#smoking jiyong

[currentloser]

it's not healthy, but it's with you

kwon ji-yong x reader word count: 1533 content warning: smoking summary: ji-yong asks you to meet with him to smoke on the balcony together.

a/n: this is a shorter self indulgent smoking fic purely because i enjoy the aesthetic, for me the scent is nostalgic and romantic. if you don't enjoy it, this will not be the fic for you 🙇‍♂️

( ao3 link )

Your struggle to wake always came with a blur of colors, groaning as you tried to shy away again from the outside world. Uncaring to your discomfort, your alarm continued to signal in your ear. Groaning, you grab your phone and shut it off, letting it sit in your hand as your eyes fluttered closed again. The day didn't have to start yet, or so you wanted to tell yourself. Just as you rolled over to get comfortable again, your eye caught on a bright yellow shape on the pillow next to you.

Confused, you raise an eyebrow and grab onto the edge of it. A small sticky note adheres onto the edge of your finger and you bring it to your eye to read it, curious. ‘Care to join me for a smoke?’ It wasn't signed, but it didn't have to be when you could recognize that handwriting so easily. Of course, too- the only person in their right mind that would wake up first thing in the morning to invite you to smoke with him: Ji-yong.

Crawling out of bed, you rub the sleepiness out of your eye and stick the note onto your side table. You'd keep it as a sort of token of appreciation for later. You yawned and stretched, pulling yourself out of your loose clothing into those meant to be outdoors. You decided on a long-sleeve for the brisk weather, stepping through your already open doorway. You could only picture Ji-yong sneaking across your room, tiptoeing to leave the note to you before disappearing off to the shared balcony.

Squinting against the harsh sunlight, you step out into the breezy yet calm morning weather, “Good morning.”

Your voice comes out as a yawn, turning your gaze to the idol. He leaned back against the wall, turning his head toward the wind to direct the smoke away from you. The smell of it somehow brought you home, standing beside him as he worked off his cigarette. Half of it was still leftover, a telltale sign he'd woken up only a little while before you had. Usually he'd be up a little earlier than you, and it made you wonder if he waited for you.

“I thought I might see you,” He nodded to you, taking in a deep inhale of the smoke and blowing it out through his nostrils.

You roll your eyes at his attempt to act cool in front of you, “Yes, you invited me. Why wouldn't you see me?”

Flicking off the excess ash with his pointer finger, he reaches into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shaking it against his side before he  offered it to you. You take the box gingerly, taking out one before pushing it back into his hand. You feel at your pockets, sighing as you realize you forgot your own lighter. You felt silly, he'd invited you onto the balcony for just this.

Ji-yong perked up beside you, taking the cigarette and placing it into your mouth. Before you could question him, he tilted his head and leaned in. He shifted the cigarette in his lips to meet the unlit end of yours, keeping his gaze on the two ends placed together. As his sparked, a fire caught in your own and started to burn the end of your own.

“Smoking isn't good for you, you know,” He teased as he broke the close contact, tugging it away from his lips and blowing out a circle of smoke.

He was a damn showoff when he wanted to be. You took a breath of your own, the close contact making your hands shake. Being so close to him, even for a moment, was exhilarating. Forcing yourself to steady, you look out on the skyline of the city and sighed. The sun had risen, shining through the high rise buildings and illuminating through the clouds like a painting.

Beside you, Ji-yong took a step forward and leaned against the railing to look out to the streets below the two of you. His figure managed to look lonely and inviting all at once, and you quickly joined his side. Together, the two of you shared the silent morning filled with birdsong and the rushing of cars as the two of you smoked together. The idol pressed his elbow against yours as you finally stamped out yours, tossing it into the ashtray.

His arm curled over yours before you could step back inside, slowly traveling up your arm before meeting your hand and lacing your fingers together. He squeezed your hands together, his grip warm and his hand easily eclipsed your own. A flush rose to your cheeks, daring to glance at the man so close to your side. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice coming out much quieter than you intended.

When he liked to, his gaze managed to be intense, “I'm holding you here. It's a nice morning, let's stay here a while.”

The smell of smoke had dissipated, leaving only the scent of his cologne and his gaze keeping you in place. It felt a bit silly when you only planned to step back inside, how he held onto you more like a lifeline. He was surprisingly clingy when he wanted to be, and you allowed his grasp and pressed closer to him. You wanted to show him you wouldn't leave just yet, giving him that close contact he sought out.

“This was an excuse to get me alone, wasn't it?” You point out, squeezing his hand tightly until you could feel his rings rub against your skin.

“Was it that obvious?” He chuckled, returning the squeeze of your hands and leaning in to nuzzle against you like a cat, “Well, it worked. I like having you beside me.”

“Ji-yong,” You pout, turning your heat to look at him properly and playfully blowing at your mouthful of hair before he turned to you, “Don't tease me.”

Your foreheads pressed together, Ji-yong struggled to hold your gaze. For once he was the one to show signs of pink creeping over his face. The moment of fluttering didn't last though, as he quickly regained confidence and boldly reached out to grab the bottom of your chin and tug away. Like this the view of him was much less silly, and much more like a tease at a kiss.

“What if I'm not?” He asked, his gaze flickering from your lips to your eyes again and again, “Maybe I saw it as an opportunity to get closer.”

In the back of your mind you picture yet again the image of your cigarettes pressed together in an indirect kiss, and now. His head was tilted, grabbed onto your chin and moments away from sealing the distance. The bold behavior strongly clashed with how he'd usually act bashful, an entirely different Ji-yong. He was as confident as he acted on stage in front of you, that blending of himself and G-Dragon.

“Then you ought to do something about it,” You challenge him, daring him to give a straight answer rather than dancing around it. 

With a glint of mischief, Ji-yong grins and pulls you in, gently squeezing at your chin and pulling you in. He was warm as the sun shone on the two of you together. His kiss was soft and sweet. He reached around you, grabbing onto the back of your head and holding you in place as he kissed you. Caught in the middle of the kiss, your wide eyes finally fluttered shut as you properly returned his kiss. Instead of over flowers or at a date, he confessed in the most surprising way. Somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to be upset.

You reached up and tugged on his collar before gently pushing him away, holding onto a bundle of fabric from the front of his shirt. He sends a teasing eyebrow raise your way, and this time both of you flushed from the close contact. With a nervous sigh, you glance out toward the cityscape. Really, it took him long enough to finally admit it to you– of course you couldn't be happier than in this very moment, still a moment away from him.

“You're really romantic to have a first kiss after we shared a cigarette,” You tease him, reaching out and jabbing at his side playfully, “Take me to a date first.”

He gives a shocked, fake-offended gasp, “Wow,” He sighed with a shake of his head and a long sigh, “I suppose if I have to spoil you rotten, I'd be happy to.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at him once again. You meet his gaze though, and it's a soft look you hadn't seem many times before. It told you this moment the two of you shared was something real, a quiet promise for the future. You squeeze his shirt one last time before letting go of him and pulling away from the close hold.

“I expect you won’t keep me waiting,” You hold back a squeal of joy and stick out your tongue to tease him before you step back inside, leaving him to consider your future date on the balcony.

taglist: @petersasteria

[jedisupernova]

old school love with choi seunghyun

notes minors dni contains fem reader, non idol au, seunghyun and reader are in their early twenties, always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but anyone can read, takes place in the late 2000s (hence the mention of specific phones, references to certain media, songs linked throughout, and party culture,) awkward yet cute first meeting, this very much slice of life, slight angst (a silly misunderstanding during the meet cute, reader brings up insecurities from not being experienced), tooth rotting fluff, a few appearances from jiyong because yes!, mentions of smoking and drinking, reader is inexperienced (never been kissed, never been confessed to; seunghyun is her first love), reader has strict parents which leads to seunghyun and reader having to sneak around, seunghyun and reader are down bad, smut (over the phone, in the car, oral f receiving, dirty talk, foreplay, p in v), and some inevitable typos.

requested? no, this is an original idea! this was initially inspired by the mention of old school love in this song by zayn. i've always heard of the concept, and this is my take on it, told through vignettes of gentle young love. please request something if you'd like, and don't hesitate to check my pinned post. i love this man tenderly. please tell me you see the vision. enjoy!

new year's eve 2007. there's still three hours to midnight, and seunghyun's wondering why he chose to wear a hoodie with long sleeves underneath to a crowded house party. luckily he's got his own corner of the compact living room, standing between two friends he hitched a ride with there—his third being the host—so he aptly distracted himself from how hot it was with their banter as best he could, laughing into his red solo cup before taking a swig of whatever concoction his friend mixed for him in the kitchen earlier tonight. he hid his soured expression over the taste well, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. seunghyun remembers asking for a rum and coke, and he can definitely taste the latter ... but he'd know his enemy smirnoff anywhere ... it was way too stuffy to move, so he humbly took the loss.

"there you fuckin' are!" seunghyun looked up to see jiyong, the one hosting who already looked as if the night had taken its toll. "holy shit, man. i've been looking everywhere for you guys!" seunghyun had to squint to hear him over the loud music. the fact there wasn't much lighting besides a few lamps and multi-colored rotating disco party lights didn't help either. "c'mon. she just got here—in the kitchen." jiyong motioned his head to the left, the trio following him into the crowd. the kitchen was much more well lit and slightly less congested, but seunghyun nonetheless had to put his weight against the fridge to grant enough room to stand comfortably. he offered a polite grin and wave to the friend group mainly comprised of women his age in front of him, the one in the middle introduced as jiyong's girlfriend. you were closest to the counter, the left of everyone, cracking open a hard seltzer you picked from the cooler stationed beside the sink. you grimaced after taking a sip, bringing the can to your eyes to see the flavor that wronged you: lime. "christ, that's horrible." you shook your head, expression soured.

seunghyun didn't overhear, because he was too busy looking over his shoulder in amazement upon hearing one of his suggestions for the party mixtape blare throughout the house. reverting his attention back with a smug grin on his face, his eyes fluttered past you tugging at the collar of your sweater, pulling at it repeatedly for what looked to be air flow. seunghyun wondered if the party felt like an oven to you, too, and if you overdressed like him, because he started fanning himself without realizing.

an hour later, he couldn't take it anymore. "be right back, i'm going out for a smoke." he told a friend sat beside him on the couch. he could not have cared less that it was below freezing outside, or that the leftovers from the snow storm three weeks ago had probably frozen over into patches of black ice littering the deck—he needed to cool off. he closed the sliding door with a relieved huff, the party now muffled. the feet of his sneakers crunched against the snow, hands pushing his hood off his head, fingers brushing through his sweaty hair. "holy shit." he muttered to himself, pulling his sleeves up to his elbows. seunghyun could see his breath when he exhaled, and goosebumps rose along his bare arms, but as far as he was concerned, he would stay out here to ring in the new year if it meant he wouldn't have to suffer a heatstroke inside. he walked to a spot behind the wooden railing framing the entirety of the deck, his hand reaching into his pocket for his marlboros. he took out a cigarette, hanging it between his lips, searching for his lighter next. it was then he looked up and saw you standing at your own spot along the railing some feet away, having looked over your shoulder to see who else had come outside.

it was too late to ignore, or act like you didn't see each other, so he did the favor of making things less awkward. or trying to, as any twenty-something year old hopes: seunghyun took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. "hi," he spoke uncharacteristically quietly. "you're—" thank the universe he remembered her name, because the irrational nerves over making conversation were mounting quickly. "—friend, right?" you nodded. "you're jiyong's?" you asked. he smiled, nodding too. "i'm seunghyun. we met earlier, in the kitchen?" his tone asked if you remembered, his hand gesturing to the sliding door. "yes!" you responded a bit more enthusiastically than you intended to in your head, internally cringing. "i remember, i remember." you said, nodding. you didn't know what else to do. seunghyun must've felt the same, because he nodded at nothing.

you looked away from him, feeling flustered. he mimicked, hands balled up in his pockets. "you—" he cleared his throat. "you liking the party?" "hm?" you didn't expect him to continue the conversation. "yeah!" here you went again, sounding animated to the point that even he, a complete stranger, could tell you were over-compensating. "i mean," you let out a breath, shrugging your shoulders. "its okay. i don't really go to parties often, so i guess i could say i misjudged how hot it'd be to show up in a sweater with a thermal underneath." seunghyun exhaled through his nose, an upside down grin tugging at his lips. "i know." he agreed. "hot as shit in there, bro." you chuckled. "hot as shit indeed."

silence brewed. seunghyun didn't turn away, so you took it as your turn to fill the air. you pulled out the only card you had (bringing up a mutual friend,) even if he'd done so already: "how long have you—" the sudden dryness of your throat was certainly a sign from the universe to shut up, but it was too late to cut yourself off completely. you swallowed, continuing: "how long have you known jiyong?" "since we were kids. middle school, i think." seunghyun doesn't know why he implied he didn't know, because he certainly did. he also wondered why he nodded, again, at nothing. who boldfaced lied when they said your preteen years were the most awkward? because he wanted to curl into a ball right the fuck now. he was usually fine at making small talk, what was the difference now? why couldn't he stop nodding?? "how about you?" oh, great. now his voice was a noticeable octave higher, clearing his throat.

you knew what he meant. "we met each other our freshman year. she was in my first year seminar, and we kind of just clicked." "you go to school around here?" "mhm," you nodded. "the university that everyone we know goes to, it feels like." you quipped, making that upside down grin appear on his face again. "how about you?" "the community college that no one goes to." he answered, voice back to normal. "but i'm in the middle of transferring there, funnily enough." then ushered in another characteristically young adult conversation: your studies. it was standard and harmless. even so, you came across a different reason to break a sweat despite the bitter cold beginning to numb your cheeks, or the sharp, quick breaths through your periodically chattering teeth. seunghyun took a step closer to you in the midst telling an anecdote about the last exam he had before the holiday break, inadvertently putting himself in your direct line of view. you realized not only oh, wow. he's pretty tall, to yourself, lifting your head a little to look at him, but also oh, wow. he's pretty cute, when your eyes met. or when he continued looking at you, because he finished saying his piece some seconds ago, yet you hadn't said anything. the fleeting silence only made you become more flustered, really coming to terms with just how fine he is; all clashing with how you have no idea how to talk to someone this attractive.

"yeah, that sounds fucked up." you attempted to mask the fact that you did not process a word of what he just said with a chuckle, gaze lowering momentarily to your hands, tugging at your sleeves to shield them from the cold, or just to do something. the words felt foreign in your mouth—your inner monologue making you feel like you were trying too hard—though you weren't allergic to profanity whatsoever. seunghyun smirked to himself, his own gaze falling to the snowy deck, until you spoke: "i had, like, three exams all in one day—the day before break." you said, glancing up at him before chickening out, reverting back to your hands which were completely engulfed by your knit sweater. your thumb poked out of the sleeve, nail picking at a fraying thread. "i guess i'm still feeling the repercussions of it." the volume of your voice dwindled somewhat coupled your shy grin, your shoulders shrugging, looking up at him. even through his chuckle with a smile making the corners of his eyes kiss, or his affirming "its brutal. i get that.," you mentally berated yourself: holy shit, is that the best i can do? just continue talking about school? get yourself together!

the next bout of silence lasted for at most ten seconds, but with how you were scrambling, it felt like years; working against an invisible timer. unbeknownst to him, this was seunghyun's turn to look at you. the only word coming to mind was sweet. he was smart enough to put two-and-two together as to why you were, admittedly, visibly nervous as he's had a girlfriend before. he wasn't the type to use that to inflate his ego, but found it charming nonetheless. seeing the curvature of your cheeks when you looked down made his heart soften—his lips molding into that damn knowing grin—and it could've very well been the minute gust of wind, but the glint in your eyes when you looked at him, nodding politely ... he was a little taken aback. you were devastatingly adorable.

your eye caught the cigarette in his hand. "you smoke?" you blurted out without an iota of a thought, so quick that your tone was almost bland—a moment where the subconscious beat rationale. oh my god. you momentarily closed your eyes, shocked at yourself. are you kidding me? seunghyun held in a laugh, trying his best to wipe his smile off his face when you opened your eyes. you mistook it as a sign of second-hand embarrassment. "oh my god. i'm so sorry, i don't know why i said—" "—it's okay, you're good." seunghyun shook his head as further affirmation, waving his free hand. he had completely forgotten he was still holding the cigarette, anyway. "but, yeah. i do. sometimes." his face started to feel warm. not because he felt shamed, or belittled, or judged, but because he caught sight of your eyes again. he could've sworn they'd grown in the last fifteen seconds. "d—do you?" he suddenly became very aware of how deep his voice is. "my voice has always sounded like this." he explained, gesturing to his throat. he knew he was being irrational, but like you before, it was too late to cut himself off. "i'm not like—uh—dying, or anything." he brushed off with an animated chuckle.

you felt like the worst person in the world. the nervous smile on your face didn't move a millimeter. "i don't." you shook your head. "and it's okay! i didn't mean to—i like your voice." your eyes widened. seunghyun raised his eyebrows. "you do?" he couldn't hide his smile. he returned the boldness, even if yours was a slip of the mouth. "i like your face." he meant it. there isn't a timeline out there where that wouldn't be the truth. your surprised expression made him exhale through his nose, an admiring grin on his face. oh, he wanted you. flashes ran through his head: squishing what looked to be the softest cheeks in the world between his palms, pulling you close to his chest to help you warm up; pressing his cheek against yours as a makeshift heater since you've truly made him that flustered, and how you'd react upon him calling you "my girl." sure, he was moving a little quickly, considering he's just realized he never asked for your name, but that's what just crushes do. seunghyun could not help the dream-like state he entered, placing his hand on the railing, the unlit cigarette slipping from his fingers, lost in the grass below. you, on the other hand, were speechless. never before have you ever been flirted with—this was flirting, right? like, you weren't misreading anything, or making shit up? "you ... you do?"

before seunghyun could answer, the sliding door opened, the ruckus of the party no longer blocked out. "seunghyun!" it was jiyong. "it's thirty minutes 'til the ball drop. i need help setting up the champagne." jiyong saw you, nearly cowering at seunghyun's scathing look reading are you fucking serious? "m-my bad, you guys." jiyong laughed awkwardly, putting a hand up in surrender. "seunghyun, just come in whenever." the door closed, leaving you two alone again. you were sheepish out of your goddamn mind, unable to look at seunghyun, content with the fact that your eyes may just stay on the deck forever. "i meant it, by the way." you looked up. "hm?" "i like your face." seunghyun repeated. your full smile that appeared ... his knees might have buckled. "oh," a giggle left your lips. yeah, he was a goner. "thank you. i ... i like your face, too." your voice was gentle. it felt indescribable, flirting back. you weren't sure if you were doing it right, considering you were suddenly really interested in the shape of your pointer finger's nail bed right about now, thwarting this fire-pit of feelings in your chest ... to be desired, chatted up, or pursued like this ... by a fine ass man nonetheless ... after being sidelined for your whole life, watching your friends experience something you wanted so badly too. oh my goodness—maybe your friends weren't just trying to make you feel better when they told you ad nauseam that it comes when you least expect it. because out of everything, and you mean everything you expected to happen tonight, this wasn't even in the realm of the realm of the utmost realm of possibilities.

you warded off wanting to hold his hand by interlacing your fingers together. seunghyun couldn't stop the stupidly big smile stretching across his face if he tried. "cool," he said, nodding. "that's .... that's cool." his hand came up, scratching the back of his neck. "listen, i .. uh—" he gestured to the door. "i gotta go back inside and help jiyong with the—with the champagne. could i get your number? i'll call you tomorrow, if that's okay with you." "yes!" your heart stammered over how he smiled so big his eyes smiled with him. seunghyun gave you his nokia flip phone, letting you type your number in. "call yourself so you can have my number, too." said seunghyun, pulling his sleeves back down. you did so, satisfied hearing your phone ring, pulling it out of your pocket to end the call. "i never got your name." he said, putting his phone back into his pocket. when you told him, he didn't stop his inner monologue from adding his surname. call it a random impulsive thought or whatever, but he was being serious. "i'll see you inside?" he asked, halfway through walking to the door. "mhm!" you responded. "see you inside." seunghyun smiled, disappearing back into the party. you missed his fine ass already . . .

so there you were, the next evening, repeatedly glancing at your phone. you felt fine for a majority of the day; sleeping in after coming home late the night previous, treating your hovering hangover with plentiful amounts of water and falling asleep yet again, but within the first hour of fellowship of the ring (it was your first time in recent years defying your self-made new year's tradition), and hurriedly bringing your phone within eyesight if it did so much as beep. you wondered if seunghyun would actually call . . . it all seemed too good to be true . . . and you hoped that he'd just magically show up, looking over your shoulder and out the living room window for his car (did he even have one?) and walk up to your door (he hasn't the faintest clue where you live) with a bouquet of roses (he doesn't know they're your favorites. well, at least not yet) to profess his undying love to you (working on that too. the to do list is in your head). so when your phone rang after dinner, your hair still very much wet from your shower; the towel having just been thrown behind your desk chair, you momentarily froze. you grabbed your phone from your desk, confused by the unknown number. but then you recognized the area code as your own, realising that in the midst of your yearning, you completely forgot to save his number.

you pressed the answer button, bringing your phone to your ear. "hello?" "hey!" my goodness, it wasn't too good to be true. "happy new year! i wasn't able to find you after the ball dropped. so, yeah. here's me wishing you." he descended into a short, slightly nervous chuckle. he was looking for me!? oh my god!? "happy new year," you said back, closing your bedroom door. "you were looking for me? i left at around two, i think. how about you?" "five, maybe." seunghyun dodged the other question, his face already feeling warm not even a full minute in. "jiyong needed help cleaning up, and kicking people out." "five!?" you exclaimed, sitting on the edge of your bed. "and here i was, fighting sleep all day, whereas you sound unscathed." seunghyun laughed heartily. "i slept in until, like, two today. so i wouldn't say i was completely unaffected." "that's fair." you nodded, despite him not being able to see.

