think I was Pavlov’ed into being her dog.” A humourless chuckle escapes him, but his face soon twitches back into hurt. He leans back onto the couch and looks up at you as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. “She was good to me only when I did things for her. I lost a lot in that relationship.” He sucks in a breath. “Money, time, dignity… love.”
His money was spent on her distractions, innocent enough at first. This is how you learn that Gureum wasn’t even his dog to begin with, but Nora’s emotional support animal. He doesn’t regret the money he spent on the Maltese. His face does twist with shame when he mentions buying weed just to comply and make her stay, paying for the city’s best therapist only for her to reject the help, emptying his wallet on hospital admissions and pills which she swore she needed in her healing process.
That’s similar to how his dignity got stripped from his hold, too. Especially when he recounts, with a visible shiver, how she convinced him to get high with her, claiming he didn’t really love her if he wouldn’t join her, and the sex almost resulted in him getting baby-trapped.
The words nearly hiccup on their way out of his throat, and your hand flies to hold his in comfort. Your breath hitches, “Gguk, oh god… I’m so sorry.”
When he snaps up from the spot he’d zoned out on, he sees your face wet with tears and his palm engulfs yours so tight it might have hurt if your chest wasn’t already constricted by the truths spilling from his mouth.
Jeongguk shakes his head and you notice his other hand twitching on his thigh, almost as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he could.
“After that, it got worse.” He gulps, face stiff as he skims through the wreckage of those years, but still pushes for the honesty he owes you. “She started really abusing drugs. Then harming herself, too… but, you know. I thought I could help her. Save her.”
His voice breaks on the last admission, and you slide closer on the couch until your knees are bumping, forcing him to look at your face, your lips as you whisper with assurance, “I’m sure you did more than enough, Gguk.”
“Not enough to keep her with me. She… she just left us. Me and Gureum.” His gaze falls to the dog laying at the feet of the couch. He sniffles, worrying at his bottom lip before shaking his head to clear the fog. “But, yeah. This— I’m not telling you this so you’ll pity me.”
You inhale, open your mouth to reassure him, but he interrupts. “I just want to apologize for projecting all that onto you. I shouldn’t have let my insecurities speak over what you were telling me. And what you were showing me.”
Jeongguk had been grieving you, anticipatorily. This whole time, looking into your eyes has felt like his last time doing so, and tasting your every baked good has felt like a privilege he was destined to lose. And he had tried his best to extend that time, prove to you he could be worth it.
You’ve been expecting him, anticipatorily. Willing to discover what being so close to the fire would do to your insides, whether it would melt you into ashes or forge you into something better. And you find ashes only provide the space for new and greater beginnings, after all.
Your thumb brushes over his knuckles as you lean closer, resting your side against the cushions. In the narrow space between you, you can clearly see the subtle twitch of his chin, how hard he’s fought through this conversation.
“You need to stop worrying so much about other people. Sometimes, they don’t wanna be saved.” Your whisper fans over his cheeks like cold air over the flames. “Save yourself, Gguk. Leave some life for yourself, too.”
Jeongguk swallows back words that refuse to come out without tears, and he isn’t ready to cry. He doesn’t want to.
But it’s so hard to stay composed when your other hand, shaky and uncertain, places itself gently against his cheek, touch so soft he lets his eyes flutter shut along with your tender words.
“I hope you know that if I’m here, it’s because I found so much more in you than a person willing to carry the world’s weight. And that is nothing to be ashamed of, either. Ever.” You punctuate with finality.
When your thumb strokes his cheek, it is to catch the tears that inevitably break loose. You speak sincerity into the inches between you.
“I wish you could’ve seen from the beginning that I would’ve stood by you even if you weren’t constantly trying to prove your worth. You are worth it, Gguk. The right person doesn’t need you to only give. I wish you could also learn how to take.”
For the weeks that follow, you both truly relearn life on the fifth floor with no barriers between you — no emotional walls, at least, just two wooden doors and cracking hesitance.
You’ve confirmed your belief that loss is not just absence. What’s empty leaves space for something else, and losing Jeongguk had only prepared you to welcome him back properly, in a way. Grief led you to blooming patience and understanding, so that when you found yourself facing Jeongguk’s glossy eyes, you simply gave him back what was already his — a permanent spot in your heart.
Jeongguk, in turn, learns that loss doesn’t always look like failure, that failing might just mean the same mistakes cannot be repeated, and he can still take from them. Failing is no longer a monster under the bed when you continue to smile up at him every day, regardless of whether he can be the strong one.
When he finally allows you to see the burn scars on his bare back, the marks of the moment he truly felt like he had failed, you don’t see weakness. You don’t see someone incapable. Instead, you’re there to wipe his tears and look at him with a deepening adoration in your eyes that he never thought possible.
You learn that Nora didn’t only leave him emotionally empty. That door shutting close behind her signalled the very last time he’d ever have the chance of seeing her again.
Because Nora also left a physically empty void in her departure. She was consumed by the same flames he dominates and saves people from. He blames himself for failing to save her, but as you trace the jagged lines of his scars, you whisper that they’re only a further proof of the courage he carries — and if that ever weighs him down, you tell him to topple onto you. You’ll be there to cradle him with the care he’s finally learning to allow and accept.
Jeongguk keeps giving. Constantly. Even more than he did when he was just your neighbour turned friend.
For starters, you discover the reason Mingyu’s constant texts finally ceased: Jeongguk. He doesn’t offer much detail, only that your ex boyfriend is no longer someone you should worry about. You jokingly ask if he’s murdered him, and he laughs like he doesn’t know the sound alone tugs at your heartstrings painfully, beautifully.
“God, no,” he chuckles, laughter dimming as if he still feels he hasn’t quite earned the right to let loose like that. “Just told him to leave you alone. For good.”
You bite on your smile, shrugging playfully. “I wouldn’t have snitched on you.”
When you also let out a giggle, he can’t help but join in, softly nudging your shoulder with his. “You’re so ridiculous.”
He attempts to bake cookies, just to return the sweetness, but you can’t suppress the huff of a chortle the moment you take a bite.
Furrowing his brows, he mimics your contained smile. “What?”
“No, it’s—” You mumble around a mouthful before swallowing hard. “It’s good.”
“Oh, I knew I got something wrong,” he shakes his head, turning back to the tray, grimacing at the cookies’ pale, wet appearance.
You raise your brows, shifting into comfort mode as you wrap yourself around his arm to recall his attention. “It’s probably just the oven settings, Gguk. They’re really not bad.”
He smiles sheepishly down at you, catching your sneaky, mischievous dimples. “Okay, finish the cookie, then.”
You inhale, slowly detaching from him, “Um…”
In a heartbeat, his fingers are digging into your sides. You shriek, doubling over in his hold as he tickles restlessly, and he’s also laughing right against your ear, “You liar!”
The next time he tries, the cookies are considerably better. Perhaps it’s the determination in his eyes, the kind that says failure is no longer a reason to stop. Either way, you end the night crashing on his couch, full-tummied and high on sugar.
Almost every weekend, he cooks dinner for the two of you, and while he does the dishes you’re rambling into his ear about work. By now, he’s so invested that the times he drives you to the clinic he’s tempted to stay through your shift — can’t wait for the evening to hear the latest developments.
It’s a series of silent actions: having already the couch prepped with your favourite blankets for movie nights even as the warm spring weather approaches; carrying your every heavy grocery bag on his wide shoulders; heating up your water bottle when you’re on your period.
He even lets you drag him out for drinks with your friends, staying by your side despite his drowsiness, and he never once complains. Always has his eyes on you, attuned to your every shift.
If you want to dance, he’ll let you grind against him and guide your hips even as he shivers from the contact, restraining himself from placing his lips where he’d really want to. If you want to drink, he’ll be by your side for a glass or two before he begins monitoring your alcohol-intake.
One night, sitting together on the bar stools, when the techno-house music begins to blare too loudly against your temple, you let your head slip onto his shoulder. He runs a warm palm up and down your back and you turn sheepish at the contact, burrowing closer into his side.
He leans in, speaks into your ear, “You wanna go home, Oompie?”
Nodding into his chest, he chuckles softly. And he moves just as carefully, straightening you up so he can stand. “Okay, I’ll go grab our stuff from the table. Don’t move.”
You watch him go with a lazy, unconscious smile on your lips. Once he disappears into the crowd, your palm replaces his shoulder as you rest your cheek on it, elbow propped up the counter.
When you hear the stool beside you scratching against the floor, you turn your head with a light in your eyes ready to welcome Jeongguk back, tell him about this face mask you should try once you’re home, until the flicker dims at the sight of a stranger.
The man is buff, not in the lean way Jeongguk is. His beard makes him look rougher than he already appears, and he acknowledges you with a nod of his chin and a slimy smile. “What’s a doll like you doing alone?”
You immediately straighten up your slugged position, head spinning slightly from the drinks. “Huh, I—”
“Let me get you a drink.” He’s already waving for the bartender, but you stop him quickly.
“No, I— I’m about to leave with my boyfriend, sorry.” The word slips naturally over your tongue, whether it comes as a handy excuse or a subconscious wish.
Scoffing, the man shakes his head at the bartender, who looks on with confusion. “Right. Boyfriend. You females always use that one, huh? How come every time you say you have a boyfriend, he’s never actually there?”
Furrowing your brows, you inhale, alcohol fueling a sudden spark of anger. “Have you considered that the only way males stop bothering us is once we mention another ma—”
“Hey sweets, ready to go?”
Both you and the entitled stranger turn around at the sound of Jeongguk’s voice, standing right behind you with raised brows. They pinch together the moment he takes in the guy sitting in his previous spot, and he’s immediately wrapping a firm hand around your waist once you hurriedly step off the stool.
“My bad, bro. I ain’t mean anything,” the man mutters, lifting his hands in defeat before vanishing back into the crowd, just as you imagined he would’ve once he saw Jeongguk.
Tall, buff, tattooed and scary-looking Jeongguk, who looks down at you alarmedly, his palm traveling up your side. “Did he try anything?”
“No, no,” you shake your head, leading the way toward the exit as he follows closely. “He offered a drink, and I told him I have a boyfriend. And then he started going off about how women lie about it, like—”
You stop mid-sentence when, looking up, you see Jeongguk biting back a grin while his eyes are fixed on the ground, making sure you don’t trip on the sidewalk. Then, noticing the silence, he turns to you expectantly.
You narrow your eyes, curling into his chest as the chilly night air hits your skin. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Jeongguk shrugs, guiding you both toward his car. “Nothing, just wasn’t aware you had a boyfriend.”
Rolling your eyes, you swat at his stomach and try to detach yourself, but he just tugs you back in. You keep up the banter, only because there’s nothing you love more than playful and relaxed Jeongguk.
“Yeah, well… I would’ve told you eventually.”
“Oh, really?” He opens the passenger door and eases you into the seat before rounding the car. He gets inside, doesn’t start the engine, just shifts to look at you. Noticing your tight shoulders, he pulls his jacket off and drapes it over your exposed legs. “What’s he like?”
Your fingers curl into the leather, and you let the side of your head rest back against the seat, looking at him through heavy lids. “He’s the perfect guy to scare other men away. He’s tall, has lots of tattoos…”
Humming around a smile, Jeongguk reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, hand staying to cup around your cheek. “And is he really that scary?”
Jeongguk is also learning how to take. Take in how your words sink straight into his heart, no intrusive thoughts of selfishness, simply basking into the feeling of being taken care of. Being seen, heard, understood. Being allowed to trip and finding your extended hand ready to lift him up and mend his wounds.
Ever so attentive, you read every wave of emotion washing over his face without the need for words. You have enough for the both of you, and you use them to tame the flames into a nice, warm bonfire.
You shake your head against his palm, turning your face just slightly so you can leave a faint, warm peck on his wrist. “No… he has the kindest, biggest heart.”
The next night, while thumbing through his vinyls, your fingers stumble onto a sleeve that feels unfamiliar. On the turntable, The Sky Is a Landfill by Jeff Buckley nears its end, but the record you pull from the shelf is a limited edition Radiohead. Karma Police, to be exact. The song you were born to.
You stand up from your crouched position, eyes raking over the autographed cover. Turning to Jeongguk, he’s still on the couch, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as he scrolls through next month’s work schedule.
You quip, loud enough over the drums of Everybody Here Wants You. “When did you get this, Gguk?”
Looking up at the sound of your voice, he adjusts his glasses only for his eyes to widen once they land on the record in your hands. He sits up straighter, “I, huh…” sighing, he admits. “That was supposed to be your gift.”
“What?” It’s your eyes dilating, glancing between the gift and the gifter. A thirty-two-teeth smile stretches across your mouth. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you…”
Phone discarded, he strides his way toward you, a shy dimple hollowing his cheek. “I’m sorry…”
Once he’s in front of you, looking so pretty and vulnerable under the amber hues of the lamp reflecting off his glasses, your gaze drops back to the vinyl. Shaking your head, you slide the record back into its place and finally allow yourself to take him in.
“Can we both agree on not apologizing anymore?”
He nods sheepishly, but whatever agreement was on his tongue turns into a yelp as you throw yourself into his chest. Your arms lock around his neck and he instinctively lifts you off the carpet.
“Thank you, Ggukkie.” Squealing, you kick your legs in the air before he’s setting you back down, giggling against your ear.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it!” You pull back just enough to better express the sentiment, eyes locked onto his blown-wide pupils.
Your smiles linger, but they morph into something easier, lazier. You’re both playing the toughest ping-pong match between eyes and lips, and Jeongguk admits defeat first, straightening slightly and loosening his grip on your waist.
“Sorry.”
You hum, eyes narrowing as you tug him back into your space with a hand splayed over his nape. “What did I just say?”
“I know, I know,” he grumbles, gaze falling onto your mouth as he swallows hard, almost as if it’s painful to look anywhere else. “I just wanna give you your space. I know that I still don’t have your full trust.”
Your brows twitch. “Gguk… You do.”
Fingers traveling up, you cradle his jaw and let your thumb brush the corner of his mouth, parted and breathing out a trembling exhale. It’s like you can see the fight slowly leaving his body, how his lids droop and his palms settle on your hips.
With your other hand, you fix his glasses and ruffle his hair — getting a little too long now — with a gentle touch. “I’ve had enough space. I can’t stay away from you.”
There never really was space between you, and there never needed to be. You’re magnets that have tried to reject one another for far too long, but when you’re face to face the pull is stronger and undeniable.
Jeongguk can only drop his forehead against yours, breathing in the sweet merge of cotton candy and almond. You speak the assurance you know he needs in the puff of air left between you.
“I wanna be there for you. With you. Through everything. I just need you to let me in.”
The flames engulf you once again, but this time you’re both standing in the heat together. You’ve decided it’s worth being consumed, and he realizes that all the times he’s ran, he only deprived himself of this comfortable warmth.
You whisper, “Do you trust me?”