"how about you, hm?" he asked, voice smooth and low, even over the grainy audio. "did you sleep good?" "i did. better than usual." seunghyun smirked, fingers toying with the drawstring cords of his sweatpants. "how about you?" he heard your sweet voice ask. "i slept good, too. knowing i'd be talking to you the next day." you hid your eyes behind your palm, elbow resting atop your thigh. how you were able to get words out, you had no idea. "seunghyun," he could hear that on a loop for the rest of his life and he would die a happy man. "you can't just say shit like that." "why not?" the gentle, yet teasing lilt to his words made you feel dizzy. it was as if the universe finally aligned in your favor. what he would do to see the look on your face right now . . . "what? have you never been flirted with, or something?" he quipped playfully without much thought. "i haven't, no." you answered truthfully. "but you still can't say shit like that, seunghyun. i need a warning or something. it's like my mind stops working." you chuckled, pressing your phone to your ear like its the last thing you'll ever do.

seunghyun's eyebrows flinched in and out of a furrow. "no one's ever flirted with you? what do you mean?" the question aired out before thinking. the realised insensitivity of his words coupled with the unintended belittling tone made him backtrack almost immediately: "that was low of me to say. i'm sorry, that's my bad completely." he shook his head completely. "it's okay!" you shook your head, too. "you didn't know. it's fine." you took a breath. "but if we're being honest . . . no. i've never done anything like that before. i'm more used to seeing it happen to other people than experiencing it, if that makes sense." "it does." seunghyun was quick to affirm, nodding whilst he listening to your words carefully. "yeah," your palm slid up and down your thigh, subconsciously trying to self-sooth. "so . . . last night, when we were talking . . . i thought you were making fun of me. or pulling my leg. but then i realised my brain just wasn't letting me accept that . . . oh, this guy might think i'm cute, too." "i do. i do think that." seunghyun sat up in his bed, determined. "i would never do that. i'm not that type of guy. i don't know who you've met, or made you feel like this, but know i'm not like that."

there was a brief moment of silence from your end of the call. "are you sure you're not just saying that to me to be nice?" "of course not." he said sincerely, tone soft. "of course i'm not saying it to be nice. i mean it. i'll be honest, when i met you last night, you have some of the most kissable cheeks i've ever fucking seen." he pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross. this was serious to him. "how about when you casually mentioned you won an award for a policy paper you wrote about education? i didn't know i'd be at the same party as the future president." "oh my god!" you laughed, face feeling as if it was ablaze. "you're crazy." "look, people have decided to miss out on you, but i won't. are you free on friday? no—scratch that, we're on break until next week. are you free tomorrow?"

for the first time in your life, you didn't feel the need to convince yourself you were worthy of romance, because the universe rooted for you, too. "i am. all day." you said. "i'll take you to dinner. do you want to see a movie?" "i like them, yeah. but . . . i mean, i was watching fellowship of the ring earlier today." just say it. he's right there, on the other side of the line. just say it. ". . . but, i like talking to you. i'd—" you cleared your throat. "i'd rather do that then wait two hours to—uh—do so, if that makes sense." your palm started soothing your thigh again. seunghyun had the stupidest smile on his face. he refrained from hiding his head underneath his pillow. "but we can watch a movie! next time! if that's . . . if that's what you want!" your eyes closed in defeat, hiding your face from no one. "oh god, i'm digging myself into a hole here. i have no idea how to do this." "you're doing really well." said seunghyun. "enough to make my face feel like i have the highest fever ever." "you too." you responded sheepishly. "we'll finish fellowship of the ring on our second date. it's my favorite after return of the king, anyway." you hit the jackpot. "okay," you responded, how fucking sweet you sounded made his heart palpitate. "sounds good, seunghyun. i can't wait."

three months later, you beginning to feel those love songs you've heard all your life were onto something. something you come to terms with would pass you by as a way to cope—but here he was now, bending down onto his knee in the middle of a busy bookstore to tie your shoelace; buying the cds of your favorite artists that you mention either intentionally or off-the-cuff, downloading them to his ipod to listen in between lectures, doing coursework, or storing them into his cd wallet in the center console of his car to listen on his way to pick you up; or spending a lot of his time kissing those precious cheeks ("you're so sweet, you know that? so pretty, too." "seunghyun . . ." "see, that's what i mean.") he's a very smooth talker, doting, and affectionate. primarily because he cannot get enough of the look on your face whenever he makes a move, but also because you breath more life into him when he does so. to seunghyun's fault, however, he can get a little ahead of himself, and forget how shy you can be. so when the tension had been brewing throughout the entirety of your third date, you two sat in bashful silence in his car, him parked some feet away from your house. the music had since been lowered; one of the many cds he's bought since you started dating. seunghyun leaned over the center console towards you, only to retract somewhat when he heard a small gasp. "i'm sorry," he said. "did i—was that too quick?" "no, no. it's okay." you nodded in reassurance. "i just . . . i've just never kissed anyone before. sorry, i know that probably sounds really annoying by now." your hands were in your lap, thumb running over your knuckles to thwart the warmth traveling up your neck.

seunghyun shook his head. "its not. i told you its not." he said sincerely. its true, he has told you that it is and will never be a problem. how he giggles over the phone and presses kisses onto the back of your hand whenever he holds it serves as testament, but that voice in your head can be a bit louder. "i want to." you tell him, eyes meeting with his. seunghyun looked so fine it was almost offensive; his grown out black hair and choppy bangs messily framing his face albeit with effortless charm. he's told you he thinks it makes him look weird, hence how often he wears beanies and puts his hood up, but the moment you muttered "i think it makes you look really handsome," over the phone two nights ago, he showed up tonight letting it breath no problem. "but i don't know how." you told him, shaking your head. "its okay, baby," seunghyun reassured tenderly. it was the first time he called you that pet name, but he didn't think twice as it felt akin to natural instinct to call you that. you, on the other hand, were struggling to keep it together in the passenger's seat. i only have so much strength as a woman . . . you thought to yourself.

"we'll take it slow. just close your eyes and take a breath for me, okay? the rest'll come naturally. i promise." "okay." you nodded, trusting him. seunghyun leaned in again. you saw his eyes glance at your lips before returning to yours, your lids darkening your vision only when his nose brushed against yours. his lips were soft and wet as he had licked them before kissing you. yours were so fucking warm against seunghyun's, making him want to kiss you all the more harder, but he steadied himself, reconnecting gently. the side of his nose nestled against yours. "how was that?" he whispered. the cd had finished playing, so the car was quiet besides you and him. "good." you whispered back. "how did i . . . how did i do?" "good," he nodded, glancing at your lips again. "just . . . try kissing me back. don't think about it," your felt his hair tickle your forehead as he shook his head. "i know you'll be good."

to his delight, you were the one that closed the small gap between you. the kiss was so soft, almost nurturing; all the more intoxicating. you reconnected the kiss, pressing your lips onto his in a way that made his arms feel like tv static. "a little softer." he murmured, half-talking to you, but more-so to himself to come down. seunghyun went to kiss you again, but his lips landed on the corner of your opened mouth. "i-i'm sorry." "no, no. it's okay, baby," he tutted softly. christ, that fucking voice of his was going to end you one day. "come here. come here, baby." he got your lips back on his, but you broke it again, obscenely flustered. your heartbeat was in your temples, your palms sweaty in your lap. "seunghyun," you pleaded in that voice he would go to fucking war for. "you can't just call me that." "i can, and i will." he said. "now, come here, baby."

his hand reached over, holding both of yours beneath his palm. you brought a hand up to his jaw when he kissed you, feeling him hum against your lips in encouragement. seunghyun tilted his head a little to the left, deepening the kiss but not by too much, monitoring your reaction. his muscles relaxed upon feeling your exhale through your nose brush along his cheeks. the kiss ceased after a few moments by you once again, only this time to catch your breath. he rested his forehead against yours, breathless himself. "you're really good at this." he said, heartbeat stuttering when he heard your quiet "thank you." seunghyun blurted out this next question without much thought or reason, since he imagined the moment where he asked this to be more romantic, but he simply could not hold himself back: "can i—can i be your boyfriend?"

"yes, yes you can." you responded. both of your hands now held either side of his face, feeling his hand squeeze your thigh a little. "you can be my boyfriend, seunghyun." a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "i'll—i'll get you flowers and card, and ask you more properly next time." "its okay, its fine." you nodded against his forehead. your thumb traced his bottom lip, "just kiss me right now. i—i need—" you did not need to tell him twice. seunghyun reunited your lips, hand gripping your thigh when your fingers slipped into his hair.

even though you were well over the appropriate age to start dating, you just knew your parents would freak out if they knew you were running around with a boy. you didn't even think to employ the thought; it just wasn't an option. it would be something about distracting yourself from your studies (your grades were nowhere near subpar), or moving too quickly (hey! you're in college, by the way), or being subject to the ongoing mass, unreasonable hysteria over teen pregnancy perpetuated by national news editorials and shitty reality shows, making parents believe by standing near the opposite sex their daughters will somehow be with child (again, you're in your twenties and in college, and its also not your fault parents around the country treat mtv like its the second coming of the satanic panic of the eighties)—so you saved yourself the trouble. seunghyun understood wholeheartedly and took no issue with it, but that doesn't mean he didn't dare go against the grain.

a week before your two month anniversary, your ringtone rang, slightly muffled atop your duvet. you got up from your desk chair, leaving your coursework behind and walked to your bed, clicking the green call button. "hi seunghyun," your voice was soft. "everything okay?" "hey baby," he said. "i'm good, i'm good." he stuffed his free hand into the pocket of his puffer jacket, shivering. "how was your day, hm? i missed you." "fine," you answered, keeping your phone to your ear by raising your shoulder, flipping your textbook to the next chapter you needed to read to complete an assignment. "just a lot of work to do. you know how sundays are. i missed you, too." "i know, baby." his hand left his pocket, using the side of his thumb to wipe his nose. "you know, i'm happy to hear that you missed me, because i'm outside." you raised your head, alarmed, eyebrows knit in confusion. "what do you mean you're outside?" "i mean that i'm outside." "outside where?" "your window." his laugh was masked with a cough. "shit—it's really cold out here, baby." he muttered, looking around at the street lamps, his car parked some distance away. your room was on the lower floor of your family's home; the window on the side of the house and had some height to it, but not enough to ward off seunghyun's idea. so here he was, acting on it.

you hurriedly closed your bedroom door. "are you crazy!?" you whispered. "it's freezing outside! how long have you been out there?" "about ten minutes," seunghyun's tone was calm, as if it was just another day. "there isn't that much distance between your house and the street, but it took a while because i had to avoid the frozen over snow." "you're insane." you muttered. he smiled even wider. "let me see you, baby. c'mon. i miss you." you hung up the call. seunghyun watched the window before him, his upside down grin showing proudly when the curtains opened, revealing you. the snow crunched crisply underneath his feet, walking up when you unlocked and opened the window. "you're utterly insane," you said, resting your elbows on the windowsill, hearing him laugh. "its almost midnight. we both have class early tomorrow, and my parents could wake up at any moment!" you voice descended into a loud whisper. seunghyun waved his hand dismissively. "what did i tell you the other night? i'll drive you. you don't need to take the bus anymore." he spoke quietly, understanding the circumstance, even if he enjoyed teasing you. "you know what else you did the other night that you could've done now? call me." you retorted, but it was really hard to act upset. "you don't like my gesture?" he asked, not hiding his knowing smirk. "i'm saying you saw me two days ago, and you're seeing me every day before our anniversary." "i'd see you every hour in between, if i could."

you didn't have anything smart to say, so you succumbed to your flustered state. seunghyun, looking so princely in his puffer jacket with no beanie in sight, the distant cast of your nightside table lamp weakly illuminating his slightly reddened cheeks from the bitter cold, stepped closer. "give me a kiss and i'll go, baby. just needed to see you." your knees nestled onto the carpeted floors, your torso leaning out the window. seunghyun grabbed onto the ledge, hoisting himself onto the tips of his toes. it was enough for his head to be leveled with your bedroom, but not for long as his eyes fluttered closed to the feeling of your palms holding his face, bringing your lips to his in a tender, sweet kiss. his chin brushed against the ledge, tightening his grip when he re-connected the kiss, feeling his mouth thaw from the cold and ignoring how his under arms were beginning to burn. "can't last twelve hours without you." he murmured against your lips. "learn to." you whispered, kissing him back. "don't wanna." seunghyun took a quick breath when you kissed him one last time, the soft squeak of your lips parting making him feel light-headed.

he watched you in a daze when you returned to resting your elbows against the windowsill; you were as beautiful as a deity, so effortless with your allure. a content smile appeared on his face, eyes twinkling. "thank you, baby." his voice was smooth, turning his head to kiss your palm upon your fingers fixing his hair. he slowly let go of the ledge, paying no mind to how his palms ached. he glanced below him, "i'm sure if i bring a step stool big enough, it'll be no problem next time—" "—next time?" seunghyun looked up. "what? you don't want there to be a next time?" he asked, that goddamn teasing lilt in his voice. "i . . . i do." you spoke so sweetly, he thought he could muster the strength to jump inside. "but at least tell me ahead of time so you won't freeze to near fucking death."

seunghyun kept his word, because the night after your anniversary, he was back outside your window equipped with a step stool. thus began your very risky sneaking around: his arrival at your window at around 10 pm (or thirty minutes later if you went on a date, giving you enough time to return home without suspicion over where you've been, shower, and get ready for bed; either way, he was waiting for your signal of opening the curtains), speed walking to your window after locking his car, step stool in the other hand, climbing into your room after you opened your window, and settling beside you in bed. you spoke in the quietest of whispers, giggled into each other's shoulders, and shared delicate kisses. other times, you brought out your portable dvd player, snuggling into his chest whilst his arms wrapped around you. "my baby. my beautiful girl." he murmured into your supple skin before planting kisses on your forehead, laying his head atop yours. you two read the subtitles in peaceful silence—not daring to raise the volume—either fighting sleep or keeping awake with each other's lips.

he usually left at around one, but one night on the cusp of four months together, both of you fell asleep. you stirred awake, feeling the dvd player lodged uncomfortably underneath your thigh, gradually turning onto your side. seunghyun was in sound slumber, breaths coming in quiet, but curt whistles. your room wasn't completely dark, squinting at the lamp you forgot to turn off next to your bedside digital clock. you jolted awake upon seeing the time: 4:17 AM. "oh my god—" you murmured to yourself, yanking the duvet off of you and getting up in a panic. you turned to seunghyun's sleeping state in utmost dread, remembering he's a deep sleeper, and its a battle to wake him up. "fuck!" you whispered. you tried to think of something, lifting to the duvet further, spotting his ipod and wired headphones. you grabbed it, seeing it there was still half charge. you turned seunghyun's head upright, lodging the headphones in his ears. you scrolled through his library briefly, turning the dial to amp up the volume. "i'm sorry." you whispered apologetically, clicking play.

he stirred awake, sitting up on his elbows, headphones falling out of his ears. "whhaa—" "seunghyun? seunghyun, baby? its four in the morning." you whispered. he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "its four am?" he mumbled, voice riddled with slumber, sounding lower than usual. "yes, baby," you whispered, the bed dipping next to him as you sat. "we fell asleep. i—i don't think my parents came in. but you have to go home." "i know. i know, baby." seunghyun mumbled, pushing the duvet off his jeans. "just—just give me a moment." "thank you." your hand lay on his cheek, bringing the closer one to your lips. seunghyun puckered his lips, still lost in his lingering sleep, humming lowly in satisfaction when he felt your chaste kiss. he climbed out of bed, leaving his ipod behind, stuffing his feet into his shoes by the window. you unlocked it, hearing him yawn, his palm covering his mouth. "i'll come back at ten." he told you, more awake than before. "okay." you spoke softly, entering his usual embrace, your arms wrapping around one another. "i'll see you then. call me when you get home." "i will, my beautiful girl." his breath was hot against your temple—your height only barely reaching his shoulder—pressing a kiss onto your skin before you lifted your head, bringing your lips to his. his thumb kept your chin in place, kissing you back. "i love you, baby." "i love you too, seunghyunie." with that, he climbed out of your window. he grabbed the step stool, walking to his car. the sunrise peered over your neighborhood, only to be shunned out with the closing of your window and drapes. it wasn't until you tucked the dvd player and his ipod away in your nightside drawer did you realize . . . wait . . . we just said i love you.

weekends are typically reserved for dates which largely consist of getting coffee, taking the train into the city to visit museums (and seunghyun nudging his forehead into your temple shyly whenever you lock your arm with his), or passing time walking throughout the mall; looking through various shops and boutiques with your hand in his (and him keeping his gaze on the kay jewelers for a little longer than he intended), sitting next to you as opposed to across during dinner, and ending the night by making out in the backseat of his car. your hand on his cheek, his on your thigh; tongues in fair play. you broke the kiss to look at the small analog clock on his dashboard, biting your bottom lip when his lips found their usual spot on your neck, barely hiding your whimper. "fuck." he muttered, moving to the other side of your neck. his hands rested on either of your hips, humming in content upon feeling your fingers find his hair. "s-seunghyun," you fought to keep your eyes open. "it's 11:10. i have to go inside." "your parents can wait five more minutes." he said. the feeling of his voice vibrating against your skin made your eyes roll back, thighs rubbing together. a small gasp reverberated through the car when seunghyun started running his tongue repeatedly over a spot of your warm skin, sucking and popping off of it. "i really have to go inside—" "—at least let me finish this, baby. the last one healed too quickly." "o-okay," you let out a shaky breath, holding the back of his head, letting your eyes flutter closed. "don't make it too big." "i won't."

sundays were spent at the university library. you two are in your own worlds, sharing a spacious table with various pieces of coursework, required readings, and notebooks sprawled out in a way that only makes sense to your respective minds—seunghyun with his hood up, wired headphones in and reading glasses on. your pen cap between your teeth whilst you read the third of five passages for an upcoming essay you had due; back and forth between taking notes and highlighting lines. you didn't study together much during the week since your lectures did not align most days. but on the mornings where it did, neither of you having classes until the afternoon, seunghyun came over no matter the time he slept or if he was there the night previous, but neither of you studied. he meant it when he said he would spend every hour with you if he could, because he wakes up early just to be with you. it doesn't matter if its to fall right back asleep in your bed after your parents left for work at nine, he was there.

his personal favorites were early saturday afternoons (bonus points if you were going to a party later that night): him laying on top of you, his temple against your chest, taking a nap. he would fall asleep to the sound of you turning the pages of your book, coupled with the steady rise and fall of your chest. by the sound of his quiet snores, you started to feel sleepy by proxy. you would give in after nearly dropping the paperback book on his head, putting it aside on your bedside table. your hand reached down your side for his hand, fishing it out of the warm duvet to set an hour timer on his watch. you brought the pads of his fingers to your lips, kissing them softly before nestling in for your own nap, holding your baby close to you.

you loved and trusted each other to the point of peaceful co-existence. you and seunghyun were alone in the house one saturday evening; him in your room, you in the bathroom down the hall. you were going to a mutual friend's party to dually celebrate both her birthday and the end of finals week that night. your bedroom door was wide open, seunghyun overhearing the rustling of your makeup bag as his eyes looked through your shelf of cds. songs in a minor, alicia keys .... everyone else is doing it, so why can't we?, the cranberries .... b'day, beyoncé .... parachutes, coldplay .... his copy of pink floyd's dark side of the moon that he lent you a couple weeks ago .... grace, jeff buckley .... until he came across the miseducation of lauryn hill towards the front of the shelf, carefully pulling it out and opening the case. he placed the cd in your player on the shelf below, closing the lid and pressing play. he skipped to track 4, lowering the volume to have it blend seamlessly into the background, feeling content.

"seunghyun?" "yeah, baby?" he called back. he turned around, seeing you at the doorway, holding two eyeliner pencils in your hand. "which one: black or dark brown?" he walked over, taking the pencils from your hands, looking them over his palm. "hm. . ." he pondered with genuine thought. "this one is metallic," you pointed to the dark brown liner. "so it has a little shine to it." "i remember," seunghyun nodded. "you wore this one when we went for brunch a couple weeks ago. it looked really pretty." "thank you." you said quietly, glancing down at the carpet. you still felt flustered receiving his compliments, even nearly half a year into your relationship. "so the brown liner, then?" "mhm." "okay. thank you, my love." your hands reached up to his face, bringing him in for a quick kiss. "anything for you, my beautiful girl." said seunghyun, placing purposeful kisses onto your temple and cheek.

you took the liners from him, your sweet laughter ringing in his ears as his arms made residence around your waist, pulling you close to him. your arms took in his shoulders, giggling at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing a part of your exposed shoulder from the loose collar of your shirt. "my beautiful, beautiful girl." he murmured into your soft skin, kissing your lips once more. you loved how clingy he could be . . . though he would look like a deer in headlights, melting into a puddle of his own pride if it was pointed out. he loved being called seunghyunie. better yet, add "my" in front of that, and he'll have to take laps around the room. he's buried his head into your neck on many nights he snuck over, or even in his own bed, hiding his bashful state with incoherent mutterings of anything from "i'm going to go into heart failure early in my life" to "you make me lose all reason, and i love it."

you kissed him back, feeling his tongue collide with yours. seunghyun went in again, but you parted your lips, turning your head as a smile stretched across your face, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. "you're my big baby." you said sweetly, looking up at him. "my big, tall baby, seunghyunie. how's that, hm?" you erupted into a fit of giggles when seunghyun's forehead fell against your temple—a tell-tale sign that you hit the right bashful nerve—that, as far as seunghyun was concerned, sounded a whole lot like wedding bells. "baby . . ." he elongated his last syllable, voice so low it took a moment to understand. "see? you're already living up to the name." you said. your arms slid off the back of his shoulders, hands resting atop them as best they could whilst you held the liners, briefly standing on your toes to kiss his lips. "i have to go get ready." seunghyun's arms left your waist, resting on your hips. "i like the nickname." he admitted in a murmur. "i know." you nodded. "and i love you, too." "i love you so much." seunghyun couldn't help himself, lips peppering kisses onto the supple skin of your cheek, planting a final one on your lips.

one thing about seunghyun is he loves parties, but none more than being able to show you off. so when he's sat on one of the stools lining the host's kitchen island, you stood between his legs, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his are tenderly around your waist; hands traveling your lower back—he feels like the hottest shit because he's got the hottest fucking girl. he will unabashedly pepper sweet kisses onto your neck and cheek if you're talking to somebody, or press his cheek against yours as you people watch together from your spot in the kitchen; giggling amongst yourselves in a way that would make even a pessimist's heart begin to thaw. it tugs at his heartstrings even more-so when you find him later in the night after catching up with your friends, a little tipsy with your red solo cup in hand, making residence on his thigh. seunghyun carefully took the cup out of your hand after the drink sloshed around in the midst of your abrupt movement, setting it on the coffee table before his hands dotingly rubbed the side of your thigh, looking up at the love of his life. he's long past the point of caring when his friends are around seeing you squish his cheeks together, kissing the pout that forms on his lips with an extra loud "muah!" that can be heard in the few seconds between songs. he's actually the one pulling you into the small crowd of people dancing in the living room, swaying together to the music.

to seunghyun, he might have looked awkward dancing—but to anyone else who caught a glimpse either from squeezing their way through the crowd to get to the other side of the room, or if they just looked up: you and seunghyun looked smooth; complementary; on the same wavelength. it was one of those moments they would recall to your mini-me twenty years down the line, opening the anecdote with "i remember when your parents . . ." he brought his forehead to yours—earning him the flustered laugh he could get drunk on—bringing his lips to yours when you pulled him in by the rims of his beanie. you turned around afterward, pressing your ass against him, starting to dance again. seunghyun got the message. he followed your movements, arm wrapping around the front of your waist, leaning down to kiss your cheek upon feeling your hand reach back for his hair.

seunghyun played a large hand in improving your confidence, especially when it came to intimacy of any kind. you've come a long way from your posture stiffening when he put his arm around you in the movie theater; your ghost of a returned grip when he held your hand; or backing out mid-makeout on his couch because your face felt so hot, the movie paused and long-forgotten about, the dvd logo bouncing from one side of the tv to the other ("i-i'm sorry—" "—it's okay. come back here, you were doing so good.") it wasn't as if you were a brand new person, but he nurtured a different side of you to come out; honored he was the one deemed worthy enough to witness it. he fucking loved it when you were stood in your own corner at a party, feeling dizzy whenever yours hands traveled underneath the hem of his shirt and around his waist . . . holy fuck . . . and the way you kissed him afterward, so soft and slow, deliberate . . . you might as well make him a father right there.

the tension brewed over time. you may be learning things as you go, but you would be remised to not pick up on seunghyun's not-so-subtle ways. every time he readjusted his position in your bed, arms holding you, you felt his hand traveled just a little lower down your hip. his lips kissed your cheek before returning his attention to space documentary he picked up from blockbuster before sneaking over, reading the captions on the portable dvd player propped up atop the duvet. he thought he was being slick. but when the documentary inevitably ended, and you inevitably pulled him into your lips to make him stay longer, his hand slipped underneath, squeezing your right globe. he'll never forget your sharp inhale, or how hard you kissed him in return.

or when you were stood in line at the mall food court (yes, you read that correctly), his fingers holding yours. he was being so sweet and flirtatious, looking at you with an admiring grin whilst you read the menu. he went back and forth between laying his hoodie-clad head atop yours, kissing your cheek, or leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. you saw in your periphery how he would stare and stare both longingly and knowingly. you didn't give in, until you couldn't hold it in anymore, failing horrendously at hiding your upside-down grin. "what?" you nudged his bicep with your shoulder, hearing him chuckle. "i'm just looking." he responded, voice smooth. you tsked, shaking your head. "you don't make any sense." his kiss to your temple brought your gaze back to him, looking up when he rested his forehead against yours. "that's because you take all of it from me." seunghyun lined the side of his nose with yours, bringing his lips to yours. he's done this countless times before, but it was how his lips lingered for a second or two that made all the difference . . . how they parted so slowly and deliberately . . . it made you think oh . . . this man may very well want me to have his baby! it wouldn't be far-fetched either, since on your four month anniversary, he told you he was ready to introduce you to his parents after your third date.

then came those saturday mornings . . . or mornings where neither of you had class until the afternoon . . . when you got up from bed, and he sees your shorts have ridden completely up your thighs in your sleep . . . how fucking delectable they look. your back is turned to him as you stretch your arms out and yawn, but seunghyun's stare is unabashed and hard. it starts as a sideways glance, like he doesn't want to get caught. but then he sees how they jiggle with every minute movement . . . he's enamored. he turns onto his side fully, studying how your cellulite adorns your skin so specifically . . . then his palms start to tingle, wanting to reach out and feel you in his hands. but all he does is cast his hand against your crisp bed sheets, wrinkled where you laid just moments ago. seunghyun then notices the slight sheen of your skin when you step into the sunlight pouring in from the window; the remnants of your moisturizer you apply before you sleep, he was sure. this is what makes his teeth rake against his bottom lip, quickly glancing up to see if you were still turned around, which you were. then came those imperfections he wanted so badly to kiss, to linger his tongue over: the small, translucent forever-bruise on the side of your left thigh that never healed; standing in a crowded train after spending the day with each other in the city, temporarily squished against the arm rest of a seat to make room for incoming passengers. your fucking tan line from your go-to denim shorts you wore during the summer jesus christ . . . and how some of your stomach spilled over your shorts, the thick curvature of your body akin to a fucking goddess's. what he would do to be trapped between them . . .

"i'll be right back." your voice took him out of his trance, seunghyun looking up to see you opening the bedroom door, walking to the bathroom down the hall. "okay, baby." his voice was gravely, clearing his throat afterward. seunghyun turned onto his back. he lifted the duvet, peeking underneath to see the bulge in his sweats. he let out a disbelieving huff, running his hands over his face. it's not even ten am yet. he thought to himself. it should be no surprise that when you came back into bed, his lips made residence on yours, hand slipping by your hip and grabbing your ass. seunghyun stopped periodically to place kisses on your chest, or moving the strap of your cami to trace the tip of his tongue along your stretch marks lining your shoulder before kissing them, too. "wanna try something new, baby." he murmured against your skin. "okay," you said, fingers brushing his hair back, watching as his lips returned to your chest. "what is it, seunghyun?" "wanna put these in my mouth—'nd taste you."

you nodded, hair rubbing against your pillowcase. "o-okay," your voice fell to a whisper, the birds chirping outside rivaling your volume. "go ahead, seunghyun." he lifted his head, kissing you. "tell me if it's too much, okay?" "i will." you said, kissing him. a shallow breath left your chest as his lips traveled down your chest. he's fondled your breasts before—in the backseat of his car, and when the portable dvd player is mere background noise, but nothing could have prepared him for now your left breast recoiled when he tugged that side of your cami down. it was so perky, so cute; happy to see him. he captured your areola in his mouth, running his warm tongue over it slowly. he's never heard you gasp like that before. "s—seunghyun!" you barely breathed, shuddering oxygen in and out. he quickly detached—"is it too much—" "—no, no! keep—keep going!" you whimpered, pushing the back of his head back down. he sucked with bliss, readjusting himself when you arched your back, his other hand kneading your right breast. he tugged that side of your cami down, showing that nipple less mercy than the other. "f-fuck!" you gasped, hand coming up to your mouth. "yes, yes! oh my god, seunghyun!" your body squirmed, thighs enclosing around his waist. he needed to move on. if he didn't, he was going to ruin his sweatpants.

he popped off of your hardened nipple gently, bringing his lips to yours. you latched onto him with needy fervor, kissing him quickly. "i'm gonna eat your pussy, okay baby?" he spoke against your lips. you whimpered into his mouth, eyebrows turning upward in desperation, hands holding onto the back of his shoulders. "gonna take care of you. tell me if you want to stop." "o—ngh!—okay." seunghyun pushed the duvet off the both of you, making his way down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. he stood on his knees as he pulled your shorts and underwear off, discarding them on his usual side of the bed. his hand slid down your left thigh, fingers running over that small bruise. he leaned down, pressing a kiss. he moved a couple of inches down the bed, settling his knees onto the carpeted floor, propping the upper-half of his body up with his elbows. you separated your legs. his tongue ran over his bottom lip, mouth watering.

he kissed the inner parts of your thighs, trailing where you needed him most. seunghyun wasted no time after that, plunging his tongue between your puffy folds. oh . . . you tasted good. the sensation was indescribable for you—a curt gasp all you could muster those first few seconds, palm covering your mouth as you devoured the unbelievable sight below you. your eyebrows were so deeply furrowed; a choked moan leaving your diaphragm as his tongue explored your divine essence. seunghyun separated your lips with his pointer and middle finger, trying to find that sweet bundle of nerves. he placed his tongue higher than before, taking note of your gasp. he pushed his head in deeper, knowing he was coming closer when your thighs brushed against his ears. seunghyun hit the jackpot when he pushed in a little deeper, arms quickly wrapping around your waist to keep you as still as he could when your body jolted, thighs closing in on him, effectively putting him in a still-moveable headlock. "o—oh m-my god—ngh! hngh!" you moaned helplessly. "s-seunghyun!" you cried, fingers disappearing into his hair, tugging. "feel good, baby? that feel good?" he asked quickly, voice muffled, not liking going mere seconds without you on his tongue. "y-yes! keep—keep—"

you couldn't finish your sentence, but he needed no further instruction. he nursed your clit unabashedly, his hand reaching up and kneading your right breast. "s-seunghyun, i'm gonna—i feel—" your breathing was heavy, eyes squeezed shut. "cum in my mouth." was all seunghyun said. your legs opened abruptly, back arching higher than before as your orgasm washed over your entire body. seunghyun kept working your clit, popping off of your sweet pussy through your delicate moans and mewls. he swallowed whatever you gave him, humming into you in satisfaction, relishing in how you breathily whined his name. he gradually latched off with tongue-led kisses, palming himself through his sweatpants. he left your pussy swiftly when he felt a wet patch, looking down to see that he, indeed, ruined his sweatpants.

then came a week later, when you made love for the first time at eleven am on a fucking tuesday morning. "breath for me." he told you gently, positioning his condom wrapped tip between your soft, puffy lips. "in," he inhaled through his nostrils, you mimicking. "and out." you exhaled together. he kissed your divine lips, hand coming up and holding your cheek. "my beautiful girl," he whispered. "i love you so much." "i love you too." your hands held the back of his neck, kissing him back. "this might hurt a little. we have all the time in the world. we'll take it easy." his lips pressed against your cheek, hearing your gentle "okay." he slowly pushed himself in, stopping halfway when you held tightly onto his shoulders. "f-fuck, ngh! it . . . it hurts." you whispered. "i know, i know baby." he low voice cooed, his hand holding your cheek, bringing the one closest to him to his lips. "keep going. slowly." "i will."

he thrusted slowly with half of his cock inside of you, listening to your every breath. "any better?" he whispered. he sucked in a tight breath, feeling how tight you are. "a . . . a little. try adding more each time." "anything for you." he kissed your temple, following your words. silence filled the room, nothing but the slight creak of your bed frame, shaky breaths, and rustling of the duvet against the linen. seunghyun's ears perked up when he heard a quiet moan, feeling your nails starting to dig into his bare shoulder. "s-seunghyun . . . m-more." "which one? faster or deeper, baby?" "deeper." you said, voice breathy. your eyebrows twitched as you were mostly adjusted, bottom lip captured between your teeth as he stretched you out. "mmf!" you yelped. "does—f-fuck—that feel g-good?" seunghyun was losing himself in you, struggling to keep his mind clear. "y-yes!" you moaned. "g-go faster, seunghyunie. p-please." "god fucking damn—f-fuck, baby!" he mewled, moaning into your ear. "you feel so fucking g-good, oh my god!" the rest of that morning was a haze of grunts, sweat, and chanting each other's names like prayers. to think you were in your intro to international democracies lecture not even four hours later was obscene.

neither of you trusted yourselves to keep quiet when he came over, but that doesn't mean you at least tried . . . albeit, over the phone. "you drive me fucking crazy, baby—fuck!" his phone fell from his ear, his free hand quickly grabbing it, his other showing little mercy to himself. you could hear the wet, slick sounds of his cock from your side of the line, your thighs trapping your wrist between your legs. "the—the way you—hngh!—l-looked at me from over your shoulder, the way you sounded when i fucked you from b-behind." he spoke into the phone lowly. "you looked so beautiful, and felt so f-fucking good. did it feel good baby, hm? did it feel good when i pounded that sweet pussy?" "s-seunghyun—" you sounded so delicate, so fragile. "i—ngh!—i n-need you so bad. i can't take it anymore." he heard your shaky gasp, sure you were close. "tell me, baby. i know you're close, i can hear it." he moaned hearing you whimper at his words, feeling the knot in his abdomen begin to unravel. "t-tell me—s-shit!—i-i'm, i'm close t-too. tell me, baby. you know you can tell your seunghyunie anything, right?"

when that wasn't enough (it never was), you took it to the backseat of his car. it was an unspoken rule; nonverbal pattern of events when he was to drop you home, but that something was in the air and could not go unaddressed—like the night of your friend's birthday party. he unlocked his trunk, folding the backseats forward to allow enough room for you to lay on your back. in your defense, you tried to keep quiet. you really did . . . considering it was well past one in the morning, your house was one measly block away, and your neighborhood was very much a quiet suburb. but the car was shaking, your toes pressed against the rear windshield, and his hand was slipping off the steaming window. if anyone walked by—universe help your neighbor that worked late shifts and walked his dog at this hour—a vague, passive aggressive memo in the neighborhood newsletter would certainly find you.

the torn condom wrapper fell between the seats, lost in a reach-less nook of the car as seunghyun fucked you deep and good. the sound was wet and mind-numbing, the heel of your left foot resting on his lower back whilst he pummeled you. "f-fuck! just like that, just like that!" you gasped, your moan sounding intoxicatingly needy, fingers rummaging aimlessly through his hair. seunghyun was a sweaty mess, his hair sticking to his forehead as he boiled in his long sleeve. but he could not have given less of a fuck. you felt fucking divine. he needed this, every last second, every last drop. your gummy walls and puffy lips were a blessing he would thank whatever higher force that existed out there for the rest of his life. "just like that? yeah?" he grunted, looking down at the scene, watching his cock disappear and reappear. "s-such f-fucking good pussy—fuck!"

there's a digital camera you both share (he bought it for you for your one year anniversary), housing the archive of your relationship. there's tons of photos on numerous sd cards: a photo of you two kissing in front of a mirror, the camera covering your mouths even after seunghyun's hilariously laborious attempts at angling it correctly, photos of you looking so effortlessly beautiful in your bed; elbow propped on your pillow, palm holding your cheek, the glow of the portable dvd player evident on your face, or one you took of him in his bed after you imitated his low laugh which made him laugh even harder, photos of seunghyun climbing through your window with a shy, unexpected smile on your face or looking cool driving his car, lots of photos with friends, and at parties; one in particular of him pretending to eat your cheek and your wide smile, drink in hand. he can hear your laughter whenever he looks at it.

several months after your two year anniversary, seunghyun found himself at the mall. he was free for the rest of the day whilst you were in for another two lectures. but, of course, he was picking you up for dinner that evening. he perused for your graduation gift; settling for a perfume, a book by your favorite author, and two cds of musicians you loved. like clockwork, his eyes found and stayed on kay jewelers. but unlike before, he walked in. he found the engagement rings with ease, even going as far as to tell the consultant that he was thinking about getting married. however, seunghyun didn't walk out with a ring. he figured well, we should graduate first . . . get jobs . . . move in together . . . and then talk about marriage. he's been locked in since your first kiss, but that's besides the point. but there's no harm in starting to save up for that ring, is there . . .

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf, @infinetlyforgotten

[mashtatosworld]

lover boys (4)

summary: 'kissing someone else is not cheating' prank

[GD, TOP, D-LITE]

Kwon Jiyong (GD)

It started as a stupid joke.

You were at a rooftop party, warm summer air mixing with the scent of cigarettes and expensive perfume, lounging with your friends while Jiyong had wandered off to grab more drinks.

And then, someone brought up a ridiculous argument.

“You know what would be hilarious?” your best friend smirked, already three cocktails deep. “If you said, ‘Kissing someone else isn’t cheating’ in front of Jiyong. I bet he’d have a whole crisis.”

The group laughed - because, yeah, Jiyong had mellowed out over the years, but there was still that possessive streak lurking beneath the surface.

“No way,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“Come on! He’ll probably write a whole song about it.”

“It’ll be fun,” another friend urged, grinning. “Let’s just see what he does.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling dramatically. “Fine. Whatever.”

Just then, Jiyong reappeared, two drinks in hand, looking effortlessly handsome in a silk blouse and hat. He slipped into the space beside you with a sweet smile.

This was your moment.

“Well,” you started casually, trying to avoid your friends eager eyes, “I guess it wouldn’t be… cheating if it’s just a kiss.”

His head snapped up.

His eyes locked onto yours.

“…Oh really,” he said after a beat, jaw tensing. "I see."

And then -

That was it.

No protest. No argument. No reaction at all.

He just took a sip from his straw, looking away, completely unfazed.

You blinked. Wait. What?

You had expected an immediate rebuttal, a scoff, an exasperated sigh - something.

But no. He was just calmly accepting this absolute nonsense like it was nothing.

Now you were the one panicking.

You turned to your friends, who were equally thrown off. They shrugged helplessly but kept up with the changing conversation whilst you spiralled.

Jiyong stayed for another moment, then quietly excused himself, slipping off into the crowd.

You watched him disappear, a strange feeling settling in your chest.

"Don't worry," your friend nudged you. "He's probably just brushing it off. He can be defensive."

So you let it go.

For a little while.

Until -

“Oh, shit.”

The girls grew silent and you turned your head, following their intrigued gaze.

Because the man returning to you was not your husband.

Gone was the headscarf and hat, leaving his hair tousled to perfection. His buttoned-up shirt was now loosened at the top, collarbone and tattoos peeking through.

And his usual fruity cocktail - replaced by a glass of straight rum.

The moment you laid eyes on him, your stomach flipped.

He was walking - slower, smoother, more confident than ever, no, not confident. Cocky.

The way he carried himself, the way his dark eyes swept the room like he owned it - this was not the man who shied away from attention.

This was the man who had pursued you years ago.

Dangerous. Sexy. Intense.

Your breath hitched.

He strolled right up to where you stood - a neglected cigarette left to burn between your fingertips, and he tilted his head slightly, gaze hooded, lips curving into the faintest smirk.

“So,” he murmured, swiping the cigarette from your loose grasp. “You come here often?”

You blinked up at him, completely thrown off. “Um… yeah. We come here all the time?"

He hummed, slipping the cigarette between his lips, taking a slow drag before blowing the smoke away.

“Oh yeah?” His eyes dragged over you with a look that sent a thrill straight through you.

He took a sip of his drink, licking his lips, before asking,

“You and your boyfriend?”

What.

You squinted at him. “No… my husband?”

His smirk deepened.

“Where is he?”

You stared.

And then -

It clicked.

He wasn’t Jiyong right now.

He was GDragon.

Oh my god.

The hot, intense, arrogant rapper you had fallen for years ago? The one who had chased you down with that insane, magnetic energy?

Yeah.

He was back.

And your friends?

They were losing their minds.

You heard one of them whispered to another, “Holy shit, he’s doing a bit.”

Meanwhile, you were trying to remember how to breathe.

Jiyong - no, GDragon - was watching you, waiting.

So you played along.

“…He’s around,” you said slowly, lips curling into a smile. “Why? You interested?”

He grinned, leaning closer.

“I don’t do relationships,” he murmured, reaching forward to pass you back the cigarette. His fingers lingered.

“But you… You're a temptation.”

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

Because you were very, very into this.

Your pulse was racing, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

The rest of the night was a game.

He stayed in character.

You tried to match him.

It was exciting - the flirting, the teasing, the tension.

It felt like you had been thrown back in time, back to the nights where he was chasing you, back to when he was untouchable and untamed and entirely too much.

The night seemed to stretch on forever, when usually you two would leave and go home to your cats - cozying up on the couch. But he had dragged you along when everyone piled into the car, heading to a downtown club.

A club.

It had been years since you two spent all night touching and dancing, sneaking off to the side to kiss against a wall like no one was watching.

You tried to keep up.

You really did.

But when you finally got home?

The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed onto the couch, kicking off your heels with a groan.

Your husband chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

You turned your head, half-lidded, exhausted, but still burning.

“…I think we’re getting old.”

His grin widened.

And then -

He scooped you up effortlessly.

“I’ve got about twenty minutes of GDragon left in me before I need my pyjamas and cuddles.” His voice was low and teasing. “That long enough?”

You swallowed.

“…Hell yeah.”

He carried you into the bedroom and tossed you onto the bed, crawling over you but just before he kissed you, you hesitated.

“Wait,” you murmured, arms around his neck. “You know I don’t actually believe that, right?”

His eyes softened.

Jiyong kissed your forehead, slow and tender.

“Jagi,” he whispered. “We’ve been together nearly ten years.”

He looked down at you, eyes full of knowing.

“I know.”

Because of course, he knew.

You two were connected.

Always.

He lips then found yours - hard and possessive.

And just like that, you were done for.

Because even after all these years, the darker side of your husband was still there.

And damn it, you loved it.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Seunghyun (TOP)

You were at some fancy dinner party, champagne glasses clinking, warm conversations buzzing around you.

And the topic of the table?

What counts as cheating?

Your friends were going back and forth, debating, until someone turned to you.

“What do you thinkm, y/n? If it’s just a kiss, is it really cheating?”

You barely had time to react before your best friend nudged you, grinning.

“C’mon, say it. I dare you.”

You laughed.

You knew this was a trap.

Seunghyun was sitting right beside you, leisurely sipping his wine, not caring to indulge in the conversation though still entertained. But his tensed frame told you that he was listening intently.

You thought about it.

Then - for fun, just to tease him - you shrugged.

“I mean…” You exhaled dramatically. “I guess it wouldn’t really be cheating - ”

Pfft.

Seunghyun made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, eyes flicking to you in amused disbelief.

“You can try,” he said smoothly, setting his wine glass down.

His voice was low, velvety, and incredibly confident.

Then he added -

“…Not like I’d ever let someone get the chance.”

You raised your brow.

The conversation continued to flow around you but something about the way he said it sent a little shiver down your spine.

Because Seunghyun was usually the calm, reserved type. He wasn’t the jealous, reactive boyfriend.

At least… not outwardly.

But tonight?

Well.

The moment he made that little comment, his entire energy shifted.

Suddenly, Seunghyun was on guard.

You didn’t even notice it at first.

But the next time someone came up to you to start a conversation, Seunghyun was just… there.

Like a shadow.

Standing so close, his presence looming, quiet but firm.

And when the guy in front of you hesitated - eyes flicking between you and your tall boyfriend - you realised.

Seunghyun was blocking you.

A human wall.

No one was getting through.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

The longer the night went on, the worse it got.

He wasn’t letting anyone near you.

You moved? He moved.

You reached for a drink? He grabbed it for you.

Someone tried to say hello? Seunghyun’s arm was already around your waist.

Usually, he wasn’t one for public affection.

But tonight?

Oh, he was all over you.

A hand on your lower back.

Fingers trailing along your arm.

His lips brushing your neck as he leaned in to murmur something about how “this party is getting boring, isn’t it, Princess?”

He wasn’t worried.

At all.

Because he was your big, scary, intimidating boyfriend.

And he could just… whisk you away whenever he wanted.

Which, apparently - he would.

Because at one point, mid-conversation, you suddenly felt your feet leave the ground.

What the - ?!

You barely had time to process before Seunghyun lifted you under the arms like you were a stray kitten and just moved you.

Like you weighed nothing.

“Seunghyun!” you gasped, laughing as he carried you a few steps away before placing you down like it was nothing.

He smirked, completely unbothered.

“What?” he asked, voice deep and amused.

You gawked at him, still half-laughing. “You just - moved me! Like a child!”

His brow raised slightly, eyes twinkling.

“Well,” he shrugged, tilting his head, voice dropping -

“I wasn’t about to let him finish that conversation.”

Your stomach flipped.

And that was when you realised -

He wasn’t playing around.

Possessive T.O.P had fully taken over.

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest, voice softer now.

“You know I wouldn’t actually ever do that, right?”

His eyes flicked over your face - sharp, unreadable.

Then he leaned down, lips brushing just past your ear.

“Good,” he murmured. “Shall I remind you why?"

You sucked in a breath.

Oh.

Oh, you really, really liked that.

And from the way his smirk deepened -

He knew.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Daesung (D-Lite)

The car ride home was loud - music playing, voices overlapping, the leftover energy of the night buzzing between all of you.

It had been a great night out, full of laughter, drinks, and just enough teasing touches between you and Daesung to make your heart race.

And then, someone in the front seat casually threw out the question:

“So, do you guys think kissing someone else counts as cheating?”

The car exploded with reactions -

“OF COURSE.”

“Duh???”

“Well, actually, it depends - ”

Daesung chuckled along with everyone, but his gaze fell to you.

Waiting.

Watching.

And when you decided not to chip into the conversation his expression dropped.