Jeongguk, ever so responsive, nods his head against your forehead. “I do.”
It’s all the permission you need. You lean in, pressing your mouth to his in a kiss that has you both sighing through your nose, limbs instantly locking tighter around one another. When he lets one hand drag lower around the curve of your hips, you whimper against his lips and he wastes no time finding your tongue with his.
You don’t think you’ll ever need air to fill your lungs again, because oxygen still flows through the kiss directly to your heart. And you don’t care if it’s messy, if Jeongguk’s glasses are slipping further down his nose, if your teeth clash the more you push against each other — because when you hear him whine, it only spurs you further.
You detach just enough to trail kisses along his chin, following the line of his jaw down to his throat, causing him to throw his head back, unable to keep his moan trapped behind his teeth. Your hand buried in the hair at the nape of his neck tugs him backward, giving yourself more space to suck and nip at the expanse of his neck.
“Baby, oh shit,” he groans as you push him against the furniture, the impact hard enough to have Jeff Buckley’s voice startle and skip on the still-spinning vinyl. You release his skin with a wet smack, looking up at him through your dazed fog and swollen lips.
Jeongguk moans from the vision alone, trying to conceal it by colliding your mouths together once again, his hands firming on your waist to guide the slow but sharp grinds against his already embarrassingly, clothed and hard length.
It throbs beneath his thin sweats when you press your hand on it, pulling him lightly by his hair so you can whisper against his flushed-pink ear. “Do you trust me with your pleasure?”
He nods, moans so loud around a yeah, and watches in awe as you drop to your knees in front of him, lowering his pants along with you. You look up through your lashes and flash a wicked smile before mouthing at his cock, licking over the wet spot on his white boxers.
Jeongguk quite literally wails, messily pushes his glasses back against the bridge of his nose, then bucks his hips up in search of more friction. “Please, sweets.”
“Hm? What?” You let your lips drag over his incredibly hard girth, placing your hands on his muscular thighs and causing him to whimper. Batting your lashes, you tilt your head. “What do you want?”
“I want you to do whatever you want to me, please,” words so compliant and vulnerable clash with the way his wide palm comes to cup your jaw, fingers extending to the rest of your face and digging in desperate need of restraint.
You turn for a quick kiss on his wrist before wrapping your hand around it, shaking your head as you let his arm drop at his side. “If you want me to suck your cock, you need to keep your hands to yourself. Okay?”
“O–okay,” he stutters and wraps his fingers tight around the edge of the cabinet, knuckles turning white.
“Not a punishment, Ggukkie,” you reassure as you slowly pull his boxers down, cock springing free and brushing your nose. He hisses, tries pushing forward but your palms are back on his thighs, digging. “I just wanna take care of you tonight. Would you like that?”
Whimpering, he breathes, “Yeah, fuck, I’d love that.”
You look between his length and his face, both pretty and blushing pink. His tip throbs and leaks, begs to be welcomed in your warm mouth. His brows twitch, too, angled upwards and only accentuating his wide eyes behind the glasses.
Your tongue runs from his base to his tip before you’re wrapping your lips around it, humming along with his dragged moan. The dresser rustles once again, this time with the force of his constraint, and you start bobbing your head as your fist pumps the parts you can’t reach.
“Shit, you feel suh—so, mmph—good,” his stutter syncs with the way his own hips slip, pushing his cock further inside your mouth and hitting the back of your throat while your fist is still wrapped around his base, causing you to gag.
He gasps, hand hovering the side of your face but, ever so obedient, he doesn’t touch you. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
You retreat with a wet sound, length bouncing straight in front of you and keeping your vision of his face obstructed. “Yeah, Ggukkie. Did you like that?”
His fingers curl into a fist beside your head, and you can see his throat bob around a hard swallow. He hums, head nodding slightly.
You decide he’s been good enough. Guide his hand with your own on top of your head, where his fingers sneak into your hair and you let yourself be held as you’re wrapped around his cock again and he slowly bucks his hips into your warmth, your tongue coming out to swirl around his tip.
Jeongguk is long, and he feels even thicker in your mouth. You choke at the intrusion, but nonetheless press yourself further — anything it takes to hear his pretty, wailed sounds.
Knees numb from his hardwood floors, your panties grow wetter as you imagine what he’d feel like inside you, and the thought alone has you moaning around him, nodding your head at a faster pace while your hand keeps flicking at his base.
That’s when you look up at him, meet the flushed mess on his cheeks, how his glasses are close to slipping off his nose and his furrowed brows threaten to leave a premature wrinkle.
He opens his mouth around a moan when he takes in your glossy eyes staring up at his through your drawn up brows, and his thrusts stammer. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”
You hum, hollowing your cheeks around his tip while your other hand lowers to tease his balls, and then you truly hear him cry.
His hand slips to your jaw so he can angle your gaze on his, glasses only heightening the twinkle in his dazed, swollen pupils. And it must be the same look mirrored in your eyes that leaves him empty of words, of any warning, before he’s choking around a moan and painting your throat white.
You cease your movement, allowing him to thrust lazily into your mouth however he wants to ride through his well-deserved orgasm. He pulls his softening cock out of your warm cavern, fucked-out gaze matching yours before he helps you up to your feet. Lips crashed to yours, he thrust his tongue into your mouth, relishing the mix of his salted taste with your saliva.
“You’re so good to me.” He pants against your lips. “How’d I get this lucky?”
You whimper in his embrace, too overwhelmed by his touch to verbalize your retort of how good he’s been to you.
Hours later, when he’s found it hard to stop kissing you and you’ve found it hard to keep your sneaky hands off him, Jeongguk has you sprawled on his bed, tugging your shorts down along with your uncomfortably slicked panties.
You support yourself on your forearms, can’t miss the look on his face when he spreads your legs wider and pants at the sight of your soaked lips, swollen clit.
“Fuck, baby,” his hands hover, overwhelmed at the sight of you from above, even more when you pull at the neck of your tee and take it off in one swift move.
He almost wanted to fuck you with that shirt on, the one you stole from his drawer nights ago, only because it felt good to see you entirely bathed in him.
But the sight of your tits shuts his every other thought out. Glasses thrown somewhere on his nightstand, he isn’t a bit phased at the sudden change in vision. You’re so close to him — so close where he can see the tiny freckles and marks you’d consider imperfections. They all look the same to him: home to his lips and touch.
He sighs, lowering his face in between your spread thighs, “Can I taste you?”
Although he still gives you the illusion of being in charge, you’re putty under his hazed, hungry eyes, nodding expectantly and pushing your chest forward to welcome his warm and wide palm around your boob, thumb brushing the nipple.
His other hand grips the side of your thigh as he softly blows on your clit and makes you whimper. Not louder than when he wraps his lips around it, suctioning the bud in his wet mouth and making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“Gguk, oh my god,” you don’t care about how pathetic you sound, not when he lets his tongue slide between your puffy folds, his groan vibrating right through you. He still circles shapes around your nipple, and you fall on your back as you spasm under him.
You let out a particularly loud cry when you feel the tip of his tongue teasing your entrance, only to lick up where he slurps around your clit and speaks against it. “Taste so sweet. The sweetest.”
When your hand flies into his hair for support, your gazes meet before you shut your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You feel yourself clench around nothing when his sliced eyes lock back with your wide and teary ones as he dives deep into you, humming incomprehensible praises.
You’re left whimpering at the intensity of his stare, and he sucks on your clit avidly as his grip on your boob tightens. You jolt forward when you feel one of his thick digits taunt your hole before slipping inside, and he’s instantly groaning when he feels your gushy walls squeeze.
Your fingers grip his locks tighter as he pumps the finger in and out a few times before curling inside, only to be joined by a second digit. You wail, panting and bucking your hips forward as he leaves your nub alone in favour of tracing sweet kisses along the inside of your thigh.
He’s evidently determined to ruin you when he adds a third finger, and you’re mewling loudly, mouth agape and brows raised as you shake under his ministrations.
The stretch is mind-numbing as he thrusts his thick digits at a rapid pace. You bite down on your forearm to muffle the lewd sounds, and it only motivates him more to work you through your impending orgasm.
“Jeongguk—” You cry. “I—I’m cumming, shit, baby, I’m cumming.” Your back arches against his mattress, cunt pulsating around his fingers as you let yourself go. His mouth finds home around your clit again, ignoring your sobs as he suctions harder around you.
He knows what you need — knows he needs to give back just as much as you’ve given him.
Jeongguk is quick to come up to your face and leave comforting pecks over your jaw, his other hand keeping you firm by your waist.
When he kisses you and lets your tastes mix together, tongue slicing against yours in a wet and slicked exchange just as he angles his fingers into a particular spot, you keen and squeeze around him so tight he feels lightheaded thinking of how well his cock would fit in you.
“Did so good for me, sugar,” he whispers sweet nothings against your lips as you come down, mouth traveling up to peck your temple as his fingers slowly ease their way out of your gaping hole.
Your hand reaches down and engulfs his wrist, bringing it to your face. Mouth wrapping around his fingers, you lick and suck your essence off his digits. His lips part, wishing he had been the one to taste more of you.
“How’d you taste, hm?” He presses his mouth to yours.
Your tongue massages against his, a breathy giggle escaping as you whisper your answer, “Sweet.”
You had been too drowsy for anything more in the aftermath, no matter how much you wanted it. Jeongguk gently shushed your dozy whines with small, repeated pecks on the corner of your mouth until the warm pattern he traced over your arm and the prospect of his morning pancakes lulled you to sleep.
And you find waking up beside him has been worth every wait, especially rewarding when your smaller frame is curled into his broad chest, embracing you from behind with an arm draped over your front.
Shuffling closer into him only has you gasping in more delight when you feel how his hard length pokes your soft ass, and how the friction immediately has him stirring behind you. You go still when he groans groggily in your ear, and his hand splays warm over your stomach.
“Baby,” he mumbles, the word barely leaving his lips but having your legs pressed together, only tightening the tension between your meeting middles.
You hum and try a tentative push, his hot breath fanning against your lobe as it escapes his lips paired with a growl. In response, he attempts a more decisive grind, pinning you into him with his spread hand over your womb, his hardness melting into the tender skin of your cheeks.
It doesn’t take long for his hand to slide lower, for him to sneak his fingers between your already soaked folds, impatiently prepare you with one digit in before the lazy circles of his thumb on your clit have you spasming messily. He then grinds against your covered heat, wetness soaking through your panties as his movement grows quicker.
“Please, Gguk.” Your mouth falls open. “I need to feel you inside me.”
He groans, breath coming out harsh as he continues rubbing his hard cock between your folds, enjoying the wet, slick sounds just a little more before he gives into your pleas. Your arm reaches back, hand sprawled over his ass as you hold him in place, tucking him just enough where the tip of his cock catches your entrance.
He hisses, restraint going out the door as you angle your ass to tease the possibility of sinking into your warmth.
And it doesn’t take long after that for his thick cock to find its rightful place inside your snug walls, though not without a condom wrapped around it.
The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you’re unable to stop the breathy sounds you let out in the quiet of his bedroom, your sloppy grip also rendering him incapable of keeping increasingly louder moans in — a combo which probably explains why you let go together, in no time, with a few lazy thrusts.
Doesn’t take long to figure out why you have sex almost every day after that, after being stuffed full by him and tightening so hard around his length you swear you’d have kept him locked there forever.
You never protest against the condom. You understand the boundaries he still needs to keep, even as you find yourself wishing to feel him bare once he finally feels secure enough. Condom or not, you’ve been on cloud nine ever since discovering what orgasms that aren’t results of your own, pathetic efforts feel like.
There’s not a single corner of either apartment that hasn’t witnessed the two of you breaking apart in pleasure.
You jerk him off on his stiff couch, he eats you out in your shower, then fucks you on the kitchen counter as you wait for brownies in the oven. You suck him off in his bed, and he bends you over with your face next to his record player as he thrusts deep into you from behind.
Then, another night, you’re on your soft couch while Netflix patiently asks if you’re still watching.
“Wanna ride you,” you say through a sheepish smile, straddling him with both knees at either side of him as you press your warm and soaked core on his throbbing length, squished between you and his toned stomach.
“Shit, baby.” He can’t help but buck his hips forward and you both moan at the slippery friction, his hand traveling up to find the curve of your breast. “You do?”
“Yeah,” nodding, you take his cock in your hand and slowly tug at it. “Condom?”
He bites his lips harshly at your strokes, moaning when your thumb brushes his slit. With vulnerable honesty, he whispers, “I— I wanna feel you, please.”
His shaky plea has your movements faltering, brows furrowing as you search his eyes. There is nothing you want more, but you need him to be sure. You need him to feel secure, never doubting the space you’ve built together.
“Are you sure, Gguk?”
He nods all too quickly, “Yeah. I trust you.”
It’s impossible to bite back your grin — impossible when a wider one stretches over his features, impossible when your eyes water with the confession.
You bend down for a messy kiss, lining his tip with your entrance before you’re sinking down his length with a loud moan that breaks through your mouth.
His fingers dig in your skin, and you can tell that even through his constant, whispered praises, he’s trying his hardest to contain himself from pushing up.
You straighten yourself once again and he groans at the vision of you, warm walls snuggling his cock all the way in, chest out and nipples hard, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth as you meet his hardened gaze, softening once you whimper.
He takes one erect nub between his slicked lips and looks up at you devilishly. “You’re so beautiful.”
And there’s no going back after experiencing bare skin against bare skin, feeling his every vein throb, spasming around the feeling of fullness and welcoming his own release, his expression contorting into pure animalistic pleasure.
There’s no going back once you’ve learned the comfort of falling asleep engulfed in his embrace every night, and no matter who heads to work first, the warmth lingers and etches a smile onto your faces for the rest of the day.
Sunday means you’re waking up first as the early morning light filters through your curtains. You grumble, letting your eyes adjust to your surroundings before landing on the figure beside you, the man who makes sure your bed is never empty, never cold.
Jeongguk is lying with his broad and defined back to you, and as you blink the sleep away, you put all details into focus. Scars run along the ridges of his muscles, blend with small moles you could kiss and trace a map with. His shoulder blades shift with the slow and deep rhythm of his breathing, and you slide closer where his warmth reaches you even if you’re not directly touching.
Still, you take your finger and lightly follow a path through his marks, soft enough where it’d only feel like a mere tickle. The sight of these burns up close makes the corner of your eyes prickle; for a moment, the memory of his tear-streaked face flashes behind your lids.
You can’t go back, can’t reach into the past and prevent nor fix all the series of events that convinced him of his own unworthiness. But you’re determined to be the anchor of his present and, hopefully, future. Where you can only see comfort in the shape of his smile and your laughter. Where scars become a proof of strength and never weakness.
When you feel him stir beneath your hand, you realize just how close you crept, palm flattened against his spine and your plush thigh sneakily slotting itself between his.
Jeongguk grunts, reaching behind him, catching your hand and pulling it around his side to rest against his stomach.