Still new in your relationship, he was tuned in to every little thing about you - every glance, every shift of your expression, every small hesitation.

And you?

You had hesitated for a second too long.

You could feel Daesung’s gaze burning into the side of your face.

But before you could answer, the conversation moved on.

The car filled with more chatter and laughter, but Daesung?

Daesung fell silent, eyes focused on the moving city beyond the tinted window.

When the car pulled up to your apartment, your roommates got out, saying their goodbyes.

You turned to Daesung.

“I'm still staying with you tonight, right?”

He nodded.

But something was off.

The usual warmth in his face had faded.

Instead, he was staring at his phone, brows furrowed, fingers moving quickly over the screen.

You tilted your head.

“…You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice too casual. “Just… tired.”

"Well, you did out do everyone at karaoke." You smile, patting his thigh and letting it rest there. Your boyfriend had practically given your roommates a full concert and they loved it.

You were so happy your boyfriend and friends seemed to get along. And they loved even more when his private driver showed up to collect everyone, saving the group a trip home in the rain.

Once at his place, the two of you slowly wound down - changing into comfortable clothes, playing soft music.

But Daesung?

Still quiet.

He was fidgety, fixated on his phone, tugging his hair and covering his lower face as he intently stared at the screen in his hand.

The tension was killing you.

So you joined him on the sofa and bumped your knee against his.

“Wanna make cookies?”

His head slowly lifted.

“…Cookies?”

You grinned. “Yeah. You love cookies. And you always boast you make the best."

For the first time since the car ride, he smiled.

“Okay.”

Thirty minutes later and Daesung stood at the counter, hands completely covered in dough.

“…This can’t be right,” he muttered, frowning at the sticky mess between his fingers.

You laughed, grabbing his phone. “Let me check the recipe - ”

You weren’t prepared for what you saw.

Because his recent search history?

help I think my girlfriend wants to break up with me how to stop your soulmate from breaking up with you my heart hurts - is this normal or am I dying??? can you have a heart attack at 27?

You blinked.

Then you bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Daesung stiffened.

“…What?”

You turned to him, holding up the phone.

“Baby…” you cooed, fighting back a grin. “Is this why you’ve been so quiet?”

His eyes darted to the phone.

Then his hands.

Then the phone.

Then back at you.

He was trapped.

Hands covered in wet dough, unable to grab the phone or defend himself.

“…Maybe,” he mumbled, looking down at the failed mixture.

You burst out laughing.

“Oh, my sweet, love.” You wrapped your arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I would never do that to you.”

His shoulders relaxed, exhaling loudly.

“…Really?”

“Of course.” You kissed him again, smiling. “You’re my favourite person.”

His face broke into a bright, relieved grin. You leaned closer once more and - instinctively - he raised his hand to cup your cheek.

Except.

His hands were still covered in wet dough.

You yelped, jerking back.

“DAE - !”

His eyes widened in horror.

“Oh -OH NO - ”

But it was too late.

His doughy, flour-covered fingers had left a big, smudged handprint on your cheek.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

And then -

You both cracked up laughing.

Falling into each other, breathless and giggling, the earlier tension completely gone.

He then sat you on the counter, grabbing a soft towel. And as he wiped your face clean - pressing a hundred tiny kisses all over to make up for it - you realised something.

Daesung might be sensitive, a total over thinker, and a little dramatic…

But he was also the sweetest, most loveable person ever.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

damn lover boys was highly requested - sorry i've been slow with it! hope you enjoy loves <3

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @lariem-blog2 , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby

[gdinthehouseee]

On The Floor: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: ji-yong simply can't take his hands off you after his performance

word count: 1970

tags: SMUT; light dom!jiyong and sub!y/n, fingering, unprotected p in v, bathtub sex, barely any plot

ao3 link + inspired by bruno mars' versace on the floor, check out @peachesclose as they have a really sweet take on this idea it was so good !!

The soft click of the penthouse door locking behind you sounds like a promise.

Ji-yong doesn’t say a word at first. Discarding his blazer and tie, he just watches you.

The dim gold lighting spills over your skin, catching the shimmer of your champagne-colored dress—the one that’s been driving him mad all night. It clings to every curve, dangerously low at the back, slitted high up your thigh. His eyes drag over you like smoke, slow and heavy with intent. He kept sneaking glances at you all night as you watched his performance from the wings, both of you looking unfairly gorgeous. 

You move toward the centre of the room, heels clicking softly on the polished floor as you turn to face him, backlit by the glittering city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Turn around for me,” he says, voice low and silky. 

You don’t even hesitate: you know exactly where this is going. 

He walks up behind you slowly, fingers reaching for the zipper at the base of your spine. His breath ghosts over your neck. His voice slips into that deep, lazy drawl that always gets you in trouble. “Been thinking about getting you out of this dress since you put it on. All night, jagi.”

“Of course you have.” You couldn’t help teasing him a little as you kick off your heels.

The zipper lowers in one smooth, teasing pull, your dress falls in a whisper, puddling at your feet like liquid gold. You're left in nothing but your lace underwear—bare back exposed to him, heart racing.

“Fuck…”

He exhales, almost like it’s painful to look at you, while his hand finds your hip, the grip firm. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You start to turn, but he catches your wrist and spins you to face him.“I didn’t say move.”

His eyes are molten, devouring you. One hand strokes your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“You looked like a goddess tonight,” he murmurs. “But now… now you’re mine.”

He kisses you slowly at first—soft lips, open mouth, tongue exploring your mouth until you're dizzy. Then harder. Hungrier. He presses you back until your hips bump the edge of the sleek glass table. His hands are everywhere—thighs, waist, the curve of your ass. His mouth trails fire down your throat. One hand slips into your hair, the other slides between your legs, teasing you over the lace.

“Already wet for me?” He murmurs, smirking against your skin. 

“Of course I am…” you whisper back, biting your excited smile back as if you weren’t also waiting for this moment all night.

Before you can say anything else, he pushes the lace aside and sinks two fingers into you, slow and deep. You gasp, clutching his shoulder like your only lifeline; the only thing convincing you that you haven’t suddenly died and gone to heaven. You’re already shaking and he hasn't even taken his clothes off yet.

Your breath hitches as Ji-yong curls his fingers inside you, slow and unrelenting, watching your reaction like it’s his favourite show. He’s still mostly dressed—tailored red shirt halfway unbuttoned down his chest, rings gleaming on his fingers as they pump into you like they know your body better than you do.

"You look so fucking good like this," he whispers, lips brushing your ear. 

He finally pulls his hand away, glistening with your slick, and looks down at you with a wicked grin. He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them clean, eyes locked with yours.

"Sweet."

You don’t even have time to moan before he grabs you by the waist, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and lays you gently on the cold floor.

He doesn't give you time to catch your breath.

Ji-yong climbs over you, dragging your underwear down your legs with deliberate slowness, tossing it aside before kissing you—deep and filthy. He unclasps his belt, never breaking eye contact, and you feel heat explode low in your stomach as he shoves the rest of his clothes off. His cock presses hot and hard against your thigh, and you whimper at how eager he is.

“You want it?” He asks against your lips.

"Yes," you pant. "God, Ji—please."

He growls softly, lining himself up.

"Then take it."

He thrusts in, slow and deep, eyes fluttering closed at the feel of you wrapped around him. You cry out, hands clutching his back, nails digging into his skin as he starts to move—slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that have you unraveling all over again.

“So tight for me, jagi.” He groans.

Each thrust is perfect—grinding deep, hitting spots that he knows will make your back arch off the floor. His hands frame your face, and he kisses you like he’s drowning in you.

“You’re mine tonight,” he pants, faster now, hips snapping. “Say it.”

"I’m yours," you gasp. “All yours, Ji-yong.”

"Fuck yeah you are, that’s my girl."

He grabs your thigh, hooks it over his hip, going deeper, rougher, his rhythm punishing and perfect. Sweat beads on his skin, dripping down his chest, muscles flexing under your hands. When you start to break again, voice cracking slightly as you beg, he loses it.

“Come for me, baby—let me feel you.”

You shatter beneath him, crying out his name, body shaking uncontrollably as he follows with a low groan, burying himself inside you, panting your name like a prayer. Silence falls, broken only by the sound of his and your breathing. Ji-yong leans down and kisses you—soft, sweet, completely different than before.

He brushes your hair from your face and whispers, “Look at you… glowing.”

Your legs are still trembling when he lifts you off the floor. “You have been all night.” 

“I could leave you like this,” Ji-yong teases, voice rough in your ear. “Dripping and ruined, just how I like you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you laugh breathlessly. 

“You and I both know I wouldn’t do that to my favourite girl.” He presses a slow kiss to your cheek.

He’s already carrying you to the bathroom.

The space is all sleek marble and glass, the bathtub sunken and oversized, with a view of the city lights beyond the windows. He sets you down on the edge and turns on the tap, letting the tub fill with steaming water. The scent of something rich and expensive—amber, vanilla, a hint of spice—floats in the air as he pours in bath oil. Then he steps behind you, crouching slightly to kiss the back of your shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Better than okay.”

He smiles against your skin, then slides your hair over one shoulder and kisses the other. The bath is nearly full when he shuts the water off and helps you in—his hands gentle now, guiding you down into the heat.

But when he climbs in behind you, it’s clear softness was only temporary.

You feel him—still hard, pressed to your lower back. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest, his mouth finding your neck.

“Think I’m done with you?” 

You shake your head.

He grabs the bottle of oil, pours some into his palm, and begins smoothing it over your body—slow strokes down your arms, your belly, your thighs. His hands worship you, slippery and sure. He trails one down between your legs, slipping fingers over your folds, massaging your clit with slick, lazy circles.

“Feel how sensitive you still are,” he groans in your ear. “So fucking pretty like this.”

You roll your hips back against him, desperate. He hisses as his cock practically strains against you, nudging between your thighs.

“You want it again?”

You nod, breathless. “God, yes.”

“You’re gonna ride me.”

You barely have time to respond before he lifts you forward slightly, then guides himself inside you from behind—slow, steady, filling you again until you’re gasping once more. Water sloshes around you as he begins to move, his grip tightening on your hips.

"Fuck…” 

He pulls you back against him, setting a rhythm that’s slow but deep, deliberate. Every thrust sends water spilling over the edge. His hands roam your body, one palming your breast, the other wrapped around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, reminding you who's in control.

“You love this, don’t you?” He whispers, biting at your jaw. “Being fucked in my arms, water everywhere, soaking wet and whining my name?”

You whimper, back arching. The heat, the water, the way he moves inside you—it’s all too much.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, voice rasping.

You reach down, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

“That’s it,” Ji-yong groans. “Come with me, jagi. Let me hear you.” 

And you do.

You clench around him with a cry, body shuddering, as his hips slam forward and he follows—low moans against your neck, spilling inside you again with a whispered curse. He doesn’t let go. Just holding you there, both of you catching your breath, the bathwater still sloshing quietly around your bodies.

The water has gone warm and cloudy by the time he finally pulls out of you, letting out a soft groan as your body tightens one last time around him. His hands stay on your waist, steadying you, his chest still rising and falling against your back. You both sit there in silence for a moment. Just breathing.

Then Ji-yong presses a kiss to your shoulder and murmurs, “You’re gonna kill me one of these nights.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Pretty sure you did all the work.”

He shifts, sitting up behind you, grabbing a towel from the heated rack and helping you to your feet like you’re something fragile. His eyes roam your body, taking in every inch like he hasn’t already memorized it.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You nod slightly. “A little.”

He wraps the towel around you and kisses your forehead, then leans in, whispering against your temple, “let me take care of you.”

You don’t resist when he picks you up again, bridal style, carrying you out of the bathroom. The lights in the bedroom are dimmed now—only the soft city glow painting the walls. He sets you down gently on the bed, drying your skin with slow, careful motions. Every swipe of the towel is reverent, tender, like he’s thanking you in the only language he knows.

When he’s done, he reaches for one of his black silk robes and slips it over your shoulders, tying it loosely at your waist. You’re swimming in it, warm and safe and wrapped in his scent. He tugs a smaller towel through your damp hair, fluffing it gently. Then his fingers pause—and he smirks.

"That dress,” he mutters, glancing over at the crumpled cloth still puddled near the bathroom door, soaked, stained, and absolutely done for.

You blink, then groan. “Oh god, it’s ruined…”

He shrugs, totally unapologetic. “Worth it.”

You narrow your eyes. “Ji-yong, that dress was expensive.” 

He tilts his head, all smug charm. “You say that like I won’t buy you ten more.”

You laugh, and he grins, leaning down to kiss you slow and deep, like he’s sealing the promise with his mouth.

When he finally pulls away, he slides in behind you, pulling the blankets up and wrapping you in his arms. You’re tucked against his bare chest, warm and sated, your legs tangled beneath the sheets. He brushes his fingers through your damp hair, murmuring sweet nothings until your eyes grow heavy. But before you fully drift off, he leans down and whispers near your ear, voice low and full of wicked affection.

“You keep looking at me like that… and I’m gonna ruin the next dress too.”

first gd smut,, how we feeling xd

taglist: @emmiesoverthemoon @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @ilovethe141 @heartubeatusalon @ninnys @allthoughtsmindfull

[saymonsays]

Got you stuck on my body, like a tattoo

pairing: kwon jiyong x reader

wordcount: 15k | alexa, play 'one more night' by maroon 5

Summary: He can’t stop thinking about you. You're not just a hookup. You're a tattoo in human form—something that stays.

warnings: unprotected sex, penetrative sex, dom!jiyong x sub!reader, one night stand, lots of teasing i guess lmao

‎

‎Saturday night. Low lights. Velvet sounds of a bass-heavy song humming from the speakers. The kind of night where the air feels heavy with stories waiting to happen.

‎

‎You sit at the bar—alone but not lonely. A glass of something amber rests between your fingers, untouched. You’re waiting for your friend to get off their shift, but time feels irrelevant when you look the way you do.

‎

‎Your dress is long, black, elegant. High neck, sheer sleeves. The back? Lace—barely there. A whisper of skin visible down to your lower back. It’s subtle, but Jiyong saw it.

‎

‎Oh, he saw it the moment you walked in.

‎

‎He’s been sitting in his usual spot, two seats away, nursing a drink he forgot to taste. His rings clink against the glass as he shifts. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his gaze drags down your silhouette. You’ve noticed. You don’t look at him yet, but you know he’s watching.

‎

‎Then—

‎

‎He moves.

‎

‎He slides into the empty seat beside you, smooth and unhurried. Leans against the counter with a lazy smirk and orders something he doesn’t care about. Just to sit near you. Just to be noticed.

‎

‎You glance at him. Finally. A beat too slow, like you knew it would matter.

‎

‎“Nice tattoos,” you say, voice like velvet and smoke. Your eyes flick to the ink curling up his forearm, disappearing under the sleeve of his button-down. Black, rolled just enough to tease. He chuckles, low and amused, and turns to face you.

‎

‎“You like them?” he asks. His voice is soft, but there’s a weight behind it.

‎

‎You shrug, take a sip. “Depends. Got any good stories behind them?”

‎

‎“A few,” he says. “But the better ones haven’t happened yet.”

‎

‎There it is—the line that makes your lips curl in amusement. The way he watches you now is different. Focused. As if undressing you with his gaze is a casual habit, not a sin.

‎

‎You tilt your head. “You always this smooth with strangers?”

‎

‎“Only the ones in lace-back dresses.”

‎

‎Your laugh is soft, but your eyes stay on him. Matching. Testing. Inviting.

‎

‎He offers you a drink. You say yes.

‎

‎By the time the ice melts, your knees are touching.

‎

‎By the time your friend walks out to greet you—you’re already telling them, “I’ll text you later.”

‎

‎You swirl the last sip of your drink, eyes locked on Jiyong’s as if he’s already a memory you’re trying to memorize. He leans in just a little, elbow propped on the bar counter, voice dipped in that lazy rasp of his.

‎

‎“You always let strange men flirt with you this long?”

‎

‎You grin, chin tilted toward him. “Only when they look like sin with good tattoos.”

‎

‎He hums, clearly entertained. Then—he tilts his head, gaze slow, deliberate, eyes dragging over you with full intent.

‎

‎“I live a minute away,” he says. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

‎

‎You blink once. Slow. Let it hang.

‎

‎“And?”

‎

‎His smirk deepens.

‎

‎“And I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes thinking about how that lace would look on my bedroom floor.”

‎

‎Your stomach flips. His tone? Filthy. His eyes? Honest.

‎

‎“You always talk like that?”

‎

‎“Only when I mean it.”

‎

‎That’s all it takes. No more pretense.

‎

‎You stand up, graceful. He’s up right after you, walking side by side down the quiet street lit by flickering lamps and the hum of the city around you.

‎

‎His hand finds the small of your back—low. Lower. Thumb slipping along your spine, almost possessive. You feel heat bloom across your skin. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.

‎

‎You reach his building in seconds, heart pounding like it’s been sprinting.

‎

‎The elevator door slides open. You step in. He follows.

‎

‎The doors close.

‎

‎Silence—just for a breath.

‎

‎Then—

‎

‎Jiyong moves.

‎

‎One hand on your cheek, the other sliding down your back again—this time under the lace. His mouth crashes into yours, hungry and hot, tongue tasting like heat and need. You respond instantly—fingers fisting into his shirt, pressing your body into his as his lips part yours wider, deeper.

‎

‎His teeth graze your lower lip. His hand grips your waist like he’s claiming it.

‎

‎Ding.

‎

‎The door opens.

‎

‎You stumble into the hallway, half-laughing, breathless, still tangled in each other. He barely fumbles with his key, kisses you again while unlocking it. The door slams behind you.

‎

‎And just like that, you’re in his space.

‎

‎His world.

‎

‎And it’s about to get a whole lot wilder.

‎

‎The door shuts with a heavy click.

‎

‎You're both still panting, swollen lips barely an inch apart. Jiyong’s hand lingers at your waist, thumb grazing your bare skin where the lace ends. His eyes search yours—not for permission, but for restraint.

‎

‎He steps back. Just a bit.

‎

‎“Shoes off,” he says, voice thick.

‎

‎You toe them off slowly, watching him. He watches you right back—hungry eyes trailing over the way the dress hugs every curve.

‎

‎“Want a drink?” he asks, moving to the kitchen but not really giving you space to answer.

‎

‎“Sure.”

‎

‎You follow, feet padding silently on the floor. He pours something dark into a glass—hands you one. The air between you crackles. You take a sip, eyes never leaving his.

‎

‎“You always bring girls home like this?” you ask, feigning casual.

‎

‎His lips twitch.

‎

‎“I don’t usually get lucky enough to meet someone who makes backless lace dresses look like a crime scene waiting to happen.”

‎

‎You nearly choke on your drink, laughing. “Wow.”

‎

‎“Truth,” he says, stepping closer again. “You walked in, and I swear—I thought I imagined you.”

‎

‎His fingers trail along your back again, just brushing. Like he’s memorizing the curve. Like he doesn’t want to rush.

‎

‎“You planning on imagining me all night, or...?”

‎

‎He hums. Leans in.

‎

‎“I’d rather trace every inch of you first. Then maybe… tattoo the memory.”

‎

‎You feel it—deep in your gut. That slow unraveling. Like every nerve is being strummed.

‎

‎You’re pressed against the kitchen counter now. His hand cups your jaw, mouth inches from yours again.

‎

‎But he doesn’t kiss you.

‎

‎No.

‎

‎He just... hovers.

‎

‎Waits.

‎

‎Like he’s daring you to make the next move.

‎

‎Your breath is shaky. The tension’s unbearable.

‎

‎Jiyong's fingers tighten around your jaw—gently, but firm enough to say don't move. His thumb drags across your lower lip, slow. Measured.

‎

‎“You gonna let me taste you,” he murmurs, “or do I have to beg for it?”

‎

‎You barely nod before his mouth is on yours—hot, messy, hungry. His kiss isn't a question. It’s a declaration. Like he’s claiming you for every second you ghosted through his mind before tonight.

‎

‎He lifts you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, the cold marble shocking against your thighs as he nudges the skirt of your dress up.

‎

‎“Lace,” he mutters against your throat, “and no panties. You’re a damn menace.”

‎

‎You tilt your head back, gasping as his mouth drags down your neck, tongue teasing, teeth scraping. He kneels—right there on the cold tile—and spreads you with those tattooed hands like he’s about to worship.

‎

‎And he does.

‎

‎Tongue slow, deliberate. Deep.

‎

‎He licks through your folds like he needs it to survive, like this is the first taste of water after weeks in a desert. Your hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white as he sucks your clit, hums low in his throat, then plunges two fingers inside—crooked just right.

‎

‎Your legs shake.

‎

‎“Shit, oh my gosh—”

‎

‎He looks up at you, mouth shiny, lips curved. “You taste better than sin, baby.”

‎

‎Then you come.

‎

‎Hard.

‎

‎Back arching, hand flying to your mouth to keep from screaming, thighs closing around his head—but he doesn’t stop. He wants the aftershocks. He chases them.

‎

‎“Not done with you,” he rasps, standing and lifting you like you weigh nothing.

‎

‎He carries you—your dress hiked up, chest heaving, body limp with pleasure. The moment he drops you onto his bed, he peels the lace off your shoulders and throws it to the floor like it offended him.

‎

‎His inked body is lit by moonlight filtering through the blinds—muscled, lean, and trembling for you.

‎

‎He climbs over you, eyes locked with yours.

‎

‎“This isn’t just a night,” he says quietly. “This is me making sure you never forget me.”

‎

‎Then he sinks in.

‎

‎Slow.

‎

‎Deep.

‎

‎Stretching you until you're gasping and digging your nails into his back.

‎

‎Jiyong groans as he pushes all the way in, hips flush against yours. He stills there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

‎

‎“Fuck… you feel so good,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “So warm. So fucking perfect.”

‎

‎Your hands run down his back, nails dragging lightly along his spine. He starts to move—slow, deliberate thrusts, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

‎

‎“You like it slow, baby?” he murmurs, kissing your jaw, your neck. “Want me to take my time with you?”

‎

‎You nod, too breathless to speak.

‎

‎He rocks into you, deeper now. Every roll of his hips drags a gasp out of your throat, his pelvis hitting your clit just right. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, holding him close, locking him in.

‎

‎"You're mine tonight," he breathes into your skin. "Right? Say it."

‎

‎“Yours,” you whisper, arching under him.

‎

‎His hand slides under your thigh, gripping tight as he starts moving faster—deeper. The bed creaks under you, the air thick with heat and sweat and the sound of skin on skin.

‎

‎“Fucking look at me,” he pants.

‎

‎You do. Eyes wide, dazed, hazy with lust.

‎

‎He kisses you—sloppy and desperate, all teeth and tongue—then pulls back just enough to watch your face as he fucks you.

‎

‎“You’re unreal,” he says. “Like a dream I didn’t know I had.”

‎

‎Your moans are getting louder, your hips moving to meet his thrusts, chasing that edge.

‎

‎“I’m close,” you gasp. “oh my gosh—”

‎

‎He grips your chin, makes you look at him. “Come for me. Right now.”

‎

‎You fall apart beneath him, trembling, crying out his name as pleasure tears through you. He fucks you through it, then chokes out a curse as he follows—deep, hard, moaning your name into your neck.

‎

‎When it’s over, he collapses beside you, chest heaving.

‎

‎You lie in silence, tangled in each other, skin damp, breathing heavy.

‎

‎But the peace is short-lived.

‎

‎Because when Jiyong wakes up the next morning—

‎

‎You’re gone.

‎

‎No note. No number. Not even a name.

‎

‎Just the faint scent of your perfume on his pillow.

‎

‎And he’s never been haunted like this in his life.

‎—

‎Jiyong wakes slowly, the sunlight streaming through the cracks in his blinds, warming the cool sheets. His body aches in that good way—the kind of ache you get when you’ve been thoroughly fucked. He stretches, groaning softly, and reaches out for the warmth beside him.

‎

‎Nothing.

‎

‎His eyes snap open, and the empty space beside him is a punch to his gut. He sits up, the blankets falling away from his chest, a sense of dread settling in his stomach.

‎

‎Where are you?

‎

‎His mind races—last night, the bar, the walk back to his apartment. The way you kissed him, the way you fit so perfectly under him. But now, it's as if you vanished into thin air.

‎

‎"Shit," he mutters, rubbing his face with both hands.

‎

‎He swings his legs off the bed, his feet hitting the cold floor. His head feels heavy, foggy from sleep, but that’s not what’s bothering him. What bothers him is the deafening silence in his apartment. The absence of your body next to his is louder than anything he’s ever heard.

‎

‎He stands up and heads to the bathroom, splashing water on his face, trying to shake off the nagging feeling in his chest.

‎

‎Nothing.

‎

‎No note. No sign of you anywhere. Just the lingering scent of your perfume and the heat of your body still in his sheets.

‎

‎He checks his phone, hoping for a message, but there’s nothing. No text. No missed calls.

‎

‎"Fuck," he curses, running his hands through his hair.

‎

‎He grabs his shirt off the floor, throwing it on, then rushes out of his apartment. He stands outside for a moment, breathing in the cool morning air. His mind is spinning. He can’t focus, can’t think straight.

‎

‎What the fuck happened?

‎

‎Last night, it was so fucking good. But now, it’s like you just disappeared. Like a ghost.

‎

‎He walks down to the elevator, his phone in hand, trying to pull himself together. His thoughts are a mess. Why the hell didn’t she leave a number? Why didn’t she say goodbye?

‎

‎But what really haunts him is this:

‎

‎You made him feel something. Something deep. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

‎

‎And now you're gone.

‎—

‎It starts off casual. A conversation with his bartender friend.

‎

‎“You saw her, right?” Jiyong mutters, spinning his glass of soda absently. “Last Friday night. Lace-back dress. Sat at the end of the bar.”

‎

‎The bartender raises a brow. “You know how many girls wear lace to this place?”

‎

‎“Yeah, but she—” he cuts himself off. No use trying to explain. “She was different.”

‎

‎He checks the bar again the next night. And again. And again.

‎

‎He scrolls through socials. Nothing. He doesn't even know what to search.

‎

‎One day, he thinks about asking the bar’s CCTV footage—but he doesn’t want to seem desperate.

‎

‎Until it eats him alive.

‎

‎He opens Instagram. Searches local tagged photos from that night. Scrolls. For hours.

‎

‎And then—there’s a picture. Blurry. Taken across the bar. She’s not even the subject. Just background. A flash of her back. That lace.

‎

‎Jiyong zooms in.

‎

‎“Got you,” he whispers, heart racing. “Now I just need your name.”

‎

‎The blurry photo gives him just enough.

‎

‎A tag on the post. Someone who was there. A friend of a friend, maybe.

‎

‎Jiyong doesn’t hesitate—he messages the person who posted it.

‎

‎hey. random but do you know the girl in the back of this pic?

‎

‎He stares at the message. Deletes it. Rewrites it with a little charm.

‎

‎hey! this might sound weird but i’m trying to find someone and i think she’s in the background of your photo from the bar on friday. any chance you know her?

‎

‎It takes hours.

‎

‎He nearly gives up.

‎

‎Then:

‎"Oh, that’s Juwon’s coworker. Why?"

‎

‎“I think she left something important,” he replies, vague. “I’d like to return it.”

‎

‎Half-true. She left a mark on him he’s not sure will fade.

‎

‎Eventually, someone gives him a first name.

‎

‎Then a profile.

‎

‎It’s private.

‎

‎No posts. One profile pic—blurry, distant. But it’s her.

‎

‎He debates sending a message. Fingers hover over the keyboard.

‎

‎Hey. We met the other night at the bar... You probably didn’t mean for it to happen like that, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.

‎

‎Delete.

‎

‎Too intense.

‎

‎Hey. I think you left something at my place.

‎

‎Lame. And a lie.

‎

‎Finally, he just types what he means.

‎

‎I know it was supposed to be one night. But I can’t get you out of my head. Can we talk?

‎

‎He hits send.

‎

‎Then stares at the screen like it owes him a miracle.

‎Your POV

‎The sheets are tangled around your legs.

‎Warmth lingers on your skin, but the other side of the bed is cold.

‎

‎Jiyong had stirred at some point, pulled the blanket higher over your shoulders, kissed your shoulder in his sleep.

‎

‎You should’ve left then.

‎

‎But you didn’t want to. Not yet.

‎

‎Now, golden morning light filters through the sheer curtains, soft and unbothered by the chaos that had happened the night before—kitchen counters, bedroom moans, lace bunched on the floor.

‎

‎You sit up slowly, dragging a hand through your hair.

‎

‎His scent is all over you. Musky, dark, citrus with something you can’t name but want to keep. You glance back at him—still asleep, lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, lips parted just enough to remind you of last night.

‎

‎God.

‎

‎You exhale shakily.

‎

‎It wasn’t supposed to be like that. One drink, one night, no names.

‎But you hadn’t expected him to be so soft when he held you, so gentle in the in-betweens.

‎Or to kiss you like he’d been waiting for you.

‎

‎You tiptoe around the room, collecting your things.

‎Dress—wrinkled.

‎Shoes—under the couch.

‎Dignity—somewhere in the sheets, probably.

‎

‎Your hand hovers over the kitchen counter. A pen. A sticky note.

‎

‎You almost write something. Your name. A number.

‎

‎But you don’t.

‎

‎You can’t.

‎

‎If he knows who you are, things get complicated.

‎If he looks you up, remembers where he’s seen you before—the bar isn’t the only place you’ve passed through his world.

‎

‎You know who he is. Of course you do.

‎

‎You just pretended not to.

‎

‎And now you’re pretending you’re brave enough to walk away.

‎

‎Your phone vibrates. Your friend is downstairs, waiting in the car. Perfect timing. You open the door quietly, take one last look at him, and leave without making a sound.

‎

‎Later That Week…

‎

‎You’re scrolling through Instagram when a DM pops up.

‎

‎@peaceminusone

‎I know it was supposed to be one night. But I can’t get you out of my head. Can we talk?

‎

‎Your stomach flips.

‎

‎You hadn’t expected him to try.

‎

‎Your thumb hovers over the screen.

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎Backspace.

‎

‎Typing again.

‎

‎Should you ghost him? Should you risk it?

‎

‎But the truth is…

‎You haven’t stopped thinking about him either.

‎

‎You stare at his DM for a full five minutes.

‎

‎You type.

‎

‎“You’re not supposed to remember me.”

‎

‎Backspace.

‎

‎You type again.

‎

‎“It was just a night.”

‎

‎Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.

‎

‎Your thumb taps the screen again—faster this time, like if you hesitate, you’ll chicken out.

‎

‎“I didn’t mean to disappear. I just… thought it’d be easier.”

‎

‎You pause. Inhale. Exhale. Your fingers hover.

‎

‎Then, with a kind of reckless honesty:

‎

‎“But I haven’t stopped thinking about you either.”

‎

‎Send.

‎

‎Delivered.

‎Read.

‎

‎You swear your heart skips when the typing bubble pops up almost instantly.

‎

‎“You thought it’d be easier to haunt me like that?”

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎“You left like it meant nothing. I thought maybe it was nothing to you.”

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎“But now you’re telling me you’ve been thinking about me too?”

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎“Where are you.”

‎‎“Come back.”

‎‎“I don’t care if it was supposed to be just one night. I’m not done with you yet.”

‎

‎You stare at the screen.

‎

‎Jiyong's words pulse in your chest like a heartbeat you’ve been ignoring.

‎

‎You type slow this time.

‎

‎“It wasn’t nothing to me.”

‎

‎Send.

‎

‎Typing…

‎

‎“I just didn’t know what it was supposed to be.”

‎

‎Send.

‎

‎“But I think I want to find out.”

‎

‎And after a pause — short, nervous, honest:

‎

‎“Send me the address.”

‎

‎[7:15 PM]

‎

[‎Dropped pin]

‎

‎“I’ll be waiting.”

‎

‎You don’t even change. Just grab your keys, your bag, and leave your apartment like something is pulling you by the wrist.

‎

‎The moment you see him again, standing just outside the door of his building — black tee, tattoos peeking at his neck, eyes locked on you — it’s like time folds.

‎

‎You stop in front of him. He doesn’t say a word.

‎

‎Then:

‎“I knew you’d come back.”

‎

‎And then he’s pulling you into him, mouth crashing into yours — familiar and feverish, just like the last time, but heavier now.

‎More urgent. More real.

‎

‎Like neither of you are letting the other vanish again.

—

Author's note: no cuz when i saw a one more night jiyong edit on tiktok, i knew i had to write LMFAO i had to fucking edit this for the 9th time because the pictures kept on glitching omfg

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 8)

Choi Seunghyun x fem!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: As always, I'm using Jiyong and Seunghyun as characters. I'm not in any way shape or form suggesting that they'd act this way in real life.

synopsis: Feelings are hurt, grief is a strange thing, we take it out in weird ways. But Seunghyun and Y/n just want their friend to wake up.

warnings: dark i guess, hospital, car accident, rough slightly unwanted sex (borderline grape I guess but not graphic), angst, lots of feels, drunk editing, MDNI 18+, if you'd like a summary without reading, DM me

wc: 4.3k+

The crash was horrific. Jiyong hadn’t seen the semi barreling through the intersection until it was too late. There was a sickening crunch of metal meeting metal, then the world turned upside down—literally. His car flipped, once, twice, three times, the screech of twisting steel and shattering glass echoing through the night. The engine ignited on the final roll, flames licking hungrily along the crumpled hood, black smoke curling into the air like a wild fire.

By the time you and Seunghyun had made it outside it was pure chaos. Sirens howled. Lights flashed. A crowd had gathered, necks craned, camera phones out, some already recording. But none of it registered. All you saw was the burning wreckage—and the stranger. A man covered in soot, hands trembling, dragging Jiyong’s limp body across the pavement just seconds before the car exploded behind him, sending a burst of heat and debris into the air. That man, whoever he was, had saved his life.

Your legs buckled at the sight.

The glare from the ambulance flood lights seared into your eyes, making it hard to focus. Police shouted over radios, trying to push back the growing crowd, and the paparazzi—fucking vultures—had somehow shown up already, shouting questions, snapping photos. It was too much. Your lungs seized. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You wanted to run, to scream, to disappear.

Jiyong's body—so pale, so bloody, his face barely recognizable—was carefully loaded into the back of the ambulance. You couldn’t stop crying. The tears came like a dam breaking, soaking your face, your shirt, your trembling hands. Seunghyun pulled you into his side, one arm wrapping around you tightly as if trying to shield you from the nightmare unfolding. His face was buried in your hair, his own sobs shaking both of you as you stood there, helpless, watching the man you both loved so much disappear behind those white ambulance doors.

-

The hospital waiting area felt like the backrooms.

Too bright. Too sterile. Too quiet — except for the occasional ring of a phone at the reception desk or the rhythmic clacking of keys from someone behind the counter. But even those sounds felt muted, distant, like the world was operating at half-speed while all of you sat frozen in a grief that hadn’t even fully arrived yet.

You sat curled up on the stiff plastic chair, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around your shins like they could somehow keep you from unraveling completely. Seunghyun was beside you, close enough to feel his presence but not touching. Neither of you could. There was too much space between you now, and none of it had to do with physical distance.

Across from you, Daesung stared blankly at the floor, his fingers twitching against his leg. Taeyang kept rubbing his hands together, like he could pray the panic away. Seungri looked like he’d aged ten years in the last hour, chewing on the edge of his thumb, phone clutched tightly in his other hand though he hadn’t looked at it in a while. Not really. 

They were all waiting. Hoping. Dreading.

Jiyong’s manager sat silently in the far corner, head bowed, lips pressed into a tight line. A few YG staffers dotted the waiting room, whispering among themselves, but their presence felt like white noise. No one was really speaking. What could they possibly say?

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at anyone. Your vision swam, not from tears — not yet — but from the pressure of holding them back. You blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them.

Because this was your fault.

Every single agonizing minute that passed, you reminded yourself of that.

He’d been leaving your apartment. After your fight. After you'd shattered him with words you couldn’t take back. You could still hear the slam of the door. You could still feel the weight of his anger, his heartbreak, pressing down on your chest.

You buried your face in your arms. It hurt to breathe.

Beside you, Seunghyun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were bone white. He hadn’t spoken since arriving at the hospital. Hadn’t moved much either. But his mind was racing.

It was his fault too.

He should’ve taken Jiyong’s keys. He should’ve told him to stay the night. He should’ve been a better friend — his best friend. But instead, he let him walk out of that bar. Walk out of your apartment. Stumbling and furious, still drunk, still hurting.

And now they were all sitting here, waiting to find out if Jiyong would wake up at all.

Seunghyun glanced at you from the corner of his eye — your small, shaking form beside him, silent tears finally sliding down your cheeks.

He wanted to reach for you. Wanted to hold you and tell you everything was going to be okay.

But it wouldn’t have been true.

And the truth was — neither of you knew who you were grieving harder for:

Jiyong…

Or the pieces of yourselves that had broken beyond repair.

The sterile hush of the hospital waiting room shattered as the doors creaked open and the doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable.

Jiyong’s manager was on his feet before anyone else could even register the movement.

“What’s going on?” he asked, urgency sharpening his voice.

“We need to speak to his family,” the doctor replied, scanning the room with a professional detachment that made your stomach twist.

“His family is on their way,” his manager said quickly, already stepping forward. “But I’m his manager. I’ve been listed on his emergency contacts. We can speak, let’s go talk.” He said, voice eager.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, then gave a tight nod. Without another word, he turned and let himself be led down the hall, disappearing behind the same doors Jiyong had vanished through over an hour ago.

The silence left in their wake was heavier than anything that came before it.

Taeyang sat forward, rubbing his hands over his face before looking at Seunghyun, eyes narrowed with confusion and fear.

“So… what the hell happened?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t you guys go out tonight?”

Every nerve in your body lit up like a warning flare.

You couldn’t breathe. Your chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. Your palms were slick with sweat. You could feel the stares of the other boys — of everyone — even if they weren’t looking directly at you. The pressure was suffocating. The truth was crawling its way to the surface, clawing through the cracks like smoke before a fire.

Seunghyun inhaled slowly. His jaw tightened. You felt his hand come to rest on your knee, grounding you for just a second. But it wasn’t comfort. It was confirmation.

“He was drunk,” Seunghyun said quietly, his voice low and rough.

That was it. Just those three words.

Taeyang flinched slightly, and Daesung swore under his breath.

“He was drunk,” Seunghyun repeated, more to himself now, like he was trying to make sense of it, trying to say it enough times to believe it. “And stupid.”

You bit down hard on your lip, hard enough to taste blood. Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Because even if Seunghyun was technically right, it wasn’t the whole story. Jiyong had been drunk, yes. And reckless. But he hadn’t crashed just because of the alcohol in his veins.

He had crashed because of you.

Because he had stormed out of your apartment with your voice still echoing in his head — every bitter word, every rejection, every cruel truth you hadn't meant to come out the way it did. He’d left with a cracked-open heart and nowhere to put the pieces.

You had taken away the one thing he didn’t even realize he wanted until it was already gone.

A child.

A future.

A family.

And that was what had been driving him faster than he should have been. That was what blurred his vision more than the whiskey ever could. That was what made him miss the light. What made him not see the semi barreling through the far too busy intersection outside your apartment.

Yes, Jiyong had been drunk.

But he had also been hurting.

The doctors, the lawyers, the managers — they’d sort it all out. They’d write it up in reports and argue it in meetings. There would be contracts and coverage and headlines. They’d fix it up for the public.

But none of that changed the truth.

He had been speeding away from your front door with a black hole in his chest, crushed beneath the weight of the love he couldn't keep, and the future he didn’t get to fight for.

And now all any of you could do was wait.

Wait for news.

Wait for forgiveness.

Wait for a miracle.

You stood up without saying a word. No one tried to stop you. No one even looked up. Maybe they understood, or maybe they just didn’t know how to speak anymore. Either way, you were grateful. You needed the air. Needed the distance. Needed a break from the guilt pressing down on your chest.

Outside, the night was cool and still, and the moment the sliding ER doors shut behind you, it was like someone turned the volume down on the world. The hospital buzz faded, replaced by the soft hum of passing cars and the gentle breeze rustling the trees nearby.

You lit your cigarette with shaking fingers, bringing it to your lips like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. The smoke filled your lungs, acrid and warm, and for just a second, you could almost pretend none of this was real. Almost.

You were halfway through your cigarette when you heard the doors behind you hiss open again.

You didn’t turn around. Not at first. You just exhaled slowly, hoping—praying—it wasn’t anyone. That you could just be alone with your guilt for a little while longer.

But then you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

Seunghyun.

He looked nothing like the man you knew.

His shoulders were hunched, his expression hollow, like someone had scooped the life out of him and left the shell behind. His hands were in his pockets. His eyes were red-rimmed, though you weren’t sure if it was from crying or just exhaustion. Or maybe both.

You silently held out your cigarette pack and the lighter.

He took one wordlessly, and sat down beside you on the low stone wall near the hospital entrance. The click of the lighter was the only sound between you as he lit up, inhaling deep like he needed it more than air.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. You just stared up at the night sky, the stars shining far too brightly for how dark the world felt right now.

You wanted to reach for his hand. You wanted to press your palm against his, to offer some kind of comfort, even if you didn’t deserve to give it. But you didn’t move.

“Seunghyun, I—” you started, voice thin and raw.

But he didn’t let you finish.

“You should go home,” he said, cutting you off with a quiet firmness that hurt more than if he’d yelled.

You looked down at your shoes, swallowing hard. “I-I don’t want to go back there…” you muttered, barely audible.

The words carried too much weight.

Your apartment. The place where Jiyong had stood broken and shaking, where the worst things had been said. Where you’d sent him out into the night with a wound he hadn’t been able to outrun.

You couldn’t go back to that.

Seunghyun sighed, and the sound was so heavy it made your chest tighten all over again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys and holding them out to you.

“Here,” he said. “Go to my place.”

You hesitated. “I—”

“I don’t want you here,” he said, voice sharper now. Not yelling. Just... tired. Defeated. Final.

The words sliced through you like glass. You flinched, your hand recoiling from the keys even though you knew he wasn’t wrong.

“I want to make sure—”

“I’ll call if there’s an update,” he said, already turning his gaze away. “Just...go.”

You stared at him, your vision going blurry with tears. But you knew better than to argue. Not now. Not with him. Not with everything so fragile and raw.

You nodded, swallowing the sob threatening to climb your throat.

You called an Uber and didn’t look back.

-

Seunghyun’s apartment welcomed you like a ghost. Everything was familiar — the scent of his cologne still clinging to the air, the soft hum of the fridge, the faint echo of laughter that only existed in your memory now.

You walked slowly through the space, your fingers trailing over the back of the couch, the counter, the hallway wall — like touching these things would somehow bring you back to a time when this place felt like home. When he felt like home.

You reached the bedroom and stripped out of your clothes with a kind of numb autopilot. You opened his drawer and pulled out one of his oversized t-shirts — the one he always wore on lazy Sunday mornings.

You slipped it over your head, the fabric brushing your skin with a familiar comfort, and for a moment, it felt like you could still feel his arms around you.

But it wasn’t real.

You climbed into his bed, curling into his side of the bed, breathing in the remnants of him like they were oxygen.

And then it hit you.

All of it.

The crash.

The guilt.

The fact that Jiyong might never open his eyes again.

The fact that Seunghyun was done with you.

The fact that you may have lost everything.

A choking sob ripped from your throat as you curled into yourself, burying your face into his pillow.

Your body shook with quiet, helpless grief.

Tonight had changed everything.

And there was no going back.

-

The loud slam of the front door jolted you awake. Your entire body tensed, your heart hammering in your chest as your mind scrambled to make sense of where you were.

Then it hit you. Seunghyun’s house.

You sat up slowly, blinking through the haze of sleep. The room was dim, lit only by the morning sun peaking through the blinds, casting pale shadows across the walls. You strained to hear footsteps, movement — anything — but the house had gone quiet again.

It had to be him. He must’ve come home from the hospital.

You waited, every second dragging out painfully as dread curled in your stomach. You counted the minutes in your head, clinging to the silence like it might give you an answer.

After what felt like forever, you heard the soft creak of the bedroom door.

Seunghyun stepped in.

He barely looked at you.

His eyes skimmed over your presence in his bed like you were furniture, like you weren’t someone he had once called “baby,” someone he had once held so carefully. 

Without a word, he walked past you and shut the bathroom door behind him.

You sat frozen, still beneath the blankets, unsure what to do. Your skin pricked with nerves. Did he want you here? Did he even remember that he’d told you to come? Or had that been guilt talking?

The weight of your thoughts crushed you. You laid back down, curling onto your side, arms wrapped tightly around your core. Your heart felt like it might crack open. You whispered a quiet prayer into the silence, not for yourself, but for Jiyong.

Please let him be okay.

Fifteen agonizing minutes passed before the bathroom door opened again. You glanced over your shoulder as Seunghyun walked back into the room, dressed in nothing but his boxers. He climbed into bed beside you wordlessly and grabbed the remote, flicking on the TV. An old sitcom started to play — something bright, cheerful, completely out of place against the oppressive weight in the room.

You chewed your bottom lip, uncertain. The air between you was too thick with unspoken grief and regret. Still, you tried.

“Seunghyun…” you said softly.

No response.

He stared at the screen, his face expressionless.

You tried again, your voice cracking with hesitation. “Is… is there any update? On Ji?”

He took a slow breath through his nose. The pause before he answered made your chest tighten.

“He’s out of surgery,” he finally said. His voice was flat, tired. “Hasn’t woken up yet.”

You felt the sting of tears in your eyes again, but blinked them back quickly. You didn’t deserve to cry. Not after everything.

“Is he going to be okay?” you asked, barely able to form the words.

“I-I don’t know, Y/n,” he said, and for the first time since he got home, there was emotion behind his voice. Sadness. Defeat. “His family’s with him. They told us to go home…rest.”

You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. A long silence passed before you worked up the nerve to ask, “D-Do you want me to leave?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun.