“Why are you awake, hm?”
His rumbled tone has you squirming closer into him, propping your chin on his shoulder. “It’s Sunday.”
“Exactly, baby,” he murmurs, shuffling backward until he’s tucked firmly into your embrace. “It’s rest day.”
“Grandma Mimi is probably already cooking lunch.” You speculate.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you giggle when, as soon as you try to pull back, he groans in protest. His fingers now wrap around your forearm, tugging you in place.
You hum, nipping playfully at his earlobe. “Is my Ggukkie still sleepy?”
He scoffs, turning his face enough to glare at you with narrowed eyes, still puffy from sleep. Even as you laugh, he talks through a growing pout. “Stop calling me that.”
“Or else?” Wiggling your brows, you keep pecking wet smacks along his jaw, then down his shoulder, moving further so that you can kiss the large and deep scar along his nape, where your lips place with sudden delicacy.
He whimpers, a sound you know he didn’t mean to let out when you feel his fingertips dig harsher into the skin of your arm.
You speak against his spine, the tight space making your voice sound muffled. “Do they hurt?”
Jeongguk loosens his grip and strokes comforting tickles on your wrist, before lacing your hand with his. “Hm, no.”
His answer spurs you to leave more kisses over his wounds, and with each one he’s holding your hand tighter. “No? But you’re so sensitive.”
“You get muh—me like that,” he stutters, letting out a low whine when you keep peppering his skin.
“Yeah?” You leave his hand only so you can press your palm flat against his toned abdomen, making it spasm under you. “Are you hard, Ggukkie?”
“I said don’t— oh, fuck,” he can only pretend he doesn’t like not being in control for so long when your fingers slide lower, under the hem of his briefs where he’d already been growing hard from your delicate, loving mouth.
Your hand wraps around his length and he startles, moaning your name and throwing his head back against you. He’s heavy in your hold, twitching when you squeeze ever so gently. You lick a path along a scar, making him shiver and buck his hips into your wrist. You clamber your body closer to his, front pressed flushed against his back where you leave more of your wet kisses across the expanse of his broad back.
“Can I leave my mark here, Gguk?” You nip at the edge of his shoulder, and he nods, groans around an agreement.
You begin faster strokes on his girth, giving extra attention to his sensitive, pink tip. Speaking around your suctioning, you hear him whine from the stimulations. “So pretty. Your scars make you the prettiest. Strongest.”
Jeongguk keens, can’t help but grind into your grip, and moans particularly loud when you move your kisses back to his nape. His large hand covers yours, not in an attempt to take control, just wants to feel you and your efforts. Peering down, the blanket covering his lower half moves feverishly from your jerking motions, and his eyes slam shut at the heavy sensations pooling at his balls.
“You’re gonna make me cum, fuck.”
“Cum, please,” you whisper against his neck, and he desperately turns his face in search of your mouth, to which you eagerly comply as you slide higher. Your lips meet in a messy, hushed kiss that has him spilling warm drops into his boxers and over your fingers.
Jeongguk usually takes longer to let go, makes sex a lasting experience that puts your pleasure on a pedestal. He doesn’t come unless you do first, and even then he likes to take his time, whether he has to fight against restraint.
That’s why, as he keeps searching your tongue with his, he rolls around so that you’re laying on your back and he’s hovering over you, until your kiss is broken by his sheepish smile. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, where he keeps working his mouth around small, shy pecks.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and you run a comforting hand through his hair.
His sex rules stand. Your pleasure is always his priority. Can’t let you go if you’re not letting go over his hand first. Minutes later, you’re pathetically grinding over his warm palm, with one of his thick digits twitching inside you.
“Such a perfect girl. Made for me,” always knowing what to say, he speaks sweet affection against your ear as you pant and grip his forearm, moaning louder when your hips buckle primally against his hand as you ride through your orgasm.
Once your breath regulates, you seek refuge with your cheek flat on his chest, and he’s quick to engulf you in his arms, whispering reassurance of how good you’ve been for him. You remain like that for what feels like eternity, a timeline you wouldn’t mind at all.
“We need to shower,” you whisper with your forehead snug against the curve of his shoulder.
He hums, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm wrapped around his torso. “Yeah. I’m so hungry, though.”
Looking up, you leave a lingering peck under his jaw before your eyes meet. “What should we eat?”
Jeongguk bites his smile, raising his brows. “Cookies?”
Giggling, you only slide closer into him, until your faces are level. “Okay, but I’ll make them this time.”
He narrows his eyes at you and you feel his fingertips threatening to tickle against your ribs. “And what exactly are you trying to say?”
You squirm, laughing as his face slides closer on the pillow. “Just that baking… maybe it’s not your calling.”
Jeongguk lets out a mock gasp and strikes, tickling fingers making you squeal and fight playfully against his hold. In between gasps, a sharp bark echoes through the room as Gureum trots toward the bed. The dog has become fiercely protective over you, even if it means going against his owner.
That’s why he hops up and begins digging his way between the two of you, forcing Jeongguk to detach and groan. “Gureumie, your mom is so mean.”
Your giggles turn sheepish at his words, your breathing evening out as your hand finds its home in the dog’s white fur. Jeongguk’s fingers lace through yours, and the dog happily rolls onto his side, belly up, satisfied that he’s successfully neutralized any threatening attack.
“Mommy’s gonna shower,” you tease, immediately laughing at his grimace.
“Don’t ever call yourself that again,” he furrows his brows even as a snicker breaks through. “Are you soft launching a new kink?”
You chuckle, sitting up and arching a brow as you look back at him. “Is daddy gonna tag along?”
He scoffs, shakes his head to conceal his grin as you keep giggling. “You actually disgust me.”
You tug at his wrist so he’s lifting his back off the mattress, but when he teasingly topples lazily onto your figure, both of you flop back into the soft bed.
You groan, attempt pushing him off even though being separated from him in any capacity is the last thing you want. He must know — he’s finally realized, you sigh contently — because he only wraps an arm around your torso tighter, nose nuzzling your hair.
In the narrow space, he mumbles, “I think girlfriend fits you more.”
Your heart skips a beat in your ribcage. You’re sure he’s felt it, too, because his fingers dig into the skin of your hip and he timidly peers up from his hiding spot.
You bite on a smile, raising your brows. “Does it, boyfriend?”
He hums around a widening grin, tenderly finding your lips with his to seal the promise.
Shower takes much longer than expected — though, you should’ve expected it would have been impossible to keep your hands to yourself.
You end up baking too many cookies, but that morning none are left. The only remaining traces settle in the corner of your lips, and as Jeongguk makes sure to kiss them away, he thinks love and trust have never tasted quite this sweet.
i cant believe their journey has ended 😭 in my head they ended up getting married and gave gureum his little brother bammie and maybe .. another sibling as well made by mommy and daddy themselves 👀 lovieku pls confirm ?
i cant even begin to describe how much i cried by the end of this story. yes im an empath .. but even so, lovie has the ability to bring anyone to tears with this kind of writing.
GOD WHERE DO I START ..
gureum being the heart of this story is very important and lovie never forgot that through the writing process !! to many, he is just a dog. but to jeongguk, he is his world 🥹🥹 and to think he wasnt going to keep him initially .. we definitely see more of that in this part and oh im gonna be sick .. as a dog owner myself, it is this serious !! my fur baby is my real baby 😭🤍
and i told you guys he was going to open up. i told you. i KNEW IT !! MY JEONGGUKIE 😭😭😭
we get into very serious topics you dont see much in fics, such as addiction and mental illness. personally witnessing those combined before 😬 .. lovie depicted the receiving end very well. enabling and neglecting such behavior to avoid conflict IS THE PROBLEM. its refreshing to see jeongguk able to admit that, because not many can 🥹 and yeah, i dont care !! i wish death on people !! im glad that bitch got what she deserved !!
like i said before, THIS IS MORE THAN A FANFICTION !! its not your typical ‘i wanna fuck Jeongguk’ like all of voyters fics FULL SHADE .. this is a whole STORY. ITS AN EXPERIENCE. and no one couldve written this better than lovie herself.
im so proud of her, and im so happy that she finished this !! the outcome has consumed my day to day and its one of my favorite reads on here. lord knows this app of all places doesnt deserve such a work of art, but nonetheless, thank you for sharing your talent with the world. and thank you always for including me in the process 🥹 so privileged to see how your beautiful mind works and to get early access hehe
i love you so much amor ♡ AND I LOVE YOU OOTW COUPLE !!
looking at it now, it all seems so simple. your neighbour is burn-in stubborn, you’re no better, and somehow you become another fire he feels compelled to put out. but flames don’t just burn — they leave everything changed. jeongguk knows only how to run, never to let himself be consumed. you’re willing to see what happens if you stay in the heat.
pairing firefighter!jk x vet!fem reader
genre neighbours au, frenemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut
contents slice of life, rom-com energy, banter & bickering, lowkey grumpy x grumpy, dog!dad jk, use of nicknames, pov switch, feelings of shame, emotional constipation, people pleaser jk, he jerks off, then feels sexual guilt, jealousy from both sides, mentions of smoke and alcohol, brief depiction of harassment, making out, hints at past trauma, flashback of trauma, sexy massage, sexual tension, miscommunication, ANGST
word count 16.4k
author’s note thank u guys for your patience 🩷 this is not the final chappie!! a part three is coming, and i promise it’s gonna take way less time oki 🫶🏻 feedback is always appreciated !!!
beta read by @missenu & @voyter, with me and ootw couple every step of the way … i love u both infinitely ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
banner creds ⋆ masterlist ⋆ series playlist
prologue ⋆ one ⋆ two ⋆ three
Jeongguk has never been selfish. Halmeoni would argue the opposite problem exists entirely. That his lack of self-care is actually frustrating at times. It turns Jeongguk into a noisy shoulder angel, one far too toned and heavy to be sitting on Halmeoni’s frail back. And no matter how many times the old woman tries to swat him away, Jeongguk plops right back into place. Though as overbearing as Jeongguk may be, Halmeoni always welcomed his doting presence.
Jeongguk has never been selfish. Becoming a firefighter was simply a natural byproduct of everything he’s ever known. As someone whose profession relies heavily on saving others, if he can’t help, he’s failed. And if he has to be helped, he’s failed too.
Jeongguk has never been selfish, and that is exactly why he can’t let himself be now. Not while you’re just a few feet away beyond his locked bathroom door, sprawled on his couch, panties smeared with wetness he’d caused. Fuck.
Thinking of Halmeoni and her wrinkly hands kneading dough had helped exceptionally until his mind inevitably circled back to you. Jeongguk is not selfish — not self-indulgent, but you’re insanely close to making him.
Knowing you, you’d probably let him make your special day all about him, too. Your hand, the same one that’s also done so much saving, pressed down on his stiff middle nearly had him breaking his morals. And he knows he can’t possibly deserve something good — can’t let himself believe he deserves someone good, only to ruin and be ruined by that good thing.
One hand grips the wall, the other twitches at his side, fingers curling into a tight fist so his nails can dig into the calloused skin of his palm. He forces himself to draw in a deep inhale, exhaling just as slowly. His thoughts scramble for anything else — near-misses and what-ifs he keeps tucked away for moments like this, when his body gets ahead of him and his control slips.
When an inconvenient boner strains against constricted layers and a pretty lady waits for him in his living room.
Usually, he wouldn’t make her wait. In fact, he’d make sure not a single minute was wasted. It’s partly a serious issue with compulsive pleasing, and partly because he’s too fucked up to let anything last longer than the accepted window for a hookup.
But Jeongguk makes you wait, and stay over the unspoken time limit. Because you weren’t a planned hookup or even a spontaneous one night stand. You’re his neighbour, and there’s no way to make you disappear without disappearing himself. Plus, there’s a stirring uneasiness in his gut, a nagging sense that he’s not entirely sure he wants his mind associating you with something so fleeting.
The strategy works. His thought process isn’t tragic enough to ruin his night entirely, just enough to make him feel wretched for even considering touching himself through his clothes after revisiting those memories.
Like when Gureum was supposed to be put down, only to start acting the healthiest and brightest he’d ever been that same morning, granting them four more years so far. Or the time Jeongguk almost crashed the firetruck during an aimless ride he took his mom on after she’d visited the station.
When he feels himself soften, he sighs in relief. Does his best to not think of you and your tits in that lacy corset. How your pretty face contorted in pleasure when you finally let yourself go. How your slender fingers slid down…
Okay, maybe it isn’t his absolute best, but he can at least cling to his morals, especially when he pictures you alone on his uselessly big couch. Alone after he made you come so unexpectedly and unplanned. Alone on your birthday. Well, a little past it.
Jeongguk just can’t bring himself to jerk off to the thought of you, at least not while you’re still in his house. Because, again, Jeongguk is not selfish. And so, he does what he can to preserve and salvage the barely-restored relationship he has with you.
With his vision clearing of the haze of alcohol and lust, he returns to the living room with your promised glass of water, and finds you just as he’d imagined: your cheek squished onto the backrest, sleepy eyes lazily following his figure, and a stubborn attempt at biting back your smile.
“I know you’re a firefighter and all, but did you personally go and collect the water for me?” You do a weak job of concealing your once-over, your eyes lingering on his crotch. Not throbbing anymore, but uncomfortably close to getting tight again.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Jeongguk plops down next to you and hands you the glass. Plump lips pressed around the rim, a single drop spills from the side of your mouth and runs down the curve of your jaw, then over your throat, before disappearing beneath your thin top.
Well, shit. All that pep-talk and visualization work he did in the bathroom just now goes down the drain as he hardens pathetically for you again. Jeongguk coughs, abruptly looks to the side from where he can hear Gureum’s nails clicking on the floor.
The teeth digging into his lower lip are close to bruising and smudging blood all over the lingering taste of you, but the sharp sting is almost a relief. The twinge of pain deters him from overthinking what a total loser he’s being, especially when he can’t follow his scoff with anything to fill the sudden quiet. Silence forces his instinct to take over — which, naturally, only makes things more awkward.
“You okay? You need anything else?” He asks.
You exhale after your last deep gulp, bending forward to set the empty glass on the coffee table. Gureum takes advantage of the shift and swiftly hops onto the couch, wedging his tiny frame into the gap between you and his owner.
Smiling at the dog, you simply shake your head. “I’m okay. Thank you.”
Right. Because asking a girl he just made come if she’s okay is easily the sexiest thing he could have followed up with.
The words hang in the air, clinical and dry, like he’s on the job and checking on you after an intervention instead of recalling the way you were just arched against him. He sounds so painfully un-cool. The tips of his ears burn, similar to the heat he feels when he’s in a burning house looking to rescue; though, it appears he’s the one needing saving at this very moment.
Jeongguk’s fingers immediately seek out Gureum for comfort, scratching the familiar spot behind his ears. He’s grateful to the little dog for a thousand reasons, but now, he’s mostly thankful to him for having put the needed physical distance from his neighbour. Distance that has stretched far beyond your doors facing each other, or the simple act of crossing a threshold to spend time together.