He was quiet for a long time, and just when you were sure he wasn’t going to answer, he whispered, “No.”

You were stunned.

You didn’t know what he meant. You didn’t know if it was love, or guilt, or just the unbearable weight of being alone right now. But you didn’t argue. You didn’t say another word.

You sat in silence beside him, the two of you watching the flicker of people laughing on a screen neither of you were really seeing.

Thirty minutes passed like that. Maybe longer.

Then, without warning, his hand moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

It slid across the bed and settled on your thigh. Warm. Heavy. Familiar yet foreign.

His fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and your breath caught in your throat. Your body reacted before your brain could catch up — tension coiled in your belly, heat blooming where his fingers hovered.

You turned toward him instinctively, crawling over his hips, straddling him.

Your lips met in a rush of desperation and pain. He didn’t pull back. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, deeper. One slid down your back, gripping your ass roughly. His nails dug in. Then came the sharp crack of his palm landing on your cheek.

You whimpered into his mouth.

And that sound — that soft, broken sound — snapped something in him.

He flipped you beneath him with a strength that startled you, not even bothering to undress fully before pushing his boxers down just enough to free himself. He didn’t pause, didn’t ask, didn’t look at you. He pushed your panties to the side.

You didn’t even have time to prepare before he shoved into you.

You cried out, the stretch almost painful. Your nails dug into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself, but he didn’t slow down. Didn’t soften.

He thrust into you hard, fast, his pace punishing. You felt the bed frame creak under the force of it, your breath catching as his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Seunghyun…” you whimpered, your voice strangled.

He leaned close, grunting in your ear, his fingers tightening.

You could feel it now — this wasn’t intimacy. This wasn’t love.

It was anger.

Grief.

Trauma.

“Was he better than me?” he whispered, his voice venomous, hips snapping forward harder.

You gasped at the sting, tears springing to your eyes.

“Who fucks you better, huh?”

“Seunghyun!” you screamed, shoving at his chest. “You’re hurting me!”

He froze for a split second.

You pushed again, harder this time, and he rolled off of you, chest heaving as the realization of what just happened hit him like a freight train.

He stared at you — really saw you now — your eyes red, your body trembling, clutching the sheets tightly around you like a shield.

The darkness in his eyes vanished, replaced by horror.

“Shit,” he whispered, sitting up and dragging both hands through his hair. “Shit, Y/n… I’m—I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t even look at him.

You choked back a sob, stumbling out of bed and rushing to the bathroom. You locked the door behind you, pressing your back to it, sliding to the cold tile floor.

And there, in the silence…you broke.

“Y/n, please…” Seunghyun’s voice came through the door, broken and muffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear to god I didn’t…”

You sat on the cold tile floor, your knees hugged to your chest, arms trembling as your fingers dug into your skin. The sobs shook through you violently, unstoppable, as the night played over and over in your head like a film reel you couldn't turn off.

Everything was broken.

Jiyong. Seunghyun.You.

The man you loved had just used you as an outlet for his pain — not a partner, not someone to hold, but someone to unload on. You felt every thrust like an accusation. Every movement screamed at you: You did this. You destroyed us. You ruined everything.

But it wasn’t just anger. It was grief. It was guilt. It was heartbreak on both ends, a tangle of too many things neither of you had the tools to process.

“I’m sorry,” Seunghyun choked out again. You could hear the weight in his voice, the kind of sorrow that buckled you at the knees. “Please, can we just talk? I can’t breathe without knowing you’re okay…”

And still, even with how scared you were… your heart ached for him.

You loved him. So fucking much.

Maybe that was the worst part — that even after what had just happened, a part of you still wanted to comfort him. To reach for him. To fix what was already in ruins.

Maybe you deserved it.

Maybe you didn’t.

You shifted, hands trembling as you unlocked the bathroom door and slowly cracked it open.

He was sitting right outside, legs folded beneath him, arms resting on his knees. He looked… small. Tired. Wrecked. He’d changed into sweats and an old, worn t-shirt, the one he usually slept in when you stayed over. His eyes were red, tear tracks still glistening on his cheeks.

You tugged your borrowed shirt down, trying to cover yourself, suddenly painfully aware of your body. His gaze flicked to you and quickly away, like even he couldn’t look at what he’d done.

Without a word, he grabbed the blanket off the bed and handed it to you. You took it, wrapping it tightly around yourself, grateful for the shield between you.

You sat beside him, leaning back against the wall, your shoulders just barely brushing. The silence was suffocating, but you weren’t ready to break it.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n,” Seunghyun whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You swallowed, staring blankly at the floor. “Yeah. I did.”

“No.” His voice snapped sharper now, filled with conviction. “No, you didn’t.”

He turned to you then, really turned, his eyes bloodshot and wide. “I took everything I was feeling and dumped it on you. I used you. That’s not love. That’s not who I want to be. That’s not who I am.”

You opened your mouth, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

“I caused all of this,” you finally said, your voice so small it was barely audible.

He sighed and dropped his face into his hands. “I don’t even know how to start this conversation.”

“I don’t think it’s the time to have it,” you whispered.

He nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Wounded.

You stared ahead, unsure if you were waiting for something or if there was simply nothing left to say. Until finally…

“D-Did you tell everyone the whole story?” you asked, heart pounding in your chest.

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “No. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I want Jiyong to wake up first,” he said, his voice cracking at the name. “I want him to be okay. I just… I need him to be okay so bad, Y/n. He’s my best friend.”

And then he crumbled.

He collapsed into your lap and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as the sobs came. Violent. Uncontrolled.

You held him without thinking. Your hands tangled in his hair, your lips pressed to the crown of his head. And then you were crying too. The two of you sobbing into each other, curled up on the bedroom floor like children who had just lost their favorite toy.

You cried for Jiyong.

For yourselves.

For the pieces of this mess you didn’t know how to put back together.

-

An hour passed like that. Eventually, the tears dried, leaving nothing but swollen eyes and silent exhaustion.

“Seunghyun,” you whispered, brushing the hair from his forehead. “Have you slept?”

He sniffled and shook his head. “Not really.”

“You need rest,” you said gently.

He nodded, eyes fluttering. “Will you… rub my back?”

His voice cracked again, soft and wounded, like a little boy asking his mother for comfort. It nearly broke you all over again.

You smiled through the ache. Remembering the last few months how you coaxed him to sleep that way. “Yeah. I will.”

You helped him into bed, pulling the blankets over both of you as he curled onto his side. You slid in behind him, your fingers trailing lightly across his bare back. Drawing soft shapes like you used to. Slow, soothing motions to ease him into rest.

His breathing began to slow. His body finally relaxed.

And you stayed there, in the quiet, drawing circles into his skin and wondering if either of you would ever feel whole again.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[ikwon1c]

Noona pt. 5

noona 6

characters: kwon jiyong x y/n

summary: no secrets stay buried forever—especially not between siblings.

tags: angst, sibling tension, emotional vulnerability, comfort, guilt, protective seunghyun, post-fight fallout

this gtop pic has me on chokehold 🥵 man, i miss them 💔

You hadn’t seen Jiyong in twenty-five days. Not that you were counting. Twenty-five days since the fight. Twenty-five days since the stupid, ugly, desperate argument in your office. Since he stood in front of you, arms crossed, eyes burning—and asked you if it all meant nothing. If he meant nothing.

And you, in your infinite wisdom, said: “This was a mistake.”

You didn’t mean it.

You meant I’m scared. I’m spiraling. I love you, and I don’t know how to love you in a way that doesn’t ruin everything. But you said it like a dagger, and you watched it hit him square in the chest.

Jiyong had never been good at hiding heartbreak. He just turned it into something else. Smoke. Music. Silence.

So you got silence.

And now here you were, three and a half weeks later, sitting in your office at YG with the lights off and a cup of coffee gone cold, pretending the tight ache in your chest was just stress.

You’d been fine. That’s what you told yourself over and over. You buried yourself in project meetings, edited training footage until your eyes blurred, and took more on your plate at YG than any sane person should. There was always something to fix, something to plan. That was the whole point. Distraction as salvation.

But distraction doesn’t help when your heart feels like it’s limping behind you. Not even the endless whiteboards or loud vocal booths could drown out the echo of a fight you never meant to start.

You’d pushed him away. You had to. It was stupid to begin with—falling for someone 8 years younger, someone who’d been part of your life for years but only started looking at you like that more recently. Someone who knew exactly how to tear down every wall you put up and then kiss you like he was doing you a favor.

You ended things but you hadn’t expected it to hurt. Not this much. It’s because you weren’t supposed to fall in love with him… but you still did.

So when you sat at your desk three weeks later, scrolling through a schedule you couldn’t focus on, the ache in your chest wasn’t professional. It was personal. Deep. Stupid.

He hadn’t texted since that night. Neither had you. But you’d seen the signs—the extra cigarette breaks, the half-assed verses, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. You weren’t the only one falling apart quietly.

“You look like shit,” he said by way of greeting. Seunghyun stood by your door, arms crossed, one brow raised.

You didn’t even look up. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re not eating properly,” he added, walking towards you. “You only look like that when you’re living off coffee and grief.”

You laughed softly. “Grief?”

“I know the signs.”

You paused. Then: “I’m just busy.”

Seunghyun snorted. “Bullshit.”

You glared. He glared back, harder.

He sat in front of me and gave me a long look.“You’re never this quiet. What’s going on?”

You shrugged. “Nothing. Just work.”

“Liar,” he said flatly. He stood up, “Come on. You’re eating dinner with me. No arguments.”

“Seunghyun, I’m really not—”

“I already made a reservation. Don’t make me waste good kimchi jjigae over your sad girl era.”

You huffed but didn’t resist. He knew you too well anyway.

⸻

You barely said a word in the car. Seunghyun had the playlist going—some random mix of early BigBang and RnB’s, because nostalgia always worked on you.

But you weren’t biting tonight.

So he filled the silence with light commentary. Your work. His new hair color. The absolute mess in the recording studio thanks to Daesung spilling an entire iced latte on the console.

When you got to the restaurant, he didn’t push right away. He picked a quiet place. One of those overpriced hanwoo restaurants he only went to when he was trying to spoil you or win an argument. You didn’t ask which this was.

The server came by, and you both ordered your usuals. The grill lit up between you with a low hiss, smoke curling upward. You busied yourself with pouring sauces and arranging banchan, like if you looked busy enough, he wouldn’t look at you.

“Noona.” He glanced up. “Didn’t think you’d actually agree to come.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, you dragged me. Remember?”

He grunted. “Exactly. So I figured you won’t make up some excuse and ghost me for another three weeks.”

“Rude.”

He shrugged. “Accurate.”

He ordered your favorite, watched you eat half of it, then leaned forward and said, “So. You gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around like you’re haunted?”

You looked up sharply. “I’m not.”

“You’re literally zoning out mid-conversation, you’ve got dark circles, and don’t think I didn’t notice you skipped the rap showcase last week.”

You avoided his gaze. Seunghyun sighed and sat back, playing with his spoon.

But of course, this was Choi Seunghyun. Your baby brother. Who’d known you since you were fourteen and he was still a kid trying to act tough in your hand-me-down jacket.

“You look like shit,” he said.

“Gee, thanks. You said that already.”

“You do,” he repeated, mouth full of kimchi. “Like you haven’t slept properly in a week.”

You stabbed a piece of radish with unnecessary force. “I’ve been busy.”

“Not that kind of tired.” He chewed. Swallowed. “You look heart-tired.”

You didn’t answer.

“Did something happen?”

Still, nothing.

“Or should I say… someone?”

Your hands stilled.

“You know,” he said after a pause, “Jiyong’s been a wreck too.”

You froze.

“What?”

“He’s been off,” Seunghyun said carefully. “More than usual. Smokes through every break. Snaps at the techs. Keeps rewriting lyrics that don’t need changing. Keeps messing up the same parts. Youngbae asked if he’s getting enough sleep, and you know what he said?”

You looked up, finally.

“He said ‘it doesn’t matter.’” Seunghyun shook his head. “He only talks like that when he’s heartbroken.”

You closed your eyes.

“Noona.”

You swallowed hard.

“I didn’t say anything at first,” he continued. “Thought maybe it was the stress. Comeback nerves or whatever.”

You tried to keep your face blank. “Maybe it is.”

“Maybe.” He paused. “But I’ve seen this before. Back when he got dumped the first time in high school. You remember that? Moping around the dorm like a kicked puppy, smoking until his voice cracked.”

You gave a noncommittal grunt.

“He’s not good at hiding it. And neither are you.”

“I figured something happened when he started sulking and you started staying late. And then when neither of you were at Daesung’s birthday party? Yeah. Pretty obvious.” Seunghyun added.

You exhaled. Long and shaky.

“I didn’t know it was like that,” he said, watching you carefully now. “Didn’t think it could be like that. Not with you.”

“But then I noticed you,” he added. “And I’m not stupid.”

You pushed your bowl away. “Seunghyun…”

He stared at you, quiet for a long beat. “When were you planning to tell me?”

You met his eyes. “I wasn’t.”

There was a pause. Then—he laughed. Just once. A sharp, bitter sound.

“Wow.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Oh, I’m sure it just fell into place,” he said, eyes flashing. “One minute you’re lecturing him about deadlines and the next—what? Making out behind studio B?”

You winced.

“I told him to stay away from you,” Seunghyun muttered.

Your heart stung. “You what?”

“I told him,” he repeated. “Years ago. When we were still rookies. That you were off-limits.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“He’s my friend,” Seunghyun said tightly. “And you’re my sister. You think I want to be stuck between that?!”

“I never asked you to be.”

“No, you just snuck around behind my back and pretended it wasn’t happening.”

You opened your mouth. Shut it.

Seunghyun looked away, jaw clenched. “I’m not even mad that it happened. I’m mad you didn’t tell me.”

Silence.

You looked at him while sighing, “I was scared.”

“Of what? That I’d be pissed?”

You gave him a look.

“…Okay, yeah. Fair.”

He sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Look,” he said after a minute, voice softer now. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m happy about this. You’re still my older sister and he’s still an idiot.” That drew a weak smile from you.

You stared down at the chopsticks between your hands. Wooden. Splintered slightly at the tips. You hadn’t even noticed.

“You love him,” Seunghyun said simply.

Your eyes welled. You blinked fast. “I—”

“And he loves you. Has for years, probably.” Seunghyun nodded. “Even if he’s a cocky little shit. He lights up like a Christmas tree when you walk into the studio.”

Your throat closed up.

Seunghyun leaned back in his seat. “And yeah. I’m pissed.”

You looked up at him. “I know.”

“I’m still pissed.”

“I know,” you repeated.

“Because you’re my sister,” he said, voice cracking a little, “and I don’t know how to process the fact that the guy I’ve trained with, grown up with, the guy who used to ask me how to get your attention—actually got it.”

Because—hell, Seunghyun, it’s Jiyong. The guy who used to draw dicks on your sketchbook and steal your ice cream.

You laughed weakly. “He asked you that?”

Seunghyun rolled his eyes. “Constantly. He used to say, ‘Hyung, does your noona like guys with good hair or good lyrics?’ Like it mattered.”

You covered your face. “Oh my god.”

“He was obsessed. In a weird, loser way.” He sighed. “Still is.”

“But I get it,” he said. “Sort of. Jiyong’s annoying as hell, but he’s loyal. And when he wants something… he doesn’t give up.”

“No,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t.”

“And you love him.”

Your throat tightened. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“The hell it doesn’t.” He stared at you like he was trying to see past all the walls.

“You love him,” he said again. “So why are you both suffering like this?”

You didn’t answer. The truth you didn’t want to hear. The one you’d been trying to bury under work and guilt and coffee and blank stares across studio hallways.

You loved him.

You never stopped.

And maybe you broke something between you, but maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.

Seunghyun reached across the table, nudging your knuckles with his.

“I’m probably even more than pissed,” he said. “But I’m your brother before anything else. If you’re hurting… I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“You’re not alone, noona,” he murmured. “Even if you’re stupid as hell sometimes.”

You let out a watery laugh. “Thanks, brat.”

We continued to eat in silence when Seunghyun sighed.

“Noona.”

“What?”

“You’ve always been the one taking care of everyone.” He looked you in the eye now. “You deserved someone who gives a shit back.”

You stared at him.

“And if it has to be someone like him,” he added with a sigh, “then… it better be because he makes you happy. Not because he wore you down.”

You exhaled slowly, guilt and gratitude tangling in your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He shrugged again. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still gonna make fun of you relentlessly when this goes public.”

You rolled your eyes. “Great.”

“But,” he added, more gently now, “I’m always on your side.”

You smiled, and this time it stuck. And for the first time in weeks, the weight didn’t feel quite so heavy.

That night, Seunghyun crashed on your couch after watching a shitty sci-fi movie and eating half a pint of overpriced gelato you’d been saving. He grumbled about your heating system and yelled when he tripped over your slippers in the dark.

But he also said, as you handed him a blanket:

“For what it’s worth, noona… I get it.”

You blinked at him. “Get what?”

He sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the cushions. “Why you chose him.”

You stared.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he added. “I still want to punch him in the face. But…” He trailed off, eyes soft. “He’s always looked at you like you hung the stars.”

Your chest ached.

You sat down beside him, curling up with your knees to your chest. “I think I looked at him the same way. I just pretended I didn’t.”

Seunghyun nodded.

Then: “If he hurts you again, I’ll break both his kneecaps.”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

He yawned. “Just don’t make me listen to you two having sex. Thin walls.”

You threw a pillow at his face.

—

Seunghyun barely glanced at you as he adjusted the collar of his blazer. “Let’s go.”

You narrowed your eyes, heels clicking behind him. “I’m still mad at you for blackmailing me into this.”

He snorted. “Blackmail? You owe me.”

“For what?”

“For not telling Jiyong you cry after watching cat videos,” he deadpanned.

You shoved his shoulder. “Not that!”

“Oh, you mean for not telling him I knew you two were sneaking around behind my back like horny teenagers in a rom-com?”

You groaned. “Exactly that.”

He smirked, stepping into the elevator. “Then suck it up and be my charming plus one.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me.”

You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Only brother I have, unfortunately.”

—

“Do you have to look like you’re being dragged to your own funeral?”

Seunghyun threw you a sideways glance from the driver’s seat, his long fingers tapping on the wheel to the beat of whatever playlist he had running through the car speakers. You were slumped in the passenger seat, arms crossed, scowl perfectly in place.

“I said I owed you one. Not my soul.”

He smirked. “Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Because I kept my mouth shut about a certain someone sneaking into your apartment at ungodly hours for two months.”

You looked out the window like the city lights might swallow your guilt. “Can you quit that? That was ages ago.”

“Three weeks,” he said, smug. “And you were practically glowing the morning after. Don’t test me.”

You groaned. “Can we not talk about it?”

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go to a team dinner party with all our friends, including him, pretend nothing ever happened, and not talk about it. That’s totally healthy.”

You glared at him, but he was already pulling into the lot of the restaurant. Private room, of course. Exclusive, expensive, and loud enough that no one would hear you scream into a napkin later.

“I’m just saying,” Seunghyun added as he parked, “this is your mess, noona. Try not to drip it all over my sashimi.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you said.

“I’m lucky you hate confrontation,” he replied. “Otherwise Jiyong would’ve been missing his teeth by now.”

You elbowed him hard.

The dinner party was already buzzing when you arrived. Private room. Upscale restaurant. Loud laughter. Warm lights. Half the YG staff was there, including familiar dancers, producers, stylists—people who’d known the boys since pre-debut. You felt the nostalgic tug in your chest. It used to be simpler, back when you were just Seunghyun’s older sister and the unofficial “noona” of the group.

Back when Jiyong didn’t look at you like he could unpeel your skin with a glance.

And back before you gave in to that look.

You stuck close to Seunghyun’s side as greetings flew around. He introduced you casually, proudly—like the loyal little brother he was. You smiled politely, gave hugs, laughed when needed.

The private room was warm with familiar laughter and already thick with soju fumes. Daesung was mid-joke. Youngbae was trying to explain some terrible pun. The table burst into laughter as you and Seunghyun stepped in.

“Noona!” Daesung beamed, waving you over like a child seeing a favorite babysitter. “We’ve missed you!”

“More like missed someone who could keep Seunghyun hyung in check,” Youngbae added.

You smiled, bowing slightly and greeting each of them in turn. And then—your breath caught.

Jiyong.

He was across the room, black designer blazer, black slacks, two rings on his fingers and that damn chain around his neck. He was laughing at something Daesung said, head tilted back, the glow of the lights making him look golden.

But he wasn’t alone.

Her.

Sitting beside him, legs crossed, dress tight, hair perfect, her nails tapping against his glass like they belonged there.

You blinked. Swallowed.

“You okay?” Seunghyun murmured beside you.

“Fine,” you said too fast. “Fine. Totally fine.”

His smirk was immediate.

He knew.

You punched his arm. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m thriving.”

I groaned.

This is gonna be a long night.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

does your mother know?

Pairing: g-dragon / kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: you're so cute, i like your style, and i know what you mean when i give you a flash of that smile. but girl, you're only a child!

Tags: age gap (younger reader/older jiyong), flirting, internal conflict if you squint, tension, implied sexual content as the title suggests, inspired by 'does your mother know?' by abba

ao3

The night was a living energy. It coiled and breathed around you—hard bass kicks pounding through your body like a second heartbeat, shadows slick as sweat and smoke, neon arteries throbbing through the body of the club. Bodies writhe, unthinking, lost in the rhythm, flowing as one as an ocean of umbra and alchohol. 

But not you. You were stillness set aflame.

Draped in liquid silk that captured every flicker of light like a secret, you were the eye of the storm—untouched, unbothered, and unmistakably dangerous. Inexplicably enticing in your own right to anyone who had a set of eyes. A glass hovered between your fingers, forgotten and half-full, your lips brushing its rim with the kind of patience that unnerves. You did not dance with the current, you had no need to.

You were the reason people dance. You were the current.

And Jiyong saw you, your energy—long before you noticed him.

Glancing across the sea of people from the bar stool of which you were perched upon, you spotted a man, possibly in his late thirties, you presumed. He was the embodiment of a slow-burning sin wrapped in expensive tailoring and silence sharp enough to cut. He moved like smoke—casual, elusive, with that deliberate ease men acquired only when they had stopped chasing validation and begun commanding it. Time didn't age him. It defined him.

His eyes locked on yours, and they lingered.

He should not have been looking. You were far too young—mid-twenties, perhaps? The kind of young that still shimmered with possibility. The kind that had not yet been dulled by regret, only sharpened by experience. You carried your allure not like an accident, but like a weapon—sheened in confidence, honed by intention, and worn like the most dangerous kind of armor. Aware. Amused. Utterly indifferent to the chaos it left in your wake.

You were, by every sensible measure of self-preservation, off-limits.

But then—you looked at him.

Not with the expected tilt of innocence or coy invitation, but with something older. Slower. Something that simmered beneath the surface like embers refusing to die. A single tilt of your head, the barest pull of your lips—not a smile, but a provocation. A whisper of sin dressed as curiosity.