That’s all his selfishness should have ever allowed. Your company around a dinner table, your fingers easing a vinyl onto the record player, your shorter steps trying to keep up with his longer strides while Gureum races you both. There should have always been something in between you, a buffer to remind him not to take more than he could give back.
Tonight, he’s been extra greedy. Extra hungry. And he feels a biting guilt that even with all barriers crumbling, his confidence with them, he badly wants to fight against his every belief just to have more.
Jeongguk has never been selfish, but as he looks at you he wonders what his life would look like if his walls weren’t so high, and if a single brick falling might mean the rest of them would follow.
He finds your gaze lost somewhere between his scratching motion and the void. One that he can see being filled with similar thoughts to the ones overcrowding in his brain, emptied of the alcohol that gave you any confidence to cross lines in the first place. You’re hovering awkwardly, back stiff and away from the cushions, hands at either side of you as your fingers dig into the firm material of his couch.
He can also see the exact moment you shake off the sudden daze, a starkly different fog from the one that had consumed you both while you were desperately grinding against each other.
You inhale, finally meeting his eyes, “I should probably go now.”
Jeongguk nods out of pure habit, agreeing simply to appease the other.
If he were selfish, he would have kept you here a little longer. Would have told you to wait just a moment more with your eyes closed while he rushed to his vinyl collection stacked in a cube shelf, retrieving the one he got for you. A limited edition of Karma Police, signed sleeve and the texture of authenticity beneath fingertips. He would have basked in your eyes filling with joy, filling his own stomach with a selfish need for your approval.
Instead, he stands first, ignoring the way your eyebrows twitch and betray your resolution for a small fraction. He begins his slow stride towards the door, with Gureum following close behind and you begrudgingly rising to join them.
This is exactly how it goes with his sporadic dates, exactly how it’s supposed to go with you, too. And like clockwork, he tells himself it must be a relief to detach from the rigid surface and from the sudden switch in his demeanour, once so confident and practiced and now reduced to an awkward, silent hesitance.
Still, for a fleeting second his thoughts detour, and he imagines that if you both had stayed long enough on that couch, it might have finally morphed under the shared weight of his and your body, adjusting and growing comfortable with your added warmth.
But you’re on your feet and beside him before he can allow himself to change his mind, or object to your request to leave. Why would he, when the script is followed so faithfully? The boy opens the door, and the girl steps stiffly outside.
Except, you’re not just another girl. Gureum proves it the moment he follows you over the threshold, sniffing at your feet in a blatant search for ear scratches. Your absorbed haze melts under Gureum’s irresistible charm, and with a giggle you kneel to comply with the dog’s needs.
Jeongguk huffs at the sight of your fingers curling into the fur, and wishes he could be as casually selfish as his dog. When you look up at him through your lashes with the remnants of your silly giggle on your lips, he gulps. Only manages a weak hum in return.
If Gureum had managed to thaw some of the awkwardness, Jeongguk freezes it right back, as the script would demand. You slowly stand, offering him a tight-lipped smile.
Clearly, there is no script in your head. Jeongguk has one for his hookups. Yours, no matter how carefully curated, is constantly being scribbled over, rewritten and ripped to shreds.
With no script in mind, you go full-rogue into improv. You hesitate, but eventually you speak with far more bravery than your ever-too-buff-too-tall neighbour Jeongguk has.
“By the way, I really enjoyed spending time with you and… what we did.”
Jeongguk licks his lips, eyes subconsciously flickering down to your own swollen mouth at the mention of what you did. He nods again, this time not only out of habit. He agrees wholeheartedly, wishes he’d told you on the couch before the night ended so abruptly.
He makes space for Gureum to slip back inside once the dog gives up on your attention. Then, he leans against the doorframe, half to keep the dog from changing his mind and going with you, half to extend the time he gets to have you.
Jeongguk has never been selfish, but when you bite your lip sheepishly he can’t help the urge to vocalise his agreement. “Me too. Glad I could be of help tonight.”
You scoff, but it sounds more like a breath of relief with the way Jeongguk’s mouth stretches into a wider smirk. With the way he finally lets his voice break through the heavy quiet that had settled between you, right where chaos should have been booming.
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Mister Hit-it-and-Quit-it.”
The comment is meant to lighten the air, land like your jabs usually do, blunt and bickerish — but Jeongguk’s brows twitch and your name slips his mouth in a low, warning tone. Head tilting, his smile follows along.
“I don’t… You’re not…”
“It’s okay.”
Your lips stay parted for a stretched second after the reassurance, as if you wanted to add something else but ultimately decided against it. Jeongguk’s mimic that same hesitance, morphing into a grimace when you turn your back to him. Chaos really does boom in his head now, creating a disarray string of thoughts.
What can he say to remedy this misunderstanding? That you’re not a hit-it-and-quit-it thing? You can’t possibly be, if only for the simple fact that you’re just a door away. Could he give you another reason?
He doesn’t think there’s any space left for that sort of reflection in his mind, not when all his thinking-cells actually process your three syllable response. Are you really fine with him being Mister Hit-it-and-Quit-it? Were you giving him an exit? Were you giving yourself one?
There are no answers to any of these questions, no answer as to why he’d even let himself have any over something that shouldn’t have this much control over him. He should be the one in control. He should be able to stop his mind from spiraling uselessly, especially when you’ve already unlocked your door and look ready to disappear behind it.
You turn to him, small smile still playing on your lips. Jeongguk is entirely unaware of how starkly his own expression contrasts with yours. You’re seemingly calm and collected, he’s clearly stiff and disoriented.
“Goodnight, Jeongguk. See you later.”
He must look like a fish out of water with the way he lets his mouth hang open, trying and failing to close around a single word. But you close the door before he can find his voice, and he’s left to stare at the only barrier left between you: a futile piece of wood he should’ve made sure stayed shut in the first place.
The next time it swings open for him, you’re in a ponytail and an oversized tee that hits you mid-thigh.
Jeongguk shouldn’t stare, but the way you’re pressed up against the door pushes your breasts together, and he’s a monster for allowing his gaze to flit even lower, to where your bare toes wiggle on the cold floor.
Luckily for him, you seem distracted. Though, his luck sours when he realizes you’d opened the door to just anyone without even checking who it was, his brows furrowing. And you’re not giving him your immediate attention, either.
Your eyes are momentarily fixed on something happening behind you, that he can’t see beyond the threshold, before they finally snap back to him. It looks like you’d rather get back at that something — or someone, the possibility of the latter having his jaw tick and his nose twitch with an unearned, childish feeling.
When your focus lands on Jeongguk, he’s staring directly into your eyes, praying he doesn’t look like he’s physically straining to keep his line of sight ahead.
Turns out it’s an easy task, because as your face softens into a smile, cheeks puffing and faint dimples appearing, he realizes the days he spent avoiding you — and acting so unlike the man he showcases himself as — were a total waste. And he thinks even if you did hate him for it, he’d only need one second of your lips stretching wide to feel better about life, infinitely worse about himself.
Unless you’re impeccable at concealing your true emotions, the way you beam up at Jeongguk doesn’t seem like you hate him. It should be a calming vision, but it stirs awake the side of his brain that archives his every insecurity and doubt, makes him think you must be truly, genuinely okay with him hitting-and-quitting.
It’s exactly what the script would want, isn’t it?
“Hey,” you’re fidgety, a different kind of concern than the one you wore when he first helped you with your burn. This one has your limbs jittery and your eyes sparkling as they take him in from head to toe. He’s not sure the spark has anything to do with seeing him, but he allows himself to bask in it anyway.
“Hi,” he breathes back, glancing down to where your gaze has also snagged. He pushes the focus of both your attention toward you. “Just wanted to give you this back.”
Your cookie container is held between you, empty and immaculate. Jeongguk figured he’d use it as a truce. For leaving things uncertain with you. And an excuse to see you.
Or, if you hadn’t been thinking of this as deeply as he has, it was simply a way to return what was yours to begin with.
One single cookie had been sitting in that box for days, lonely and dry. He couldn’t bring himself to eat it, no matter how much he’d wanted to — they were even better than Halmeoni’s, a truth she’ll never know and one he’d never admit to you.
Jeongguk had spent ten minutes in a staring contest with that last cookie before finally knocking at your door, leaving the treat behind in the bin. He’d felt even worse seeing it in the trash, surrounded by empty milk bottles and cola cans, than he would have if he’d just forced himself to stomach it.
He couldn’t. Couldn’t possibly bear the sweet taste of it on his tongue, a flavor that resembled yours so closely it would have held him back from seeing you even longer than he already had.
When you take the container from him, propping the door open with one foot, your fingers brush against his knuckles. It’s a killer combination with how you raise your brows teasingly.
“Took you long enough to finish them,” stepping back from the threshold, you grant him just enough space to enter, and he doesn’t need to be told twice.
The second he’s welcomed by the homey scent of baking dough and your own cotton candy fragrance as you skim past him with a grin, he feels his shoulders finally drop. His inhale pulls deeper, his exhale moves slower. None of the life-ending scenarios Jeongguk cataloged are actually taking place; there’s no someone keeping your attention off him. He’s in your apartment like he’s always been, and you’re giving him no reason to deviate from the script he’s set for you.
Friendly. Helpful. Arm’s length.
He’s suddenly unsure about that last directive. In fact, he’s already looking for a way to negotiate an alternative. To be unguarded but shielded, closer but removed.
He chuckles lowly, “Yeah. Wanted to take my time with each one.”
Jeongguk follows your retreating figure into the kitchen, a sarcastic scoff trailing after you as you bounce back to your work. The smell of dough is overwhelming once he steps into the space, and the state of your counter explains the emergency that had been waiting for you — the one that would have had you leave the door wide open too if Jeongguk hadn’t closed it firmly behind him. And locked it.
It’s a disaster of flour, chocolate chips, egg shells pooling their sticky trails and unwrapped butter half sweating in its packet. You hurriedly grasp a wooden spoon and resume your ministrations, one finger swiping a dollop of batter and bringing it to your mouth.
Humming around your digit, you lift your chin at Jeongguk, “Did you like them, then?”
He thinks it must be the way blood immediately rushes to his center that he feels lightheaded. His breath hitches, eyes ping-ponging between your raised brows and your pursed lips, finger coming out slicked. You have to be doing this on purpose. To test if it all can really be ignored. If he can stand in your kitchen like nothing changed, Mister Hit-it-and-Quit-it.
If he really isn’t selfish.
But his firefighter instincts kick in, his mind grounds him back to the first gruesome weeks of basic training in resilience.
And just like that, Jeongguk recovers from the make-believe test with a nod, approval stuttering in his throat. His gaze falls to the mixture, then to a smeared drop of chocolate on your forearm. He clears his throat, “Is this a bad moment?”
“Not at all,” you’re quick with your reply, though the back of your hand swiping a stray hair from your face and leaving a white streak of flour across your cheek tells a different story. “I’m making another stash for Grandma Mimi.”
He hums, walking closer to the counter until his palms are supporting his leaning weight against it. You’re directly opposite of him, tongue poking out in concentration as you beat the mix.
The question, though innate and routine, always seems to slip his mouth when he’s around you, “You need help?”
There is nothing that comes more naturally to him than helping. After all, it’s the only way he knows how to be available without shredding himself open, without giving too many parts of his own away but still feel like he’s needed.
You hesitate. You always do when he offers. Ultimately, you look up at him with a sheepish smile and a shrug of your shoulders, the neckline of your shirt sliding even further off one side.
“I guess. You know anything about baking?”
Jeongguk has his sleeves rolled up and his hands under the running water of your sink in seconds, at your side before you can even finish the sentence.
Truth is, he knows nothing about baking. The countless days spent in Halmeoni’s company were evidently never utilized to their full potential.
He admits as much, and soon you’re ordering him around for oven duties. He preps the tray exactly as you instruct, and all the while he’s juggling one side of his brain focusing on the task and the other completely inebriated by your sugary scent and the maddening itch to swipe the flour off your cheek.
Finished with his relatively easy and short job, Jeongguk yields to his instincts, but not before taking a lingering once-over of the kitchen, and you. He wonders if you truly consider him incapable of anything else. He might just be, if he’s already forgotten how to speak at the simple sight of your bare legs and the way you’re stretching on your tiptoes.
Tilting his head out of habit, as if the motion might knock some sense back into him, he reaches for banter. “How come Halmeoni never gets this messy, but you do?”
The comment is his key. Perfect access to your face, turning to him with furrowed brows and a stubborn pout. He lifts his thumb and lets it drag across your skin, brushing the white powder off. Whatever snarky retort was about to leave your lips dies there; wouldn’t be believable anyway, not with the dust blooming where his fingertip just grazed you.
You simply nudge him aside with your hip and take his place in front of the baking sheet he’d perfectly buttered, pouring the mixture in steady circles. “Grandma Mimi has years of practice and patience on her side.” The small compliment to Halmeoni aims to uplift, though in return, it only insinuates all the qualities you lack as a result.
In an attempt to test that supposedly short patience, he dips a thick digit into the dense batter, then wraps his lips around it much like you did, and his careful expression soon melts into a smirk when you narrow your eyes at him.
From the corner of his eye, he catches the brownish liquid beginning to overspill, and he’s fast — hand snapping to your wrist, his slicked finger digging into your skin to prevent a further mess.
You step back startled, surprise turning into hopelessness as you look down at the newfound mess on the tray. Beside you, Jeongguk bursts into a genuine giggle, this time nudging you aside with his own hips swaying.
You bite back a smile, concealing it with a roll of your eyes. “Your fault.”
The next five minutes pass in comfortable silence, with him replacing you at the counter and finishing the batch with attentive motions while you lean back, stealing glances at him. Once the stash is in the oven, he straightens up to meet your eyes for approval.
You nod, patting his shoulder as you walk past him to wash your hands. Jeongguk feels like a virgin again with the way he shivers under your brief touch, which is still not more embarrassing than how he’s suddenly too awkward to fill the quiet with anything.
He sighs, starting to accept that this specific brand of tension will have a permanent seat at the table from now on. Unless, of course, he decides to do something about it — and your thin white shirt, chocolate stains waiting to be licked clean.
Disgusting, sure. He would do it if you asked.
But he can’t. He’s not selfish, remember? Can’t allow himself to slip again, not if it means gaining the kind of access that leads to disappointing you, or making your spine even more rigid than it looks like right now, your back a straight, tense line turned toward him.
So, he finds something else to apologize for. “Sorry I couldn’t be there for Halmeoni’s birthday cake.”
You hum something that sounds like reassurance, but by the time you turn around your phone has found its way between your slender fingers, and your brows knit together at the bridge of your nose. You’re absorbed, eyes rapidly ping-ponging left to right.
Jeongguk is relieved that whatever is on your screen distracted you from his lame attempt at conversation; he’s significantly less relieved when he notices it has your bottom lip beginning to wobble and your next inhale trembling. Sirens definitely go off in his head when you abruptly click the device off and mindlessly toss it onto the counter.
He takes in your expression and naturally floats to his alarmed nature, by your side before he can talk himself out of it. “Is everything okay?”
You have a hard time meeting his sharp, concerned stare, either because of its sheer intensity or because too much vulnerability would be found in your own stiffened one.
Sighing, your orbs end up falling to your feet, still bare and cold against the tile. “My ex keeps texting me and it’s…”
“He’s harassing you.” He fills in the gap.
“…Yeah.”
The way your reply tilts into a shameful chuckle leaves him with an uncomfortable ache in his chest. In his head, he’s already reached for your phone and hurled it over the balcony to tumble down five floors.
Instead, he gives voice to the anger clogging his throat. “What a motherfucker. Do you need me to do something about him?”
It’s that simple question which gets your head to flit up, your clouded eyes instantly finding his, staring down at you. You’re baring your soul to him, and he wonders if it’s just as easy for you to read him, just from the way his pupils swell.
Head tilting, your voice is a fragile breath. “You would?”
No hesitation, Jeongguk nods. And he means it. “Of course I would.”
Evidently, there are many things Jeongguk would do if you asked. He would build your Ikea shoe rack from scratch. He would tend to your scars and pain. He would also lick your shirt clean, or beat an ex to a pulp without barely even remembering the man’s face.
There are just as many things written in your eyes that he can’t do. Even if you asked. Like explaining why he’s willing to stain his hands with blood for you, yet is unable to acknowledge the heavy and fat elephant in the room when it comes to where you both stand now.
“I… Thank you,” you let your gaze wander toward the oven, absentmindedly checking on the cookies. Then, swallowing hard, you take a tentative step back. “But I can handle it.”
And Jeongguk doesn’t usually push boundaries, mostly because he never lets anyone push his own, but he tells himself this is just making sure. “You know you don’t have to do it alone, right?”
Your head only shakes slightly before your arms wrap around your torso, as if you’ve suddenly realized how exposed you are. “It’s complicated, Gguk.”
You call it complicated, but for the first time Jeongguk sees a simple solution to a problem: you tell him what’s bothering you and he takes care of it. Complicated is how one of those bricks in his wall wobbles, yet Jeongguk still isn’t looking for a way to run.
He figures he only needs to push it back into place with enough force, and comply with the period you’ve put on the conversation offering a nod.
But he still can’t stomach your sour mood. If the cookies are meant to be a sweetener, he makes sure to sugar the taste further with anything that comes to mind to distract you. Like how he playfully nudges your elbow and swipes the chocolate from your arm, or how he makes you laugh when his finger finds a sneaky way to tickle your side.
Jeongguk then catches you up on worth-mentioning details of these past days you’ve missed while you were apart — because he’s a coward, though he omits that part. He tells you how Gureum nearly ripped another plastic bag out of an old lady’s hand. You playfully scold him for not properly putting the dog in training, and he replies with a scoff. Though he refers to Gureum as his baby, he returns the banter by asking you to lay off the old man.
Jeongguk continues with his musings and how he went vinyl shopping because he needed more jazz flowing in his apartment. He also carefully omits that the only reason he needed jazz at all was because you were the one who had introduced him to it.
What matters is that whatever he’s babbling about, you’re hanging on every word. Smiling again, giggling freely like nothing ever happened. No drunk grinding, no awkward separation, no ex-boyfriend hovering. He thinks he can mend every one of those slips, seeing how easily you fall back into your usual rhythm. He wants everything with you to always look exactly like this.
Friendly. Helpful. Arms brushing.
The cookie container is packed high again, as if it were never meant to remain empty for long. You’ve washed up and traded the oversized tee for a clean shirt and a pair of sweats. Jeongguk had waited on your couch, fingers itching to trace the pictures on the opposite wall — a carefully composed gallery of you and your loved ones. Your space speaks of you; it’s never entirely tidy, but it feels deeply lived.
Jingling your keys to call for his attention, you grin. “Let’s go, big guy.”
He scoffs and stands to join you, and as he gets closer the nickname fits him perfectly. With the way you’re looking up at him from your shorter stance, he notices the dusting of blush on your cheeks and the gloss highlighting your lips. You narrow your eyes at him as if you’ve been caught and he keeps a grin tucked away.
Though, his amusement shifts into a slight frown when he wonders if you felt the need to retouch your bare face in the first place. To him, you looked beautiful either way.
And Halmeoni tells you as much the moment she greets you both at the door. “Oh, my pretty young lady and my handsome boy! To what do I owe the visit?”
“Happy Diamond Anniversary, Grandma Mimi!”
Halmeoni’s full and gravelly laugh is the last thing to echo in the hallway before the door clicks shut, sealing you both inside.
Your feet are tucked into fluffy slippers while his find their designated slides. The lid of your box is off and the scent of freshly baked cookies waltzes through the small space of the living room that has smelled like the same unwavering love for sixty years. A scent that now mixes with your own sweetness.
Jeongguk would have visited at some point during the day, just as he does every year. But this time, he gets to do it with you. Gets to witness how you manage to slot perfectly, perhaps with an ease that was entirely foreign to Jeongguk his first year living here. You soothe the loving grief that fills Halmeoni’s eyes, the one you come to understand like it’s instinctual, like Jeongguk’s never truly been able to.
He and Halmeoni have unspoken rituals for this day, traditions that have stood strong for a few years now, but there’s one that has him playfully rolling his eyes when the old lady stands and makes her way to the digital record player. The vinyl is already set, otherwise Halmeoni would have huffed for Jeongguk’s help. He’d gifted her the player a while back after the original, a rusty relic that had sat on her cabinet longer than he’d lived in the complex, finally gave up. That old box was no less respectable for its deserved silence, though. It had hummed through countless songs.
The one that begins spinning now is lived-in and just as weathered, but perfectly preserved — perhaps held in stasis just for this exact moment, every single year.
“C’mon Jeonggukkie, stand up,” Halmeoni gestures at him, but Jeongguk’s eyes land on you. You’re looking between them as though you’re also waiting for an instruction, and he can read it in the soft lines of your face — that you feel like an outsider to a tradition you’re still more than ready to witness, and welcome.
This year, Jeongguk gets to let out a breath of genuine relief. With you here, the bittersweetness shifts, melts into purely sweet. You’re like the fourth spoon of sugar Halmeoni uses to stir her tea, the only way the beverage can be served in this house.
He didn’t even have to nudge his dear Halmeoni to her feet. She stood first, and now there’s a lively intention playing across her features. This year, his heart feels lighter, beats along with your excited claps as you begin to puzzle the pieces.
At last, my love has come along. My lonely days are over, and life is like a song.
The tradition unfolding in the tight intimacy of Halmeoni’s living room calls for Jeongguk’s hand to rest flat against the old lady’s back, while her own fingers grip his broad shoulder; their free hands lace together and sway with the slow dance.
A union intended to replicate the delicacy of a wedding’s first dance, the very first time newlyleds get to stare at one another without the need for more words, having just promised to hold each other exactly like this through good and bad. Health and sickness.
Halmeoni beams up at Jeongguk like the sight of smooth skin and the absence of wrinkles means there’s still a canvas for love to leave its trace on. Jeongguk grins back like the sight of lines and creases means the ones that love leaves on you will only melt together beautifully in the end.
And there’s a pull he can’t ignore, an instinct telling him he cannot miss the look on your face. Like the sight of your pressed, curved smile and your taut eyebrows, drawn up dreamily as your hands knot together on your lap, might mean you can still see that there’s good in Jeongguk, as much as there’s been bad.
When your eyes flit up to meet his from your seat at the round table, his own brows are raised as if he’d ask you directly, and his lips stretch into a mirror of your own. The slight roll of your eyes does little to conceal the thin sheen coating them, especially when the light catches its shine.
Jeongguk believes that no matter the bad that lives in him, he doesn’t deserve to be met with such an aching, pretty sight — not if he’s too paralysed to do anything about it.
Though, Halmeoni might just want her shoulder angel to attempt it. And, nudging his shoulder, she detaches from him with a weakly voiced excuse, “Jeonggukkie, I’m too old for this. Ask the young lady to dance, will you?”
Jeongguk is suddenly the center of gravity between two expectant ladies: to his left, the old one lifts her chin up beyond him, which takes him to his right, where the young one sits with dimpled cheeks and a straight back. He chuckles, taking the time to look in between you both.
The smile lingers when he lets the moment sink. Halmeoni would be the onlooker to a humble rendition of her own great love; you would be stepping delicately into such a precious ritual — perhaps kicking off one of your own.
And Jeongguk wistfully hopes that one year from now it will go as follows: with hesitant steps your way, one hand extended while the other is tucked behind his back; your giggle resounding against the walls before you wrap your warmth around his, letting yourself be hoisted up and pulled into his chest with a surprised yelp; one palm resting on the small of your back, the other still lacing through yours, while your free hand cups his bicep; your teeth bared for him to bask in as he unconsciously reflects the same joy on you.
You smiled, you smiled. Oh, and then the spell was cast.
You beam up at Jeongguk like the sight of swollen pupils and bunny teeth worrying at his bottom lip might speak all the words he hasn’t said. Jeongguk offers you a half-smile like the sight of pure integrity in the gloss of your eyes might make this enactment a tangible reality.
And he can’t get enough of it when you raise your brows teasingly at him. “Wasn’t expecting a fireman to dance like such a gentleman.”
His smile is pursed, but it slips through his low voice. “Yeah, well… I’ve had a pretty demanding teacher.”
Your giggle is contagious: it trickles its way up Jeongguk’s throat and resounds in Halmeoni’s chest, too, when you both turn to her and she’s still standing, looking at you both dreamily. When your gazes lock again, the line between dream and reality truly begins to blur.
The swaying motion has the room spinning, the rest of the world dimming into a soft hum. It builds a growing sickness in his stomach, a dizzy vertigo that only heightens when you seem unable to hold the weight of his stare any longer, resting the side of your face on his chest with a soft breath.
Warmth threatens to melt your skin together where you touch, and his palm on your waist only slides lower, then up again, then back down. His eyes trace the way your hand fits into the wider expanse of his, and how your grip on his arm brushes up to the sensitive base of his neck. And when you come back around from a slow spin and your breath hitches in your throat, so attuned to your every reaction, he follows your line of sight.
In the center of the living room, Halmeoni holds the air as her dance partner, eyelids fluttering shut and the hint of a peaceful smile playing on her lips. She sways almost perfectly in sync with the two of you, and Jeongguk wonders if the ghost might be buzzing with the same electric energy surging through his own veins.
Looking down, he finds you already staring up at him. The stars in your eyes have multiplied, and your drawn up brows act like a tent, shielding the soft twinkling from the moon, the swelling intensity of his own orbs.
Your slender fingers cup around his shoulder, and your chin brushes the top of his chest. “A love like that… it must be a one-in-a-million thing.”
He sighs, breath fanning over your lashes. “And she’s truly convinced I’ll find something like that, too.”
Your chuckle is laced with sentiment, head tilting just to make the ache in his abdomen more pronounced. “I’m positive you will, Gguk.”
Will he? The cookie he managed to stomach earlier rises in his throat, but it’s words that he vomits before he can feel truly sick.
“Are we okay, Oomps?”
Jeongguk feels your tensing muscles beneath his hand, and your steps falter before it all washes over your face with an imperceptible twitch of your brows.
You seemingly recover with a nod and a tight smile. “Yes, we are. Why wouldn’t we be?”
It should feel relieving, hearing those whispered words from your pretty lips. But those are the same pretty lips he’s kissed, the ones he knows taste as sweet as chocolate chips. And the fact that you don’t seem to see a single reason why you shouldn’t be okay with him not getting to try them again makes him question if he truly wants this for the both of you.
Later, when you’ve slipped back into your apartment for a work call and Jeongguk has watched you go, Halmeoni sits beside him on the couch, holding two cups. The overly-sugary tea for her, the sour one handed to him — an exception she makes just for her handsome boy.
“There’s something on your mind, hm?” She talks around the rim, sipping the hot beverage.
Jeongguk swallows the liquid in one large gulp, the ceramic hiding everything but his furrowed brows and wide eyes. Leaning forward to set the cup down on the low coffee table, he shakes his head as he sinks back into the cushions.
“Like what?”
Halmeoni takes her time with her tea. The cup clinks softly against its matching saucer as she, too, settles into the soft sofa. “I think it has to do with your front-door neighbour.”
Jeongguk scoffs, a telling sound he makes when she catches him red-handed. He avoids her scrutinising stare, gaze landing on the spot where you sat before the dance, and left his embrace to fall into another routine with Halmeoni, between her groggy laugh and your light giggles.
And she lets him know he’s been caught, tone calm. She might be too old to dance now, but the older you grow, the wiser you get. “Don’t lie to me, Jeonggukkie.”
He sighs, shifting forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “I’m not lying. She’s a nice friend, that’s all.”
“It’s worth it,” her voice drops an octave, followed by a faint cough that forces Jeongguk to look at her. A sudden, heavy solemnity is painted across her features. “Giving yourself the chance to feel something. To have something. You deserve it.”
Jeongguk wants to believe her. Let the air clogging his chest break free and take in the words of the woman who’s cared for him, mended the hurt, seen the fear behind his eyelids. But that fear speaks louder, and it tells him he doesn’t deserve to take up more space on the fifth floor of this complex — not when he’s already a weight on Halmeoni’s curving back, not when he’s witnessed how easily pain transfers from one body to the other. Not when he knows letting himself feel something, have something, might consume him.
He shrugs as if the hurt could simply topple down his shoulders. “There’s nothing between us.”
“Don’t lead the girl on, then.”
Halmeoni’s finished with her tea, and Jeongguk instinctively reaches for her cup to set it aside. When he turns back, she’s wearing a warm smile. It’s meant to thank him and lessen the blow of her words.
“I’m not—”
“I know you’d hate hurting another more than you’d hate hurting yourself. I just want you to free yourself and move on, my handsome boy.”
As if guided by a natural consequence of her delicate words, Halmeoni looks to the side. More specifically, her narrow eyes land on the wrinkled paper calendar hanging on the wall, in the same spot every calendar has been for the past seven years.
Today marks a significant date, a memorable moment that gave space for a long love story to unfold. There’s a heart drawn in its correspondence, crooked and red inked. A few spots below it, in the same red ink, Halmeoni marks a J and a K.
It’s not his birthday, nor is it a special day worth celebrating. Every year, Halmeoni reminds herself to give Jeongguk just a bit more love on that day. Show just a bit more understanding, delicacy. She does it so she never has to see her Jeonggukkie’s face turn that porcelain white again, wet with tears, red eyes a haunting contrast.
Does the ink remind her of that? Or of how love can be both a consuming fire and a consumed fuel?