Your gaze held his with a weight that felt intentional. Unyielding. Like the first touch of silk over bare skin—cool, electric, impossible to ignore. And when your smirk dared to form—subtle, smug, knowing—it undid something in him.

That was all it took.

Jiyong crossed the floor like a man already seduced, the air parting around him, thick with the scent of something about to become a mistake. His presence was deliberate, threaded with a confidence born not from youth, but from time. And still—still—you had managed to unravel it.

He ordered a drink with the ease of ritual, knowing full well he would not touch it. Not when you were watching him. Not when the real intoxication was already humming in the space between you.

He stopped just short of your side, and when he spoke, his voice was low, a little raspy but still so buttery, and tinged with something that sounded almost like disbelief. “You look like you’re scheming.”

You barely moved. Your chin balanced delicately on the back of your hand, legs crossed in that languid, unbothered way that suggested royalty or ruin—depending on the lighting. Your gaze did not waver. “Maybe I am.”

“Should I be concerned?”

You tilted your head, slow and thoughtful, as though you were still weighing his worth. Still undecided on whether he merited your attention—or your time. “Only if you bore me easily.”

Jiyong's laugh was low, surprised. Soft in a way that suggested he had not meant to let it out—you had caught him off-guard. That was no small feat. He was accustomed to being the one who disrupted, who disarmed, who flustered. But you? You had yet to even shift in your seat, and already, you had knocked him askew. Impressive didn't even begin to cover it.

“I don’t usually approach women like this anymore,” he admitted almost bashfully, watching you as if you were something delicate he might have dreamt into existence and feared waking from.

You hummed, velvet and amused. “Gone humble with age?”

“Gone wise.”

“I doubt that.” You leaned forward—only a breath, but it was enough. Enough for the scent of your skin to find him. Dangerous. Expensive. Not sweet. Not safe. The kind of fragrance that lingers in bedsheets and sins alike. “You strike me as the kind of man who says that while undressing someone in his mind.”

He faltered. The mask slipped. Just for a breath—but you saw it. Of course you did.

“You’re not wrong,” he says, and it sounds more like a confession than a flirtation.

“I never am.”

He watched the condensation collect on your glass, followed the lazy trail of a droplet as it slid down the curve of it—and then onto your finger, to which you brought it to your mouth. Then, slowly, your tongue claimed it from your fingertip with the kind of care that could undo a man entirely. The motion was not obscene—it was worse. His control wavered.

“You’re trouble.”

“You’re older,” you purred. “Shouldn’t you know better?”

That landed. You saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth—the guilt, or maybe the hunger trying to masquerade as restraint. Neither disguise suited him. Poor thing.

“You can walk away,” you murmured, your tone softening like silk drawn tight before the snap. “If this makes you uncomfortable.”

He swallowed hard. His voice dropped, rasped—gravel laced with want. “I should.”

You smiled. Not cruelly. Seductively. Like a warning unfolding itself one petal at a time. “But you won't, will you?”

And that—that—was the crack. The splinter. The first beautiful, irrevocable fracture in something that had been whole until he saw you.

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tense, as though trying to shake loose whatever spell had tangled itself around him. You stood then, slow and serpentine, rising like smoke, like temptation. His eyes—traitorous and hungry—dropped before he could stop them.

Your hips. Your thighs. The promise in the sway of your walk.

You passed beside him, close enough for your perfume to curl around him again—closer still, until your breath ghosted across the shell of his ear.

“Come on,” you whispered, voice dipped in velvet and venom. “You've already decided.”

And of course—of course—he followed.

You chose not kiss him right away.

No, you let him ache. Let him stir.

The corridor was dim—walls pulsing faintly with the spill of bass from the club, shadows trembling with the breath of your nearness. You closed the space between you and Jiyong with feline ease, your body a whisper away from his, but never quite touching. The lack of contact was deliberate. Exquisite. Agonizing.

His back met the wall with a dull thud, and still—he dared not to move. He stood there, as if bracing for a storm, as if one wrong word might snap the last thread of composure he clung to.

Your voice was soft when it came. Intimate. Dangerous. “What’s got you nervous, Jiyong?”

You let his name roll slow off your tongue, just shy of a purr, your lips brushing the space beside his jaw. You felt the way his breath hitched, sharp and shallow, like he had been holding it.

He exhaled, eyes darting to your mouth, then away. “You’re younger than I’m used to.”

You smiled, just a little. Enough for mischief to gleam behind your lashes. “I’m not asking for your pension.”

He laughed—tight, reluctant, aroused. A sound that came from the chest, caught on restraint.

“What are you asking for?” he rasped.

You leaned in closer, until your breath fanned against the side of his neck, warm and steady. “A mistake.”

That was it. That was all it took.

He broke.

His hand came to your thigh, slow at first, then firmer—fingertips dragging over silk and skin as though needing to memorize the sensation. His other hand found your hip and pulled you closer, until there was no space left between your bodies—only heat. When his mouth found yours, it was not gentle. It was rough, consuming. Like a man punishing himself for every time he had said no to this kind of need and every second he had spent resisting you.

He kissed you like he needed it to breathe. Like he had already regretted it but would want to do it for the rest of his life.

And you kissed him back like you had been waiting—waiting—for this exact unraveling. You kissed like fire licking at wax, deliberate and destructive, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pressed into him.

Then—you pulled away.

Just enough.

Just enough to make him suffer.

Your lips hovered over his, your breath still mingling. Close, but not touching.

“You said you don’t do this anymore,” you murmured, the edges of your voice frayed with heat.

His chest rose against yours. Labored. Tense. “I don’t.”

“But here you are,” you said, the words dragging like silk along skin. “Looking like you’re one whisper away from falling to your knees.”

His jaw clenched. His fingers flexed on your hip, like he was fighting himself—like every instinct told him to surrender, but some distant voice still told him he shouldn’t.

A strangled sound escaped him. Half laugh, half growl.

His gaze dragged down your body, slow and searing. The way the dress clung to your curves. The bare inch of thigh peeking through the slit. The sharp rise and fall of your breath against his chest.

“You’re driving me mad,” he said, and it sounded like a confession ripped from the rawest part of him.

You tilted your head, coy and cruel in the prettiest way. “That’s what I'm here for,” you whispered. “I'll remind you how good it feels to lose control. Or perhaps I need to be reminded, it's up to you.”

Something in his expression shifted—desire darkening into something almost reverent. As if the line between wanting you and needing you had already vanished.

And then—low, strained, vulnerable—he said, “You’re not a child.”

The words stopped you. They hung between you like a blade.

You blinked, almost confused. “Excuse me?”

His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “You’re young. But not innocent. That’s what makes this…” He paused, as if trying to find the right word. “…worse.”

Not wrong. Not shameful.

Just unbearable.

Just impossible to resist.

You stepped in, chest to chest, lips ghosting over his jaw, and his hands—shaking with something like hesitance—settled at your waist. Not possessive. Not dominant. Just grounded. Like he needed to touch something real before he lost himself.

“Do I scare you?” you whispered, letting the question slip like warm honey into his ear.

His reply was a breath. A prayer. “You terrify me.”

You smiled.

Slow. Wicked.

“Good.”

You broke free from Jiyong's hold and laced your fingers through his as though the gesture belonged to you—unquestioned, inevitable. The corridor stretched before you like a promise, dim and hushed, each step echoing with the slow, deliberate rhythm of anticipation. He followed in silence, his presence simmering just behind you, the heat from his body coiling around your spine like smoke.

When you reached the elevator, you pressed the button without hesitation. A soft chime announced its arrival. The doors slid open with a whisper, and you stepped inside, the movement fluid, feline. He joined you, wordless still, though the tension radiating from him was palpable—thick, oppressive, intoxicating.

The lift began its ascent.

Enclosed. Dimly lit. Breathless.

He watched you, but not directly. His reflection in the mirror captured more than his eyes could confess—fixed on the slow drift of your fingers, now sliding with calculated ease along the inside of his thigh. Brazen. Unhurried. You stopped just shy of the ache he could no longer conceal, your nails grazing the expensive fabric of his trousers like a threat laced in silk.

"Tell me to stop," you whispered, voice low, velvet-wrapped and lethal.

His breath caught. His answer was ragged. "I don't want to."

"That was not what I asked."

The silence stretched between you, taut as a bowstring.

"I can't."

You leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear, your breath hot and deliberate. "Then stop pretending this wasn't also your idea."

Ding.

The doors opened.

The suite awaited—bathed in darkness and decadence. Soft gold spilled from the recessed lighting, illuminating gleaming marble, shadows stretched across plush furnishings. He stepped in behind you, quietly closing the door, the sound final.

You did not speak. You did not move.

You turned slowly.

Predatory.

"You don't do this often, do you?" you asked, voice measured, knowing. Your hands landed on Jiyong's chest, pushing him to sit on the sofa, and he obeyed wordlessly. How shocking.

He raised a brow, bemused. "Sleep with women who were still in school when my debut album dropped? No."

You stepped toward him, closing the distance until you stood between his knees. "That was not what I meant."

His gaze darkened. "Then what?"

"Lose control," you murmured, tracing the line of his collarbone with one finger, the touch delicate as a warning. "Let someone else take the lead."

He dared not answer, but his silence said enough.

So you climbed into his lap, both of your thighs placed on the outside of his, causing your skirt to hike impossibly high. Unfortunately for Jiyong's wondering eyes, it was not yet high enough to get a glimpse of what he really wanted.

He stilled.

As if your weight had stolen the breath from his lungs. His hands found your thighs, large and trembling with restraint, the tips of his fingers pressing into the soft skin as though afraid you might disappear.

You shifted against him—slowly, luxuriously—grinding just enough to remind him how hard he was beneath you, how helplessly human. He cursed beneath his breath, the sound low and reverent.

"You're making it difficult to be a gentleman," he growled.

You quipped, smirking slowly and devastatingly. "What makes you think I want one?"

That broke any remnant of hesitance he held.

He moved like a man unshackled, every thread of restraint burned to ash beneath your smirk.

His hands seized your hips with reverence and urgency, fingers digging into the silk of your dress like he could bruise need into you. Then his mouth found yours—not with hesitation, not with ceremony, but with a hunger so violent it bordered on desperate. His kiss was not practiced. It was not rehearsed. It was real, raw, ruinous. He kissed you like a man starved—like he had spent years on the brink and only now dared to fall.

You met him with equal force, mouth parting for his, lips moving with precision and intent. You kissed him like a woman with something to prove. Like a woman who had been watched, wanted, and worshipped, and had chosen—deliberately—to wreck him.

And oh God, were you doing just that.

His hands roamed without finesse, desperate to feel every inch of skin your dress dared to conceal. You guided him not with instruction, but with suggestion—a shift of your hips, a tilt of your mouth, a whimper against his tongue. You were not passive. You were not his passenger. You were the storm.

When you pulled away, just barely, lips slick and swollen, his eyes fluttered open—dazed and blown wide with disbelief.

“You taste like trouble,” he rasped, voice hoarse.

You tilted your head, letting your nails trail down the buttons of his shirt one by one. “You look like you want more.”

He did. Visibly. Painfully.

And yet—he hesitated.

“I shouldn't be—” he began, but your finger found his lips before he could complete his sentence.

“Thinking?” you asked, deceptively soft. “Is that what you're doing now, Jiyong?”

His Adam's apple bobbed. You could feel his pulse beneath your palm, racing.

“You don't want to think,” you whispered, shifting in his lap until the heat between your thighs pressed tighter against him. “You want to feel.”

He groaned, head tipping back against the cushions as though you had spoken some spell. Your lips brushed along the line of his jaw, open-mouthed kisses trailing heat and promise.

“You want to remember,” you continued, voice lower now, velvet and ruin, “what it is to be undone by someone who isn't afraid.”

He shuddered beneath you. Every word seemed to peel another layer of civility away.

“I'm—I'm not afraid,” he muttered, and the edge in his voice was more plea than protest.

You smiled, teeth grazing the shell of his ear.

“Prove it.”

And with that, he did.

He flipped you—effortlessly, breathlessly—so you lay beneath him on the plush velvet cushions, hair fanned out like a halo of temptation. His mouth found your throat, tongue tracing the delicate line where your pulse thundered, and he sucked marks and littered bites into your skin like he needed proof that this moment had happened. That you had been real. That—even if it were just for that night—you belonged to him, and he to you.

The heat between you sparked like dry kindling set to flame. Clothing became a battlefield of sliding silk and groaning seams. Your dress slid up inch by inch as his control crumbled piece by piece. Every kiss, every touch, every gasp you gifted him was another nail in the coffin of his composure.

And you reveled in it.

You arched beneath him, body pliant and burning, every sigh coaxed from your lips like a secret. He devoured each one with the same hunger he had kissed you—possessive, stunned, grateful. His hands roamed as though learning a language through touch. Your thighs fell open like a book, and yet he still had no rush to turn the pages. He looked at you as if worshipful, as if he had finally understood what it meant to covet something with your whole soul.

"You are..." he murmured against your breastbone, lips dragging slow and sinful over your skin. "Too much."

You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging gently to meet his eyes. “That is what makes it worth it.”

And when he sank into you, slow and thick and unrelenting, the breath left his lungs in a broken sound—dripping in pure devotion.

He moved with purpose. With need. With that rare, trembling ache of a man who had spent too long convincing himself he would never feel like this again. And you—you gave it to him. Every roll of your hips, every cry against his mouth, every sin whispered into the dark.

Yeah, you definitely made him feel alright.

And he did not dare stop. Not even when the world fractured around you, not when the only sounds left were your name and his groan and the wet, obscene music of bodies colliding.

When it ended—when your bodies fell still and your breath returned in jagged, grateful bursts—he did not let you go.

He stayed inside you. Stayed pressed to your skin like it was the only place he ever wanted to exist. You threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him to your chest, the intimacy of that moment heavier than anything that had come before it.

And for once, Jiyong did not speak.

He simply breathed you in like salvation.

taglist: @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo

[peachesclose]

Meet me backstage ◎ Kwon Ji-Yong

◎ Summary: A long-simmering attraction between you and Kwon Jiyong ignites backstage after a performance, unfolding into a slow-burning, emotionally charged encounter where desire meets deep, unspoken connection.

◎ Warnings: suggestive content, i guess?

◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎

The bass is still humming through the walls when you step off stage, skin hot beneath sequins and silk. Seoul’s summer air clings to you, sticky and electric, and your mind is still halfway in the last chorus. The crowd’s roar lingers in your bones. But it’s not just adrenaline that’s keeping you charged.

You didn’t expect him tonight.

Kwon Jiyong. GD. The name everyone else whispers like gospel in the industry — but to you, it’s more than legacy. It’s late-night studio sessions and glances too long to ignore. It’s the text he sent you two hours ago: “I’m watching tonight.”

You’d hoped he meant it.

And then, you saw him.

Leaning against the VIP balcony like he owned the air around him, black shirt open just enough to show a glimpse of ink at his collarbone, a drink untouched in his hand — watching you. Not your group. You. Eyes low and deliberate, lips parted like he was singing along, even though you could barely focus on your lines once you caught him there.

Now, backstage is buzzing — but none of it touches you. You’re alone in the dim corridor by your dressing room, breath caught in your throat when the door opens without a knock.

He’s here.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” you say, voice lower than you meant.

He doesn’t smile — not fully. Just closes the door behind him and leans against it, eyes running over you in that way that makes it hard to breathe. “You looked good up there,” he says, voice soft and slow, velvet with heat. “You knew I was watching, didn’t you?”

Your throat tightens. You nod.

He steps closer, the scent of him filling the room like the first hit of a track you didn’t realize was on repeat in your head. Sandalwood. Smoke. Something sharp and expensive.

“You were singing my verse,” he murmurs.

“You wrote it.”

He smiles this time. “You still remember every word.”

The space between you evaporates in an instant. His fingers lift the hem of your stage outfit — not suggestively, not yet. Just a brush, feather-light, like he’s checking if you’re real. You don’t move away. You don’t want to.

“Why don’t you meet me backstage?” he whispers, quoting his own lyric — and suddenly, everything tilts.

You back into the wall, your breath catching when his hand slides up your arm. Not rushing. Never rushing. Jiyong doesn’t do anything without control, without purpose. His eyes lock with yours, asking without words.

You nod.

He kisses you like he sings — measured, poetic, dangerous in its precision. Lips brushing over yours once, twice, slow enough to make you chase the third. He lets you. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling slightly, anchoring you to him, while the other traces down your waist like he’s finding lyrics in the curves of your body.

Your heart’s beating out of time.

He mouths against your jaw, “You drive me crazy in that black outfit.”

“Then do something about it.”

He does — but not in the way you expected. No frantic need. Just closeness. Palms against your sides. A low exhale against your neck. His breath travels from your ear down the curve of your throat, lingering there, just where your heartbeat flutters the most. He kisses you there — slow, slow, slow — his signature tattooed behind your eyelids with every pulse.

It’s not just lust.

It’s something heavier. Older.

Maybe it’s the way you’ve been circling each other for years now, both too careful to touch what you couldn’t undo. Or maybe it’s the silence after the spotlight — when all that’s left is two people backstage, stripped of illusion, chasing something real.

You run your hand through his hair, fingers tugging gently at the nape as you pull him closer. “You gonna sing me that line again?”

“Which one?”

“‘Oh, you so good on your knees…’”

His eyes darken, a smirk flickering like static at the corner of his mouth. “You’re dangerous.”

“You started it.”

He sinks to his knees without breaking eye contact. His hands on your thighs are steady, reverent. But before anything else can happen, he pauses — presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, slow and deliberate. Then the other. Not moving higher.

You’re trembling before he’s even touched you.

He whispers, “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

Instead, you drop to your knees too, facing him in the quiet pulse of the backstage haze. Your forehead touches his, both of you breathing the same air, wanting the same release.

But what you say is, “This… isn’t just tonight, is it?”

His answer comes in a whisper, pressed to your mouth.

“No. This is the start.”

The room isn’t made for moments like this. It’s too cold, too white — a temporary space built for quick changes and exit routes. But the second his hands find your waist, the space warps around him.

Jiyong’s presence is commanding without trying. He doesn’t touch you like a man who’s guessing. He touches you like a man who’s been imagining this for months. Like he’s traced every inch of your body with his mind a thousand times before tonight — and now, he’s finally allowed to confirm the fantasy.

His hands slide under your jacket, knuckles brushing your bare skin. You shiver — not from cold, but from anticipation. From the weight of his gaze as he watches your reaction, as if memorizing the exact sound you make when he drags his fingers along your ribs.

“You always perform like that?” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Or just when you know I’m watching?”

Your reply catches in your throat. He’s too close, too overwhelming, and his breath is warm against your skin, flooding your nerves with heat.

“I didn’t expect you,” you whisper.

“No?” He’s grinning now — wicked, confident. His fingers slide the zipper of your outfit down one slow inch at a time. “Then why were you looking up at me like you wanted me to walk down and pull you off stage?”

You swallow, the movement betraying you. He hears it. Feels it.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, thumb brushing just beneath your chest now, grazing the edge of your bra like a threat.

“No.”

It comes out hoarse. Honest.

His lips finally meet yours again, this time without hesitation. It’s not a kiss meant for cameras. It’s deep, deliberate — the kind of kiss that takes. His mouth moves with rhythm, tongue teasing yours, breath mixing until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. You grip the collar of his black shirt, feeling the silk stretch in your fists.

“Been thinking about this since Jeju,” he murmurs into your mouth. “You remember that after-party?”

You do. You remember the way he stood too close behind you in the hallway, breath ghosting over your shoulder as he passed, saying nothing. The way his hand brushed your back — not enough to be obvious, but enough to stay with you. The way you felt all night after.

“I thought you didn’t like sharing,” you murmur now, teeth catching his bottom lip.

“I don’t.” His voice dips. “That’s why I waited.”

He pulls your jacket off completely, letting it fall to the floor. The air hits your skin and you hiss through your teeth — not from cold, but from how exposed you feel under his eyes. He’s staring like he’s starving.

“You’re prettier up close,” he says. “But I already knew that.”

Then he’s on you again — hands on your hips, mouth at your neck. His lips move slowly, deliberately, down your throat to your collarbone. He doesn’t rush. He savors. Every kiss a message, every exhale a promise. You gasp when his teeth catch lightly on your skin — not enough to mark, just enough to claim. One hand slides behind your back, pulling you flush against him.

You can feel him. All of him. Hard, unyielding, and pressed right against your hips. The pressure makes your knees threaten to give, but he holds you steady.

“You good?” he murmurs, nose brushing yours.

You nod, breathless. “Better than good.”

He lets out a soft laugh — low, satisfied — and turns you slowly, backing you toward the vanity mirror. Your body hits it gently, and the cold glass is a shock against your spine. The contrast only makes the heat between your bodies more intense.

You stare at yourselves in the mirror — his dark eyes over your shoulder, your parted lips, your body pressed to his. His hands snake around your stomach, dragging up slowly, flattening against your ribs.

“Look,” he whispers in your ear.

You do.

“Look how you react to me. This is what I wanted.”

Your eyes lock in the reflection, and it’s almost too much — too intimate. But you don’t look away.

His lips skim your shoulder, then lower, lower. When his hands finally touch the hem of your skirt, you suck in a breath. You don’t stop him. Your head tilts back onto his shoulder, letting him explore.

Then, without warning, he lifts you.

You gasp, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His grip is strong, practiced — like carrying you is second nature. He sits you on the makeup table, knocking over a few compacts and brushes that clatter to the ground. Neither of you care.

He leans in, forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“We don’t have to go further,” he says, and it’s real — not a line. His eyes are serious, even while his body is still pressed tight against yours.

You place your hands on his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

“I want to,” you whisper. “But not fast. Not like I’m another stop on your tour.”

That stops him. Something flickers in his eyes — guilt? Respect?

He leans forward, kisses your temple, your cheek, your lips — all soft now, all careful.

“Then I’ll go slow,” he says. “So slow you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

You close your eyes and let yourself fall.

Not into lust. Not into recklessness.

Into him.

[angel-writes-here]

Second Time's the Charm

G-Dragon x AFAB! Reader

Synopsis: Doing your ex boyfriends hair comes with an offer that is hard to refuse.

Warnings: Angst with happy-ish ending, minor cussing

Smoke travels through the spring beeze as you exhale slowly. The cigarette between your fingers is almost gone, but your memory is all too vivid.

---

“Why are you doing this?” Your breath was ragged, heart rate exceptionally high.

“Y/n,” was all Jiyong could breathe out. He put his face in his hands trying to gather his thoughts.

“Tell me you don’t love me.” Your arms were crossed, as if it were going to protect you from the blow.

“I don’t love you,” Jiyong’s teeth are gritted, his jaw tight. The words shot through your heart like a bullet used to kill. For a brief moment you’d swore your heart had quit beating.

“That’s not true,” the words came out choked; you were trying to convince yourself.

“You need to go.” His body slumps.

“Jiyong, don’t do this,” your words are barely above a whisper as you step closer to him, you can see the brokenness in his eyes as you cup his face. For a millisecond he leans into it before forcing himself away from the one good thing he had.