Her voice resounds from his side, and he grips to it with all his wistful hope. “Letting someone in comes with opening old and fresh wounds. It might also just be what finally heals them.”
This month always leaves him spiraling, gets him thinking of all the things that keep him away from what Halmeoni swears he deserves, from you. He tries to push through. Still, even walking into your space can feed the fire at times.
You truly make it seem like it’s okay. Like everything is exactly as it should be.
There are still nights spent at his place, or yours. Though Gureum, or whatever cushion is available, finds its spot between you — and ends up nearly crushed in your subtle attempt to slide closer on the couch.
You still let him pick from your vinyl collection, teasing him for always choosing the mainstream option, the safe choice. Tell him you wish he’d risk more, maybe pick that forgotten French record your dad had passed down to you.
There are still spontaneous walks in the park behind the building, where your designated bench and the morphing clouds always get you compliant and vulnerable.
“It took me burning myself to break through you,” you reminisce in the nearing-spring air and the remark sits bitter on Jeongguk’s tongue. “I’m almost glad for my clumsiness in moments like these.”
He manages a smile, melting into a genuine laugh when he turns to you. “You sure you didn’t do it on purpose, hm?”
You still drag him into Pixar marathons and sniffle quietly by the end of every single movie, especially when you watch Up and ask Jeongguk if Grandpa Mimi was similar to Carl. “This could be them in another universe.”
There’s still the thread of texts when work keeps you apart, too busy to even stumble into one another in the hallway. You send pictures of brave puppies getting their first vaccines; he sends back selfies with Gureum saying hi and wishing them luck.
And you still make it hard for him not to stare, as if he could easily pretend he’s unaffected by your mere presence. He can’t swear he doesn’t still think of you coming undone on top of him, entirely still dressed, and he can’t ignore the way he gets hard the minute he’s left alone in silence. Your moans are the only sound he wishes the walls of his living room could echo again.
In the suffocating quiet of his apartment, the only stifled sounds are his own as he shamefully allows selfishness to win. To make his hand travel down, beneath his sweats, thumb swiping the top of his slit where his arousal drips at the mere contact of his hand — at the mere thought of you. He thinks of you and how your smile lights up a room. How your fingers delicately thread through Gureum’s fur. How you’ve picked up the habit of grabbing his forearm when you ask for something, for help you’re usually too stubborn to receive openly.
On his couch, firm and uncomfortable, he spreads his legs just as he had to welcome you further against him, hand applying just enough pressure to maintain the illusion of you until he’s spilling into his boxers. He gasps into the silence of his living room, shame filling his entire being, but he doesn’t stop there. His selfish act only morphs into punishment, palming himself until he’s too sensitive to feel good after his orgasm. Until he feels disgusting for even daring to look at you — for thinking of you that way.
It’s been a few days since you’ve seen each other, and since he’s been dry in your chat thread to overcompensate for feeling like a guilty bastard. And the next time he sees you, it’s under the blue lights of a club, the one his friends dragged him to after he ran out of too-tired-from-work excuses.
Blue is exactly how he’s been feeling lately, but it’s never looked prettier as the light traces your cheeks and the slope of your nose, the curve of your ass. His twisted and wrecked mind spins, convinces him you might merge well together after all.
You’re with a few of the girls he recognises from your birthday, though he only notices them because they’re laced close to you, dancing to the house music booming from the DJ console. There are also masculine faces he doesn’t think he’s seen before around you, and those he notices because of a green, wicked monster crawling up his throat.
You aren’t paying them much attention, though a thin, blond one is hovering particularly close to your side, hands occasionally brushing your back. Jeongguk doesn’t realise his entire body is tensing, fighting against the green gremlin now whispering in his ear, until his arm twitches and he’s bumping hard into someone.
The girl immediately apologises, despite having no reason to. Jeongguk nods, and under the morphing-to-red lights of the bar, he recognises her as one of the girls Taehyung introduced to the group during their pregame. Julie, if he was paying enough attention. Brunette, tall, green eyes.
It’s been a while since Jeongguk has done any of this. The last time he was at a pregame, he was twenty-two. Five years later, things unfolded differently. Nobody threw up before even getting to the actual game, nor mixed dubious liquids together into one cup. It had felt more like a gathering, a civilized catching up. He’d passed on Yoongi’s offer to smoke, earning only a casual shrug, and could barely down two glasses of gin before he was grimacing from the mere smell of alcohol.
Julie looks up at him the same way she did when her hand was first extended toward him in Taehyung’s living room. Shy, the kind of bashfulness that made Jeongguk think she wouldn’t have uttered a single other word to him but her own name. And just as he prepares to turn back to the crowd to localise you, she steps closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“You look like you’re not enjoying yourself,” her voice is barely a thread against the booming bass, and that’s exactly why she must make sure to press her mouth to his lobe, and her chest flush against his. No other reason, he hopes.
He chuckles humorlessly, his own lips hovering near her hair. His eyes scan the floor, seeking the only person who has the power to make him feel exactly what a girl he’s met less than two hours ago senses he’s not.
And he finds you. His neighbour, the girl he’s known for a little over a year, finally beginning to get along with. Made him feel blue unconsciously, green greedily, red avidly — damn near all colors of the rainbow. You’ve painted his life in so many shades in the short span of time, each encounter morphing into another color like how the fluorescent lights change once again the moment you enter his line of sight, painting you in the shade you bring whenever you’re with him, shining rays on a cloudy day.
Under the yellow glow, your eyes finally lock onto his. Even with the swarm of bodies in between you, your perceptive eyes zero in on Julie’s figure practically draped over his own.
When you stare directly at him, you lift your chin in recognition. He replicates the gesture, and his own hardened gaze takes in how you’ve let the blond guy wrap a lazy arm around your front, his nose nuzzled in your hair, mouth moving around something that makes you laugh.
Eyes snapping back to yours, Jeongguk pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek before he speaks back into Julie’s ear. “Are you?”
The girl seems to have never heard something funnier, leaving her weight anchored to his chest, one hand splayed across his stomach for support. And he swears he sees your jaw tick, almost at the same time his teeth clench at a foreign hand expanding across your lace-covered torso.
Julie, seemingly shy and sheepish Julie, lets a manicured hand slide up his front, to his neck, until her fingers are pressing against his cheek to force his face down, meeting her own yellow-flashed face. It blends differently over her features, makes them feline and sharp, a harsh contrast to how your wide eyes turn soft and droopy under the same glow.
“Could be if you dance with me,” his gaze falls to Julie’s lips to read the words smoothly flowing out, and they stretch into a smile that feels nothing like yours. Her palm snaking around his waist is alien compared to your warmth, how it led his hips up to meet yours. Her face is too close, and it feels fundamentally wrong from how you have to crane your neck up instead.
Jeongguk is searching for a familiarity he reluctantly accepts he’s found in you. And his face fights against the soft hold on it, a rejection he wouldn’t have dreamt of two months ago when his search aimed for anything to fill the void. He thinks he’s found a new brick for his wall, and his eyes desperately scan the room for it.
But when he finds the blond guy — the one who looks like his polar opposite — you are no longer wrapped around him.
For a split second, relief washes over him. The green monster loosens its grip on his throat. But that leaves space for panic to rise when he realises he’s lost sight of you entirely. You’ve slipped through the crowd, vanishing much like you had on your own birthday night.
Julie becomes the least of his worries. He detaches himself from her clutching fingers, ignoring the confusion twitching across her face as he turns around and shoves his way through sweat and hormones. He can feel himself sweating too, and he’s certain his hormones spiked the second he spotted your swaying figure.
Jeongguk pictures you outside, pink lighter clutched in one hand, long cigarette in the other. And his primary mission becomes the one to pluck the stick from your fingers, just as he usually does when you’ve poured a bit too much of his whiskey and retreat to his balcony for a nicotine break that you explain is necessary after a little alcohol.
He hates you smoking. Hates the thought of your lungs filling up with toxic grey and your bubblegum shampoo fading beneath the linger of ash. Hates how your laugh sounds a little groggier afterward and how your tobacco-tainted breath still wouldn’t stop him from kissing you if you asked. Or if you even leaned closer.
When he steps out of the club, his lungs welcome the cold air with a sharp inhale. The sidewalk is a sea of people looking to dampen their house-music adrenaline with a smoke, or looking just as lost as he is.
He wonders if each lost-person is looking for their smoker, and if that would make all of them puzzle pieces waiting to click into place. His own smoker is nowhere in the proximity, and he scans every hand for a neon pink lighter, every shoe for a pair of brown pointed heels.
But it isn’t a visual that locates you; it’s your voice. Uncharacteristically high-pitched and characteristically vibrating with irritation, it booms from his right.
“Don’t fucking touch me, I swear to God,” the second the agitated and shaky tone reaches his ears, Jeongguk is pushing past groups of smokers until he finds a neon pink lighter clutched in a white-knuckled fist, brown heels taking a hurried, defensive step back and your trembling eyes fighting to maintain a flicker of authority.
The man looming over you resembles the same one you threatened with similar words on the night of your birthday, when Jeongguk had also felt that gut-punch of relief at finding you just in time.
It all flashes before him: your voice swearing you don’t need his help and that you could handle it on your own, the fear tensing your muscles, and how a single text on your screen could flip your chocolate stained lips into a frown.
Jeongguk doesn’t have to think more; he simply acts. Steps in because he cannot allow anything bad to happen to you, acts out of the pure instinct to protect you, because he knows he can’t fail at that.
He closes the distance in two large strides, palms slamming harshly against the guy’s chest before his fist cinches around the collar of his shirt, jerking him forward.
“Wasn’t clear the last time, man? She’s done talking to you.”
Beside him, he hears you gasp. “Jeongguk!”
Your ex scoffs in his face, twisting uselessly against his unyielding hold. Neither of them turns to look at you. Jeongguk, because he’s afraid the look on your face might make his knees buckle even more than the sound of his name on your lips already has. The shit-eating grin in front of him, because he’s too proud to lose a staring contest against another man.
Mingyu ignores Jeongguk, directing his jabs back at you — where he knows it’ll hurt. “I know you take care of dogs all day, didn’t know you found yourself a new pup”
“Oh, you think you’re so fucking funny, Mingyu.” You spit the name with venom, and Jeongguk hates the sound of it but relishes in the way you pronounce it with just as much hatred as he feels.
Mingyu sneers at you, then he turns back to Jeongguk, lips pursing around a lazy smile. “Your stray finds it funny, though.”
Jeongguk sports a lopsided smirk on his face. He does find it funny. Finds it funny how he doesn’t let go, not when Mingyu pathetically struggles, only when he feels your hand brush his bare forearm. Finds it funny because he never loses control, and this is unlike him, but he’s going to bruise your ex boyfriend’s asymmetrical jaw with his ringed fist if you so much as whisper the order. His loyalty to you is the only thing keeping him from acting out of line.
Jeongguk must truly be your puppy, after all.
Taking a step back, he allows himself the sight of you, and when he sees knitted brows and a jagged bottom lip, he feels his fingers twitch. They fight the urge to cradle your face, can’t resist the one to curl around your waist.
The last words he hopes to spit in Mingyu’s entitled face are forced through gritted teeth, “If you know what’s best for you, stay the fuck away from her.” He leaves out other potentially behind-the-bars worthy words in favour of taking you out of this situation.
No additional words are exchanged as Jeongguk leads you away from the crowd and crowds you against him, between his palm pressed firmly at the edge of your shoulder and his chest shielding you. He can feel you under his skin, can recognize the tension in your frame, knows you’re still unwilling to break in front of him.
But once he settles you into the passenger seat of his car and circles around to take his place beside you, before he can find his voice to promise you he’ll never let this happen to you — ever again — you find your own.
“I’m sorry.”
And Jeongguk has always struggled with putting together your script, trying to figure out what’s safe, which lines are off-limits and which ones he’s allowed to nudge. But in his head, he’s currently crouching down his desk and sweeping everything off, clearing the state as his face twitches with a flicker of worry and anger.
Worry, because he doesn’t think he could find a single thing you need to apologise for if he tried. Anger, because he wishes he could reach out and tug away whatever instilled fear led you to say sorry in the first place, more than your distraught face is pulling at his heartstrings.
“No, what?” His voice is barely a whisper, and his fingers instinctively come to brush the hair from your face, pinning the strands carefully behind your ears. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“But I do.” You shift in your seat, and even as you’re arguing that you’ve done something wrong, you still lean in his touch. The side of your face seeks the faint heat of his fingertips as you turn fully toward him. “I’m always somehow in these situations and you’re always somehow at my rescue.”
Jeongguk would argue back, tell you that’s the only thing he knows how to do. The line he’s allowed to cross, to show you he cares, more than he’d want to admit. Prove he’s worth having around, his presence’s worth your time. It’s the one thing he’ll be selfish for, no matter if you push his help away.
But he can’t get the words out, not when he’s finally in front of you again, and big eyes stare up at him in the dim light of the dashboard, and smoke doesn’t linger on you. His nostrils inhale cotton candy and vodka.
“I wish I could do something for you, too.”
His chest catches a heated spark at your eagerness to return his gesture. Though, he’s in no immediate danger other than the proximity you’ve decreased between your bodies.
“Please?” You peer at him through your lashes.
Your voice is the catalyst. It’s still scarred, and it tears Jeongguk’s wounds open. It burns beautifully, breath hitching when your eyes drop to his mouth. And it’s a pull he has no hope of fighting; he realizes far too late that you are simply too close.
It might be to prevent you from using your words to dig deeper into his scars, or so he tells himself. But he only needs the feel of your fingers curling around the base of his neck, and his own spanning your cheek and jaw until they curve into the hair behind your ear to accept your mouth on his.
He finds it’s the first time in weeks that his brain shuts down. Leaves space for a peaceful hum to block the constant static of his sabotaging thoughts out.
The only other sound that filters through is your relieved whimper, the one that gives him permission to deepen the kiss, to slice his tongue across yours. You’re tugging him closer, both arms coming to wrap around his shoulders, and his stomach digs uncomfortably in the center console dividing your bodies, but he doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care when he tastes traces of tobacco on your tongue. He doesn’t care when your nails catch against the expanse of his back and he lets out a pained, hungry moan on your slicked lips.
He does care when that seems to be what has you suddenly pulling back, creating a frantic distance between your mouths. Though, a shimmering trail of saliva and lip gloss keeps you tethered before you’re loosening your hold entirely, settling your hands in your lap and shifting straight against the passenger seat.
Jeongguk is left panting, elbow still propped on the console and mouth unconsciously seeking yours one more time before he snaps out of the daze, and noise comes flooding back in.
You swallow before exhaling, “Sorry.”
He blinks, licking the sweet taste of you from his lips. Even your lipgloss threatens to make his teeth rot, bubblegum on his tongue. And he speaks before he even processes that he remembers how to.
“There is something you can do for me.”
You quip. “What?”
“I want you to never apologise again.”
Your front teeth come out to bite onto your bottom lip, struggling to keep a smile at bay. Nodding, you settle further into your seat and reach for the belt.
Despite the raging battle in his head, Jeongguk remains enthralled by your every move, attuned to your every need, and reaches over to click the belt into place for you, knuckles brushing yours.
“Thank you,” you say, voice low. “For helping me.”
“Of course. I know you said you wanted to sort it out on your own,” Jeongguk sets his own belt and starts the engine. “But let me deal with him.”
You fall eerily silent after his offer. As he drives, he keeps glancing over, hand steady on the gearshift but itching to reach you, startle you with a palm on your knee, snatch your attention away from the passing city lights, force you to look at him. He needs to see your face to make sure you’re truly okay.
But his hand never makes the move, and instead he shifts his eyes back to the road ahead and lets his low voice fill the tight space. “Are you okay? Did he try anything?”
You seem to snap out of a daze, back lifting from the seat as you turn to him, shaking your head. “No, it’s just…”
Silence fills his ears again. To Jeongguk, it translates into a restless dissonance as his mind begins its usual routine of filling the voids for him.
It’s just… could be followed up with I don’t need your help or You’ve served your purpose on that couch already or, making his brows furrow tighter, I never needed you to save me.
And Jeongguk realizes, with a twinge of desperation, that he needs you to need him. Need his help, so that he’ll show you he can fulfill one more purpose.
“When I was with him,” you begin with none of Jeongguk’s predictions, yet his ears perk and his grip around the steering wheel tightens. A red light has him braking lightly, and in the stillness he gets to look at you and how the crimson shade bathes you in orange hues.
“I always felt small. It was like my every move was judged, scrutinised. Like he thought I wasn’t good on my own and I couldn’t choose for myself.”
Your face is washed in green, and Jeongguk doesn’t dare speak as he moves his eyes back to the road, the hum of the engine filling your pause. You inhale, “My every thought had to be approved by him. Felt soulless at some point. Pathetic, right?” You try to diffuse the heaviness of the conversation with a breathy chuckle.
Jeongguk knows you as anything but soulless. What drew him to you was how your world spun around so many planets, how you never hesitated to let your words out unfiltered and honest. But you’re wavering now, trembling over what to reveal.
“And the way I let myself fall into that… it scares me. Terrifies me. That I willingly stuck by him, just for a flicker of love.”
He’s not good with words the way you are; he wouldn’t trust himself to make sense of disjointed feelings. But it’s similar, the ache in his chest and your shaky exhale. So, he lets his hand cup your knee, thumb soon picking up a soothing motion over your bare skin.
Placing your own palm over his, you keep your gaze fixed on your grazing fingers and he steals glances at the way your teeth pick at the flesh of your bottom lip.
You release it the moment you’re ready to add more, “Receiving help is not so easy for me. It makes me feel useless, like I can’t do enough on my own.”
Like you’re not enough on your own.
He’s sure you can feel how his fingertips unconsciously dig into your thigh, and how he quickly releases the pressure when he hears you whimper. He’s not sure you also feel static in your ears, but the buzz is deafening in his.
Because useless is exactly how he feels when he’s not helping, not carrying additional weight on his shoulders. Save or else he’s failed.
And maybe the whir of that thought reaches the tips of his hand, maybe you feel it tensing his body, because you don’t finish without adding, “But I feel different around you. A good different.”
He stills at your confession.
Jeongguk is not good with words the way you are, but as he brakes at another red light, he turns to you and doesn’t feel like he’s forcing his smile. Doesn’t even feel it forming. It sticks naturally to his face when your eyes finally meet his, and he can breathe regularly when he finds there’s nothing but sincerity in yours, the same one reflected in his.
His hand moves but doesn’t leave you. It cups the side of your face, snakes through your hair, then slides down your neck and tickles there, just to hear your giggle as you flinch. He asks if you’ve eaten, and when you shake your head, his thumb traces the line dangerously close to your mouth.
“What do you wanna eat, hm?”
You hum, seeking the warmth of his palm with your cheek. “Cookies.”
Jeongguk is not good with words, but the moment you step out of the car he’s wrapping you in his jacket, although the walk to the building entrance is only a few steps. He’s not good with words, but his hand guides you by your waist as if you’re made of porcelain — delicate, precious.
And he’s not good with words, but after you’ve changed into mismatched pajamas and he’s helped remove your makeup, he doesn’t hesitate when you ask him not to leave you alone tonight through a mouthful of dough and chocolate chips, and he nods. Lets your head rest on his lap as he softly plays with your hair and you stretch out across the length of the couch.
He remains seated uncomfortably on the soft sofa, neck craned back in a way that will surely haunt him tomorrow. And as he drifts in and out of sleep, hand still tangled in your locks, the ache in his neck is sharper but his heart only grows fonder when he sees you’ve drooled just a little bit more over his thigh.
He thinks he’s fully stirring awake when the morning light filters through his cracked eyelids, although when he tries to move, the muscles running along his spine scream in protest. Jeongguk thinks he’s paralysed, but it doesn’t wholly register until he’s stuck in a limbo between dreamland and reality.
He sees your living room, the brownish coffee table at his feet. But on the wall opposite him there are no pictures of a smiling-you surrounded by golden retrievers.
No, there’s a wrinkled piece of paper with a messily jotted schedule, specific times for specific medications. And no sight of the flat-screen TV he’s helped you install either, just a blank wall and Gureum’s worn out bed at its feet.
When Jeongguk sees himself, he jolts. Fights with everything he has to move from the couch, force his neck to straighten and escape the vision. But then, the girl he’s spent years trying to erase from his mind steps into view, and she’s pushing at his chest. The other him’s chest.
“You can keep the dog, I don’t care,” she spits the crude words in his face, and Jeongguk flinches on your couch, trapped in the replay.
“Keep the dog? Nora, it’s your dog. You told me you wanted it. And I’m fucking allergic,” he watches his past self try to reason, wants to scream at that younger version of him to just give it up, realize Gureum is better off with him anyway.
“I don’t care, Jeongguk. Just do whatever the fuck you want with him.” Nora paces back and forth like she’s trying to keep her jagged anger at bay.
Jeongguk whimpers, his hand twitching to reach for her but she flinches away. He’s fully panting now, out of breath, and five years later he’s watching from the outside and still feels his eyes sting with the same panic.
“So, you’re just gonna leave us? Leave me?”
“Yes, god! I don’t need you anymore. You’ve served your purpose.” Her arms are wide in exasperation, as if there’s no other way to explain the obvious.
Jeongguk has served his purpose. He’s not needed anymore.
From his cramped, uncomfortable position on the couch, the moment he sees his brows twitch and his bottom lip wobble, he wants to yell that it’s no use. That searching for more answers will only make it worse for himself.
But the scene unfolds with the cold precision of back then.
Jeongguk takes a step closer, Nora takes a step back. And it shakes him to the core to see her look at him with fear. Like he’d ever given her a reason to be afraid of him.
“Served my purpose? The fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you seeing someone else?”
Nora scoffs, turning away, “It’s none of your business—”
“It is, for fuck’s sake!” The veins in his neck strain, and he can hear Gureum whining from behind the couch. “You’re my girlfriend, I’ve been by your side through hell and never complained. Because I love you, and I figured you’d—”
“And I never fucking asked you to do that. I never needed you to save me.”
Time stops. Jeongguk watches, dumbfounded, as Nora turns her back on him to stuff a bag with pills she needs for the day and hoists it up her shoulder.
When she’s back in his face, she warns. “Take Gureum and your ass out of my apartment. I’m staying at my dad’s tonight. Don’t look for me.”
A sob escapes his puffy lips, and he reaches for her one last time. “Bug, don’t do this. Don’t leave me, please,” Nora averts his touch, and the sight — the absence of her skin beneath his fingertips, sends him to a low he’d never reached before. “I forgive you. It’s fine, I don’t care if you cheated—”
“Stop, Jeongguk! I’m sick of you,” she screams like she wishes he’d disappear, fade into tiny shreds of a light that once shined, now flickers. “I’m finally getting better. I think I deserve more than this, no? More than you.”
“I don’t—” he’s rarely speechless, but as the weight of every sacrifice he made for the girl in front of him flashes behind his eyes, he feels his heart sink into his stomach. “I’m happy for you, Ora. I’ve always wanted this for you. Tell me what more I can do and I will—”
“Let me go. Take the dog with you and forget me.”
Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s ever let go. He’s let go of her, yes — not of the haunting sense of solitude and emptiness that reigned in his chest at that moment, still finds its way up at times. Especially as he watches powerless from the couch, and he’s aware the tear he sees spilling in the memory is also currently tracing his cheek.
Then, her shoulder bumps against his as she storms past, and the booming sound of the door slamming jolts him awake.
He’s wheezing for air, hands flying to his chest until the panic turns into a harsh cough. The sharp pain in his neck is unbearable, but it’s nothing compared to the dread rising from his feet as he takes in the space around him.
He has to remind himself that this is your space now, not Nora’s.
Opposite him, your nose scrunches in one of the photos on the wall, and he catches his own widened gaze in the reflection of your TV. Cotton candy reaches his nose, replacing the phantom smell of bleach that had been making him sick, the one he associated with the bathroom in his memories.
It’s your space. Not Nora’s. He’s safe.
But when he looks down at where you’d fallen asleep with your head on his thighs, you’re not there.
That’s when he feels like his head is truly fucking with him, and oxygen refuses to find a way in. He uselessly taps the cushions around him for help, comfort, anything tangible. When he finds empty fabric, the only instinct he has left is to run.
Away from this room, back into the hollow silence of his apartment, door shutting with a startled flinch of his shoulders.
It hurts more when he realizes it’s your comfort he needs. He’s fallen into the trap again.
The clinic is swamped. Your duties are piling up, and you can’t seem to gain any ground. You might have had the chance if your coworkers would stop pretending they can’t hear the phone ringing, leaving you to be stalled by ten different callers who vomit their pets’ entire medical histories into one single sentence — convinced you’re some sort of ubiquitous being who can diagnose a dog through a receiver.
Part of it is because you woke up late. By some miracle, your body had naturally stirred without an alarm. Or, more likely, it must have unconsciously captured the muffled buzz of your third one from the bag you’d abandoned somewhere in the room. You’d tensed, mind foggy, before realizing where your head was resting and whose hand was still cupping your cheek.
Shifting slowly from your awkward angle, you’d held your breath, turning around with painstaking care once you were seated to find Jeongguk lightly snoring with his mouth parted, and his neck stiffly lolling toward his shoulder.
You’d fought to keep a giggle in, opting instead to retrieve your phone and snap a close-up of his round, sleeping face. You didn’t care if it cost you a minute you didn’t have.
After that, you ran around the apartment like a maniac, trying not to go twenty minutes past your clock-in time, hopping into the first pair of jeans you could grab and a pastel yellow cardigan that was slowly fading to a dirty white.
You were certain the noise you made when you slammed your pinky toe against the kitchen table would have jolted him awake.
Instead, when you limped past the couch after applying the bruise cream Jeongguk had given you for the very same toe, he was still locked in the same position. You didn’t have the heart to wake him, so you left him there, typing quickly into your chat thread as you eased the door shut behind you.
You [8:39 a.m.] Attachment: 1 image
You [8:39 a.m.] lol you looked so silly
You [8:39 a.m.] i had to run to work sry.. see u later !!
You [8:40 a.m.] help yourself to the fridge :)
Your break is nearing, and your texts still sit unanswered, unread, delivered. You bite your lower lip as your mind automatically begins listing every possible reason for his silence.
He might have woken up with a paralyzed neck, or a hangover migraine. Perhaps a combination of the two.
Your unconscious smile falters when you consider that this might also be another repeat of the birthday-situation, hope and adrenaline surging high, only to simmer down once you realize you must have misread the signals again.
Maybe you shouldn’t have let him kiss you, hold you, but whenever you’re that close to him it feels like your lungs inhale a different kind of air. Clearer, lighter, air that doesn’t clog your chest.
Definitely not the one you welcome as you suck in the nicotine from your cigarette, hiding away from your coworkers in the designated spot you and Olivia found beyond the backdoor and baptised as your private, and legally punishable, smoking area.
Your phone pings. You reach for it so fast you don’t even get the time to tell yourself you’re being pathetic. Hope and adrenaline do simmer down when the name on the screen isn’t your neighbour’s.
In a way, you do still read about him through your notifications. It’s Mingyu, asking about the puppy. Saying something about how he looks like he has a tiny dick and can’t believe you’re settling for that now.
You sigh, pocketing the device and drawing in a longer pull of smoke. You should probably block him. That would be the reasonable thing to do.
There’s a part of your brain that fears it would only further feed his stalker-ish entitlement. Another voice tells you it’s best to keep receiving these weekly updates, at least that way you’ll know if he wakes up one day and decides he wants to murder you.
A chill runs down your spine at the macabre thought. Mingyu wouldn’t. Your overthinking is going beyond today.
You tap the ash from your cigarette and watch it topple to the ground, pulling in the last of the stick. It’s been more than a year since you’ve broken up with Mingyu, months since you’ve stopped whatever on and off thing you two still had, and a few weeks since he’s started being creepy through texts.
You could talk to Jeongguk about it. He’s already offered to help, and you’re pragmatic enough to know that a man willing to stand between you and a threat is often more effective than a woman trying to do the same alone.
Hours later, that’s the excuse you give yourself as you knock on his door. You’d just gulped down whatever leftover you had found in your fridge, frowning when you realized he hadn’t touched a thing. Could also be to check on him, since he finally read your texts but never bothered to reply.
Simpler truth is, you really want to see him. You’d missed his warmth the second you left him on your couch, thought about his lips on yours and the safe scent of almond lingering on his jacket.
You might get tired of the architecture of your walls soon, tired of pretending you don’t need help, don’t need the solid weight of a wide hand keeping you safe, when it’s all that gets your nerves to loosen and your shoulders to relax. A terrifying comfort, the one you find in simply being seen by him.
But you have to stay strong and maintain a pretence of those walls, keep them high enough to ensure you aren’t destroyed in the process. You’ve never made things clear with him, never established the what of this.
Friends, that’s for sure. Though, you don’t kiss your friends like you’ve kissed Jeongguk. None of your friends have ever made you cum. Hell, not even your past boyfriends managed that.
You’re not the type to navigate through things unlabeled, uncertain. You’re willing to walk into the fire that Jeon Jeongguk seems to ignite in everything he touches, you just want to make sure he’s worth the burns.
And you’re committed to finding out, right now.
When the door opens, your smile twitches slightly. Jeongguk only lets his head poke out, keeping the rest of his body shielded behind the piece of wood. It must be why his features pop differently than usual, his eyebags are more prominent, his eyes heavy and droopy.
Another reason you’re here, to apologize for keeping him hostage on your couch all night.
“Hi,” you breathe, shoulders sheepishly rising.
Jeongguk looks taken aback, and for a moment you debate wiping out your resolve and hiding back in your apartment, especially when he simply looks you up and down, brows angled upward. But you remind yourself you’re here to put an end to this very same uncertainty.
He recovers, though a stutter prefaces his greeting. “Hey, hi. Hey.”
You chuckle awkwardly, assuming his hesitation is born from the same nerves bubbling in your stomach. They considerably simmer when he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you in.
He’s in a large black tee and grey sweats, looking homey enough to hold. You’re still in your work clothes and suddenly the denim feels constricting.
It doesn’t take long for you two to fall into your usual rhythm, even as your brain whispers his smile looks just a bit forced, and his hand shakes as it wraps around a plate under the running water. Still, he listens to your work-rambling and casually answers your questions.
“I’m sorry for yesterday,” you admit into a sudden lapse in conversation. Sitting on a stool behind him, you watch his back muscles shift beneath the cotton of his shirt. You add with a quick gasp, “I mean, for falling asleep on you.”
“‘S okay.” He nods, gaze intently fixed on his scrubbing motions, though the plate looks spotless. Yet his hand tightens around the sponge and he rubs more harshly.
He doesn’t mention the promise you made, the one to never apologise to him again.
That’s when you start looking closer, studying the sharp profile of his face, the small scar on his cheek, how his left eye twitches and he’s still scraping the same clean plate.
Tentatively, you stand. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem tense.”
He clears his throat, finally letting his gaze shift to yours. When you’re eye to eye, both your lungs exhale a deeper release and his grip on the sponge slackens. Water still gushes out, splashing droplets where it meets with the ceramic.
You step closer now, arms brushing and burning where you touch as you take the platter from his hand and set it onto the rack. Turning off the faucet, the only sound filling the kitchen is Gureum licking his paws under the table.
You look up to find him already seeking you out. Twisting enough to fully face him, you attempt a weak grip around his forearm, an unspoken demand for his undivided attention.
He seemingly recovers from the quiet with a flurry of blinks, drawing in a sharp inhale. “Yeah, uh…”
Brows furrowing, you read a different kind of uncertainty on his face than the one you were trying to find answers for. Experimentally, your hand slides upward toward his shoulder, feeling the muscles across his back coil.
“Is it your neck?” Your fingers try pressing into the nerve you feel tightening at the base of his skull, and he lets out a low groan that has him lolling his head forward, palms bracing on the counter. “Let me help you.”
Moving behind him, you work your fingertips into the base of his neck, pushing hard enough to draw a hum of approval from his throat. Perhaps all the time and effort you put into kneading dough paid off in this very instance. Your baked goods never uttered a rewarding sound like Jeongguk has under your fingers. Feeling greedy, you dig the heels of your hands in for a stronger knead, and a stray moan breaks from his throat.
You’re drawn forward from the effort, your hips now flushed against his plump ass and, as if he’s just putty in your hands, his own hips fall against the counter. A broken sound flies past his lips, hiccupping when you only press your body further into his warmth.
Your bottom lip threatens to split under the stress of your teeth on it, partly from the dedication you’re putting in the massage, partly from the struggle to keep a sheepish grin in. Yet, no matter the pace or pressure you apply, he won’t relax.
When he growls your name, your ears perk and you’re asking, “Is this okay?”
Then, the sudden twist of his body catches you off guard. You yelp as your arms drop to your sides, neck craning up to meet the evident restraint written across his features. His fists tighten and loosen, and his exhale brushes hot against your lashes.
He can only say your name again, and you can only take an instinctive step back. But he follows you, pressing flush against you until your spine meets the counter. His hands brace on either side of you, and soon he’s letting his eyelids flutter shut and his nose draw in a deep inhale of your scent.
Your eyes flicker over every corner of his face, now inches from yours. “Jeongguk…”
He seems on the edge of saying something, doing something, nose brushing yours as his own twitches. And he can’t bear to look at you while gathering courage, so he whispers it in your ear, nuzzling his way through your hair.
“Do you trust me?”
It’s an unexpected question, but it awakens the same uncertainty you knocked on his door with, went through the day with, have learned to be around him with. And it’s true what you told him: being with him makes you feel different while still allowing to be you. Being with him isn’t scary, only unpredictable.
You could adapt to that, right up until you’re both tripping and find yourselves unable to grasp one another, falling face first. You get back up with a few scratches, but then he’s making you laugh and the pain fades.
And sometimes, there’s a look on his face you can’t decipher, don’t have the time to, because it washes over him before he retreats back into norm. Sometimes, you might wander in uncharted territories and all you’re met with is silence, like you’re alien and have no way of understanding each other. You still try, inventing a new language, perhaps messing with the uncertainty further.
So, this time, you only nod, because there’s no better way than to bend to your instincts where he is concerned, it comes simpler being honest.
You lift your chin enough to brush the shell of his ear. “I do.”
Jeongguk exhales as if he’d been holding his breath just to ensure he didn’t miss a single syllable of your response. The air trembles over your jaw and he’s leaning impossibly closer, chests flushed, breaths mingling.
It’s not like you to go through things blind; you can’t bear the absence of his gaze any longer. Your hand slides up his cheek, turning his face until it’s directly in front of yours. When your eyes meet, your breath hitches.
His eyelids are droopy, brows angled upward, and a thin sheen of vulnerability coats his orbs. His mouth is inches from yours, parted, as though he’s begging to be let in or stopped that very instant.
You search up for his own answer through your lashes, your free hand bracing against his white-knuckled grip on the counter as you’re only pressed further into the digging edge.
When he drops his forehead on yours like he’s finally made peace with himself, you fan against his lips. “Do you?”
But he replaces words with the force of his mouth crashing on yours. Your fingers instinctively clutch at his hair, drawing a broken whine of his that filters through your kiss, immediately all tongue and teeth. An arm wraps around your waist, hauling you impossibly close until you feel his bulge press into your womb.
You’re soon gasping for air, but he keeps you still and trapped, pinned by his relentless mouth and his tightening hold. And there’s a sense of frantic urgency, like detaching might allow a tide to flood the space between you, separating your bodies until you’re both sinking and wheezing, and he can’t possibly risk that.
His other hand leaves the counter and travels up to tangle in your locks, splaying a palm behind your head to better angle the way his tongue slices with yours, swallowing your every moan and increasing sound, preventing even the thought of escape.
The oxygen in your lungs begins to fail, and you think if he wants you to die now, he might as well keep kissing you. Jeongguk groans when your tug on his hair teeters on rough, but he only dives deeper into the kiss, seeking more.
Only when you pat his chest harshly and whine loud into his mouth does he detach, and you’re both left panting in each other’s faces, flushed, lips swollen.
His eyes are blown wide, blinking serially as though he’s resurfacing from someplace distant. Your grip on his hair softens, slender fingers stroking his scalp in a soothing pattern, like that draw his gaze back to yours, away from the void between your lips and collarbone.
Now, your own body surges with the same urgency that had filled the kiss, had him keeping you tethered, when you can sense his hold around you loosening.
Your brows twitch and you instinctively push your middle into his, hands falling to his shoulders to anchor him. For a split second, as he lets his arm drop from your waist, his palm bruises your hip when he looks down at the contact, at where you’re dangerously close to grinding yourself against him.
Then, his warmth leaves you entirely, and your own arms fall from where they were trying to keep him close.
“I’m sorry, I…” Jeongguk avoids your eyes, recoils as if he’s been burned.
You shake your head, trying to be the steady one, “No, it’s okay, Gguk.” Taking a step forward, he matches it with a step back. Your brows knit together, “I don’t… Did I do something?”
“We— we can’t… I can’t do this.”
Oh.
The words hit like a physical blow. You’re certain your heart misses a beat almost in sync with his stutter, and it sinks altogether when no other explanation follows his low voice.
Pain and confusion wash over your face as you struggle to make sense of the rejection. You feel your cheeks flush with stinging embarrassment at the way he won’t even look at you, let alone offer a reason for the sudden wall between you.
And you’re left standing there, as if you’re some sort of ragdoll, as if you didn’t spend the past month harboring real feelings for him, as if you’re not worth basic respect. It feels like you’ve been proved wrong for trusting him.
“What… what do you mean you can’t?” You scoff like you can’t believe even the sound of those words.
You’re in the middle of his kitchen, where he’s tended so caringly to your burn, where he’s had you try his mean carbonara, where he’s poured your favourite soda before every movie without fail, where he’s just kissed you like it physically hurt to let go. And now, Jeongguk has his gaze fixed on the floor, shaking his head in small twitches.
Your ears buzz with chaos as your mind frantically catalogs every possible reason he’s standing in the same kitchen and rejecting you.
You think back to yesterday, to the girl pressed flush against him at the club, and you blurt out the first plausible reason. “Is it… Are you seeing someone else?”
At that, his head snaps up, and his startled eyes meet your stinging ones. “No, no. I’d never… It’s just…”
Somehow, that makes it even worse. You feel pathetic, and the sensation rushes to your brows, drawing up in a silent attempt to ask Jeongguk why.
Does this mean that all this time, you’ve been the only one feeling more? Wanting more?
Jeongguk stands paralyzed, and you can see his teeth tormenting the inside of his cheek, his eyes numb and falling to the side, zoning out on Gureum’s sleeping form on the ground.
You scoff, unbelieving, hands flying as you retrieve your phone from the counter. “Fuck, this is so dumb.”
He says your name, whispers it, and you still pathetically stop in your tracks and hang from his lips. You wouldn’t have been able to capture what they moved around if you had just turned and walked away. It’s so low you might foolishly hope he regrets saying it.
“Don’t go.”
Tears prick at your eyes and you dig your nails into your palms to keep them from spilling, anger replacing the hurt when you uselessly pant.
You exhale, voice pitiably quivering. “Look, there’s clearly some stuff you need to work on, but I’m not about to be your punching bag.”
A similar sheen coats his eyes when he meets yours, but it’s not enough to make him talk, make it easier for the both of you, put you out of this unknown he pulled you in, of which he’s the only one who could provide clarity.
His head twitches, hand lifting almost as if to reach for you. But your hope must still be pathetically alive within you, because all he manages is a stutter, “I’m—”
“I can’t let you do this to me,” you let the exhaustion filter freely through your voice, shoulders sagging. “I’m tired of the mixed signals, Jeongguk.”
“I didn’t want to—”
“But you did.”
Silence reigns between you, and you’re back to being aliens whose every attempt at communicating only further damages whatever progress there’d been.
“I couldn’t… I just want to help— save you.” His last words are merely a mumble into the empty space between you, but you hold onto them, doing your best to decipher his meaning.
“Save me from what?” You scan his face for anything that might stop the disaster, suck in the water flooding the room, reaching your throats, threatening to seal your mouths shut. “I never asked you to save me, Jeongguk. I just thought we had… something.”
Water reaches his lungs first, and soon you’re drowning with him, the tide keeping you apart, where you can’t reach for each other, but it still cruelly forces you to witness the pain etching itself into his features.
“But I guess I was wrong.”
The only way out of the flood is away from his space, back into the perceived safety of yours.
But even here, water sneaks from under the door. On your couch, his jacket still lies crumpled and forgotten. It stanches your apartment with the safe smell of almond and pine you’ve learned to associate with peace, only to realize you’ll have to relearn it all over again.
OH HEREEEE IT IS. OOTW NATION ITS HERE. THEYRE BACK AND THEYRE .. theyre .. theyre complicated and still hurting but #REALREADERS love complex characters and well .. hurt people hurt people 😔
im going to try to do this without crying bc LOVIE KNOWS how bad this part hurt me and honestly words cant even describe but ill try my best thru this reblog 🧘♀️
YOUR FRONT DOOR NEIGHBOR 😭😭😭 OH halmeoni knows best and she sure as hell knows how STUPID AND ANNOYING these two are !! they think shes blind but really .. its them 🤦♀️ AND SHES THE ONE OPENING THEIR EYES !! also godbles her for playing matchmaker in the first place holy shit they are literally her children 😭🤍
dont even fucking joke with me .. grandma mimi is literally jeongguks second mother. HER JEONGGUKIE 😭😭 FUCK 😭😭
when i read this .. i knew lovie cooked up some fuck ass shit. theres always a story to every line when it comes to her writing, so i was reading with impending doom the whole time. AND WELL ..
#NEEDTHAT. thats it. oh and fuck mingyu !! annoying ass mf omfg
Now .. heres the serious shit ..
this is where i genuinely started CRYING LMFAO 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 man FUCK LOVIEKU LETS ALL REPORT HER ACCOUNT !! I CANT EVEN FUCKING DEAL .. i never wanna read anything like this again. No. i wont fucking do it.
as much as i wanna be funny and call him a #BIRD .. this scene was heavy and PAINFUL. its not even about what she did that hurt him in that moment — it was her leaving, and that was all that mattered and FUCK IM ABOUT TO CRY 😭😭 he was so willing to comply just for her to stay SHE NEVER NEVER DESERVED HIM OHMYGOD MY BABY 😭😭
love is a disease and jeongguks got it bad !!
i cried and cried and cried. my chest started hurting. i couldnt breathe. lovie witnessed it. its all her fault. MY JEONGGUKIE 😭😭😭
you guys truly dont credit lovieku enough for the amazing writer she is. going back to ocs lore after the mingyu incident, this little parallel is DIZZYING.
ootw couple are both soulmates and twin flames. both people who can be hopelessly lovesick without even realizing their significant other doesnt deserve them in the slightest. both willing to abandon their happiness just for love. IM GONNA BE SICK 😭😭😭
AND ANOTHER PARALLEL .. jeongguk; the one always begging someone to stay 😭😭😭 nah nah kirk me down bru i cant do it anymore
and dont even get me started on this POET .. all the fire and burn metaphors falling into the firefighter category ??? i hope you guys give lovieku her fucking flowers after this, i am not kidding. i have never read something so cohesive like this ..
i love this fic so much and i cant even express it enough. this is more than a fanfiction !! this is pure poetry and literature. i kid you not its been days since ive read this, and i still havent stopped thinking abt it 😭😭😭 im sure in 10 or 20 or even fucking 50 years from now, i will still be thinking abt it and ill always shed a tear while doing so. because this IS that kinda fic that will STAY WITH YOU. TREAD CAREFULLY.
brontë, austen, shakespeare THEYRE ALL FUCKING SHAKING.
lovie has spent months of dedication putting this together and she deserves every fucking bit of praise and appreciation for this piece SO LETS GIVE IT TO HER YEAH !!
LATINASIAN??? WHICH PART OF ASIA N WHEREEE #seasian hehe
AHHH SEABLING !! my mom is a mix of asians (thai and chinese) but primarily cambodian !! and my dad is mexican 🙂↕️ (and white but i refuse to call myself wasian) i was also born in america so HOW MANY SLURS CAN THIS GIRL SAY 😍😍
AND HAPPY KHMER NEW YEAR COMING UP IF THERE ARE ANY FELLOW CAMBOS ♡🇰🇭
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