“Get out.” His voice is rough and low; dangerously so. Your breath hitches when you hear his tone. With a hung head you grabbed your things and fled the penthouse, unsure of what caused such a flip in your normally warm and compassionate boyfriend.

---

A car horn tears you away from the nightmare that plays in your cranium more than you’d like to admit. You stub the cigarette harshly against the wall of the hair salon and sigh.

Opening the door to the establishment, you hear the bell ding above your head and head back to your station. You were told this next client asked for you specifically, but they were late for their appointment.

“I’m not waiting here all day,” you say to Lisa your manager.

“He called, he’ll be here soon, said he got stuck in traffic and gives his sincerest apologies.” You nod and sit down in the chair. Too intricately focused on your phone, your manager yells out your name.

“Y/n!” Your head pops up like that of a gopher.

“Your next client is here,” she whispers harshly as she walks with purpose, “Look presentable, or at least like you give a damn about your job,” she motions to put the phone away and you nod doing just that.

“I’m sorry Mr. Kwon, she’s ready for you.” Your heart skips a beat.

Shit.

You glance up in the mirror at him and your eyes meet his dark brown ones. Your freeze temporarily as he walks closer. Your anxiety ticks up and time has stopped for all of 5 seconds as you try to compose yourself.

You haven’t seen Jiyong since the night he looked at you as if he was disgusted by you, since he was harsh, cold and unfeeling. He gingerly sits down and doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at you. He takes in the new hair cut and color, red and short. He purses his lips like he wants to say something but you leave the station momentarily.

“He asked for me?” Your disbelief is evident in your voice.

“Yes, here’s what he asked for,” she hands the paper with the particular cut and color he mentioned he wanted.

“He asked for me, by name,” you repeat your question and your manager gives you wary look.

“Just get it done, ok? If he likes it, it’s good for business. Just go work your magic, turn on your charm and make him happy.” She claps your shoulder before going to the back. You flit your eyes to him in the chair where you can see he’s watching you closely; as if you’re a gazelle and he’s the lion waiting for the prime opportunity to take a bite of his next meal.

You grab the bleach, toner and foils for his hair. A simple bleach blonde was what he asked for, causing you to wonder why he couldn’t have his team do this.

As you approach the station your heart thuds in your ears, your breathing slightly uneven as you try to look and keep a professional air about yourself.

“Hey,” he says as you sit down the bleach that’s prepared in the bowl. You clench your jaw as you sigh.

“You just want to bleach it, right?”

“Yes,” he nods his head. The air around him screams G-Dragon more than it does Jiyong, he’s confident, poised and in control.

You get to work on his hair, his eyes calculated as he watches your hands move as you section and brush the bleach on his hair. He finds that he’s missed your touch more than he realized, and he all ready knew he missed it.

The establishment is silent, awkward and cold. As you start foil his hair, he speaks up.

“You look good.” His head rests against his hand on the arm of the chair as you grab another foil.

“Thanks,” your voice is snippy, cold. He scoffs quietly, knowing good and well he deserved the attitude, but it still stings.

“How have you been?” He tries again.

“Good,” once again, short, sweet and to the point.

“I’ve been good too,” he says like you asked him. You nod with pursed lips.

“We’ll let this sit for about 30 minutes and then I’ll rinse you.” You say as you habitually clasp his shoulders looking at him through the mirror.

“Y/n,” he says as you begin to walk away and you act as if you can’t hear him. You make your way quickly to the back room and take a few deep breaths, tears spilling over your lower palpebra as you lean against the back of the door, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You take a select few deep breaths to calm your nerves and steady yourself.

“Fuck him,” you whisper with anger laced in your voice. You smooth down your apron before opening the door, only to be faced with the foil haired man who’s still wearing the cape you draped around his neck.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” you try to sound strong or authoritative, but your voice betrays you as it comes out weak and submissive.

“I,” he begins and searches your eyes. He can see the slight glass like appearance and swollen eyes you’re sporting. Your feet carry you past him without a word. He follows you, cape swishing against his clothes. In the quiet building it’s like a drum being beaten with every step he takes.

“Y/n,” he tries to grab your attention and your bite your lip. He can see it in the mirror. The desire to express every emotion is on your face plain as day, and yet you keep your mouth shut.

“Just do it,” he says, “Scream, yell, push me, whatever you need to do.”

“I would never put my hands on a client,” you say quickly. A beat of silence passes between you.

“I’m sorry,” his apology is quiet, shame filled, even.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you sit down in the chair across from his.

“I asked for you, for a reason.” He tries to continue the conversation.

“Yeah, no duh.”

“I wanted to talk about,” he trails off. You look at him head on. Would he actually be that bold?

“About what happened."

“It’s past, Jiyong. Don’t even worry about it.” Your shoulders shrug automatically. He opens his mouth but before he can speak the timer on your phone goes off.

“Time to rinse,” you hop up quickly and walk to the sink. He sits down in the chair and slowly leans back. You start rinsing his head and he sucks in a harsh breath. One that causes a smirk to appear on your face.

“Sorry, that too cold?” You feign innocence as he glares up at you, a hint of playfulness in his eye. To this day he knows your games, your ins and outs. He can still read you.

“Just a little,” his tone is calming, not what you expected. Once the water heats up you start rinsing his hair out again, watching as the bleach turns his hair a brassy yellow. He closes his eyes as he lets you work your magic, fighting a moan as you begin to scrub his scalp with your fingernails. You can see the satisfied look on his face.

“You can let it out, I remember what I do to you,” your voice takes on an air of teasing seduction. He smirks before letting out a chuckle.

“Do you?” he opens one eye and you roll yours.

“All too well,” you mumble with a sigh. You let him sit up once the process is finished and you give him a towel to dry his hair off. You both walk back over to your station where you apply the toner to his hair.

“Jagi,” he goes to speak and you cut your eyes at him. His eyes grow 2 sizes bigger as he puts his head down, pursing his lips once again. The quiet confidence he had at the beginning of his appointment has dissipated.

“This needs to sit for about ten to fifteen minutes.”

“I still want to talk,” he says quickly and you glance at him in the mirror before walking away from the station to the front desk.

“Go ahead.” You're distant, emotionally and physically.

“Breaking up with you was the stupidest and hardest thing I ever did.” You nod your head to show you’re listening.

“I just didn’t know how to take care of you and myself at the time,” he tries to reason. You bite your lip to hold back the words you desperately want to shoot him with.

“I wanted to give you the best chance at having everything you ever dreamed,” his voice is sincere, but you can’t help the sickening tisk that drips from your lips.

“What?” his voice is overlayed with offense. He stands up walking closer to the front desk.

“You wanna know what? You actually want to sit here and act like you knew what you did was for my benefit?” your voice booms with the last word that leaves your mouth.

“What you did tore me apart, you asshat!” your wince as the name slips out before you can stop it. He nods, letting you continue.

“You fucking broke me," your voice trembles and you take a breath trying to steady your voice, "you made me wonder why I was enough! You could’ve talked to me, let me in so you weren’t fighting your demons on your own but instead you chose to push me away. You chose to lock me out. You chose to just drop me off on the side of the road like it was nothing.” Your shoulders are heaving up and down with the ragged breaths your taking.

“You didn’t have to take care of me and yourself,” your words are quieter, more gentle than before, “I could have helped you, I could have taken care of you.”

“That wasn’t your job,” he cuts in.

“Get your fucking pride out of this!” you throw your hands up and he casts his gaze to the floor.

“It was our job to take care of each other, that’s what a relationship is partly about. Checking in on the other person, being someone they can confide in and be there for when they need it. Doing this complicated shit show called Life together. But you wouldn’t even give me the opportunity to be that for you,” your voice cracks with the last few words. You blink back the tears, scolding yourself internally.

“I didn’t know how,” his own voice is weak, emotional.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you sigh as you quickly wipe a stray tear, “It’s over, we’re done and so is the situation. I’m glad you were able to come out of it. Really,” your words carry a weight of finality that Jiyong inwardly cringes at.

“I miss you,” he says stepping closer to you, too close. You can swear he hears your heartbeat. You can only nod, not meeting his eyes.

“We should get you rinsed,” you mumble as the timer on your phone goes off. You both awkwardly walk back to the sink and rinse the toner. His hair now appears white. You escort him back to your station.

“I have a wedding to attend on Saturday,” he says with a voice full of hope, “You should come with me,” your eyes meet for a brief second before you grab the scissors and begin to cut his hair. It doesn’t take much time to blow dry and he looks at you expectantly.

“What?” you ask as you set the dryer down, grabbing the comb from your pocket. He twists his head side to side in the mirror, smiling in approval.

“You should be my plus one to the wedding,” he says again. You sigh in response as you thread the comb through his hair, making sure it’s not tangled.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to see you again,” he begs.

“Why do you want to see me? As a matter of fact, why come to a salon, wasting money,”

“Money spent for or on you is never a waste,” he interjects holding up his index finger and you huff.

“Why didn’t you just have your staff do this?” you ask in regards to his hair.

“Because they are not you and I wanted to, no,” he says closing his eyes, “Needed to see you.” The desperation in the last portion of his sentence is hard to ignore.

“Why now? Why not five months ago?” Your arms are crossed in front of you.

“Because I didn’t know how to say it then, I really don’t know how to say it now but I’m trying.” He tries to reason with you.

“Its too little too late, Ji.” Your voice once again betrays you as it comes out somber and broken.

“It can’t be,” he turns around to look at you. You note the way the light bounces off the beautiful bone structure of his cheeks. The way his features are striking yet soft at the same time. You could melt right then and there.

“I’m not saying we get together again, but I need you in my life,” he mumbles placing his hand on top of the one that’s resting on the back of the chair. Your breath catches in your throat at the contact, it makes the situation feel surreal and sends waves of electricity through you.

“It’s not the same without in it. I’m not the same without you.” He’s laying it on thick, part of you wants to cry, part of you wants to laugh, and the other part wants to run away and hide.

“Can you at least tell me you haven’t missed me?” You tear your self away from him, pretending to fiddle with something on the table. He watches you closely. You sigh before turning around, leaning against the small vanity like table.

“I’ve missed you,” you admit quietly, picking at your finger nails. Jiyong feels relief flood his veins. It’s like the room is now a million times lighter, the air is softer. Meanwhile for you, it’s vulnerable. It’s raw, it’s exposed.

“Just come with me as a friend to the wedding then,” he gets up and tilts your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Please,” he whispers. You look between his eyes, hesitant to oblige with his request. Your heart hammers in your chest and you gulp subconsciously.  

“Sit down, I need to finish.” You instruct professionally. You finish styling his hair and proceed to check him out. He pays you double what the appointment costs and you glance at him. He gives you a knowing look. You pocket the obscene tip.

“Y/n,” he says as you walk him out.

“Yeah, ok. I’ll go.” Your voice is filled with defeat. His smile stretches from ear to ear in a grand slam victory.

“I’ll text you the details, still the same number?”  You nod and he nods back, walking out of the salon to his car. You scrub your hand over your face and sit in the chair he was once in.

“What the hell am I doing?” You rub your temple as you whisper the question and before you can process the events of the day you feel the phone vibrate.

"Wedding is at 2pm on Saturday, I'll pick you up at 11."

[steponupbabe]

Track 02: High High

My Fic for the Gtop writing event!

Pairing: Kwon jiyong X Fem!reader

Warnings: Drinking, Smoking, flirting And a tinyyy make out sesh.

Summary: Jiyong goes to the club with the boys after a stressful couple months of touring. after getting there, he spots you you from across the room.

───────── ༺♡༻ ─────────

It had been a stressful couple months for the boys, especially jiyong, to say the least. Non stop rehearsals, barely sleeping, Their only meals being instant noodles, traveling from state to state, country to country. BigBang just finished A show in New York, The bright lights, the Screams and applause of 50,000 people ringing in their ears, They’re voices hoarse from singing and yelling all night, and their body’s just slightly sore. they walked back stage, body’s buzzing with adrenaline. The boys couldn’t wait to go out and enjoy themselves. They had all made plans to go to some Club in the city after the show, Jiyong couldn’t have been more excited to just let loose and forget about the stress of touring for a couple of hours.

༺♡༻

The club was Big, Loud, And dimly lit. The only source of light being some Old fashioned chandeliers, The walls were covered in dark maroon velvet, and the floors were Black and Gold marble. For a Night Club It was very high end , Big booths and fancy paintings on the ceiling. Probably their security’s doing. The boys found their way To a booth Near the back of the club, Placing all their belongings on the table and seats of the booth, than making a beeline towards the bar.

Shots being passed back and forth, Jokes being cracked, Daesung flirting with the bartender that was Assisting the boys, Seunghyun on his Fifth glass of wine. They all got tipsy rather quickly, Finally being able to relax and enjoy themselves, Jiyong was Enjoying himself, Just him and His brothers. He was on His sixth shot when he spotted you from across the room.

Cocktail In hand, Black satin dress with a split that stops just above the knee, Long dark curls flowing down your back, and Black High heels. You had laughed at something One of your friends has said, Smile flashing Brightly as you took another sip of your drink. Jiyong was in awe, He Couldnt take his eyes off of you.

“Hyung? Are you okay?” Daesung Asks Jiyong, Noticing how quiet he’s been. Jiyongs Gaze turns from you to Deasung. “Mhm? Oh yeah, I’m fine.” He turns back to you again, Watching you get up from you seat to make your way to the bar, Your hips swaying slightly as you walk. “i’ll be right back, I need another drink.” Jiyong says, not even sparing the boys a glance as he stands up walks away from the booth. Seunghyun watches Him, Spotting you aswell, He shakes his head and smirks. “Why is he in such a rush?” Youngbae asks, Confused on Why Jiyong walked off so eagerly. Seunghyun chuckles lowly. “Hes going to flirt.”

༺♡༻

You find your way to the bar, placing your order and waiting for the bartender to hand it to you, as your looking around admiring the Club, A man Walks up, Standing right next to you. You catch a quick glimpse at the man. Tall, Black slicked back hair, A white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black slacks. He was very good looking. He had an Devlish energy. He looked like Trouble, Not in a bad way, But the kind that would make you follow his lead without thinking twice. He radiated confidence, power.You could smell his cologne from where you were standing. Musky, woody, minty, and sharp. and you could also pick up cigarettes and tequila.

He catches you staring , And he smirks softly looking back at the bar. You look away quickly, a shiver running down your spine, Cheeks flushing slightly as the handsome man next to you caught you staring. Your drink finally arrives and you thank the bartender, as you reach for your purse, The man standing next to you places his card down on the check. He looks to you, Smiling softly. “I got it. on the house.” the man speaks, his accent addicting, his voice deep and smooth. a shiver runs down your spine as you hear his voice.

You blush and Go to pull your card out of your purse. “What? No, i can’t let you do that.” You say as your cheeks turn a light pink, flatterd by the man’s gesture.He Chuckles softly. “Too late. Already ran my card.” You look at him, Smiling . “Thank you, You really didn’t have too.” He shrugs, placing his card back into his wallet. “It’s nothing, It’s The least i could.” You Smile again, Slightly bigger this time as you pick up your drink to take a sip from it.

“Well, Can i at least know your name, I can’t thank you properly writhing knowing who you are.” The man Licks his bottom lip, Smiling confidently. “Jiyong.” the name slips off his tongue effortlessly, smooth and exotic. You look at him, holding your hand out. “Well, Jiyong, thank you for the drink. i really appreciate it.” You say, Confidently. Jiyong takes your hand, shaking it softly, Then pressing a kiss to the back of your palm before dropping your hand softly. “Anything for a pretty lady.” You blush at his words, Ears turning slightly pink as you giggle.

“So, Where are you from? Your manners aren’t very new york.” He smirks. “South korea, born and raised.” You smile, intrigued To learn more about him. “Wow, South korea. What brings you To new york?” You say taking another sip from your drink. Jiyong thinks for a second. He doesn’t want to tell you that he’s in town Because he just finished a show with his band. So he decides to make it simpler. “Business, nothing too fancy. Wanted to enjoy myself before i left.”

Jiyong ordered himself another drink, The whole club blurring as you watch him talk and explain more about himself.

༺♡༻

You two sat at the bar for what felt like hours, Completely disregarded Your friend groups that you came with. Learning more about each other, drinks coming and going, cigarettes being lit. Jiyong was Good company. he wasn’t like all the other guys you’ve talked too. He’s different, caring, respectful. He actually listened to you when you talked, genuinely interested in what you had to say. Your stomach fluttered as you watched him, your cheeks turning pink for what felt like the 100th time that night. The club was dying down a little as you’ve both been sitting there for a while. As you and Jiyong were talking about places to eat, both of your friend groups walk up to you at the same time.

Youngbae walks up to you and jiyong, Flashing you a friendly smile before placing a hand on jiyongs shoulder, Jiyong turns to his friend behind him. “Ji, We’re gonna head out man. it’s getting late.” As Jiyong was talking with his friends, Yours came up to you. “Y/n it’s getting late, the club is closing, and i have work tomorrow. are you staying here with your mystery man?” You giggle as all your friends look at Jiyong and his group, fawning over how handsome they all are. “No, no i’ll be out in a sec, you guys go ahead.” you smile at them as they walk away, checking jiyong and the boys out. Daesung winks at one of the girls and they all giggle before leaving to head outside. The boys do the same and now it’s just you and jiyong again. You both stand up, making your way towards the front of the club to the door.

“Y’know, i really enjoyed your company tonight, Jiyong.” you say walking out the door that Jiyong held open for you. “I really did too, it’s a shame i’m leaving tomorrow. i would’ve really liked to have taken you on a date.” He says looking into your eyes, softly. You smile at the man’s words and look down at the ground. “You can always come back, i’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” You say looking back up at him. “Infact,” you say reaching in your purse, pulling out a gum wrapper and an eyeliner pencil. Jiyong smirks, Confused on what you’re doing. You write down your number on the crumbled up wrapper, handing it to jiyong. “Next time you’re in town, give me a call.” He laughs softly, looking away for a second then back at you. “I will, maybe next time i come back i could take you out properly and pay for more then some drinks.” you blush, biting your bottom lip. “Again thank you, for the drinks.” He smiles. “It’s my pleasure. pretty girls deserve free drinks.” You laugh, hitting his arm playfully. “Oh my God, that was so corny.” He watches you, Smiling brightly. “I don’t know, it’s seemed to work. It made you laugh, Didn’t it?”

You Giggle again, rolling your eyes. “Yeah i guess, but it still doesn’t change the fact that it was corny.” He smiles.

As you both simmer down, you see your friends in their cars, waiting on both of you. “Well, i guess that’s our Queue.” You say, Smile faltering slightly. “Yeah, i guess it is.” Jiyong says looking at the boys all waiting in the car.

You both move closer to each other, gazes moving from each others eyes to their lips. Jiyong tucks A stray hair behind your ear. you look down blushing, then meet his eyes again. the space between you to getting smaller and smaller. his hands fall to your waist pulling you closer than what you two already were, and your hands go to his chest. “Jiyong, i swear to God if you don’t kiss me.” you say breathing softly, your heart beating so loud you were sure he could hear it. He chuckles softly, Finally pulling you in, connecting his lips with yours. He tasted like smoke and liquor, lips soft and cold.

Your hands went from his chest to his shoulders, tugging softly on his hair. You both moan into the kiss as you deepened it. tongues fighting for dominance, breathing heavily. he pushes you up against the wall of the bar, hand on your jaw while the other pulls you in closer. Your hips move with his, you whine into his mouth, running your hands into Jiyongs hair and pulling it softly, earning you a moan in return, his hand gripping your waist just a little tighter. Just as jiyongs hands start to make their way down your thigh, you were interrupted by a loud honk. you both pull away breathles, chests heaving and lips swollen and red. you look to see your friends waiting for you by the curb. Jiyong groans, his head falling to the crook of your neck. you giggle softly as you run a hand down his chest. “I guess times up huh?” he says lifting his head from your neck, looking at your friends then back to you. “I guess so, That was fun.” You giggle wiping your lipstick off his chin.

You both Manage to Fix yourselves up before Parting ways, But before you could leave jiyong takes you by the hand, kissing your cheek and smiling at you. You giggle, Walking To your friends car. You look behind Waving Goodbye to Jiyong as he walks off to go to his car smiling and shaking his head.

༺♡༻

As jiyong got in the car, the boys all shared a knowing look, Youngbae being the first one to speak up. “What was that all about? you were gone for like, 4 hours dude.” Jiyong smirks and looks at the window. Not saying anything to his bandmates. he pulls out the gum wrapper and his phone, not waisting anytime he goes to write done your number.

You get in your friend car, sighing softly, blushing and smiling. Your friends All start giggling and making kissing noises. You laugh and roll your eyes at your friends immature reactions.

As they all bombard you with questions, you phone beeps. You pick it up, confused on who it could be so late at night.

Unknow number:

Hopefully next time i see you, you’ll be getting more than just free drinks. ;)

You smile, Rolling your eyes and Looking out the window. This guy will be the death of you and you’ve only known him 5 hours.

༺♡༻

A/n: oh my gosh this took so long and for what?!? anyways, i hope u guys enjoyed it! im so grateful to be apart of this event with all these amazing writers. lots of love! 🩷

Taglist: @stormin9 @lowkeylauraa @moontabi @thanosspills @raynamorono23 @szonyix6277 @mintymuse @millytugby @raynamorono23

[jedisupernova]

married life with kwon jiyong

notes minors dni contains fem aged up reader (same age as jiyong), reader has a normal job, always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but anyone can read, slice of life, tooth rotting fluff, gentle love, suggestiveness, playful bickering and banter, mentions of drinking and smoking, smut (in the morning, oral f and m receiving, primarily sub!jiyong though it can switch), some angst (mentions of hardships and arguments, allusions to his hiatus and your struggles of being with a public figure,) overall just him being one of the keys to my heart, and inevitable typos.

requested? no because i can't be normal about anything! and i want this man so bad! this is my first time writing for jiyong; please be kind. this one is long. i really liked writing this, i hope you enjoy :)

life outside of your shared apartment is very busy, at times chaotic, and noisy. your husband and you live very different lives, and have done so since you started dating twelve years ago; him being a renowned musician, respected artist and performer, and a highly in demand global celebrity both on stage and at fashion week. you, on the other hand, worked as an executive assistant at a firm in the city for almost as long as you've been with jiyong. it came with its own stresses and discrepancies, as any job does. but when you two are home, all that matters are your wedding bands, feeding the cats, and snuggling so close on the couch that your body temperatures become one.

the love you share is at an atomic level. it doesn't manifest in finishing each other's sentences, per se, but more so jiyong knows whether you want coffee or tea that morning simply from how deep your frown is when waddling out of the bathroom. you can tell when a cold is creeping up on him simply from the sound his nostrils make upon an inhale, leaving him a steaming mug of ginger tea on his bedside table for him to drink before sleeping. if your hands are busy, he'll clip your earrings on for you. jiyong cleans your reading glasses every morning without fail, no matter how late either of you are—in the middle of his morning smoke, whilst you're in the shower, or when the coffee pot is brewing. or when you're running really late, hastily collecting your keys and trying to finish your toast, he squats down, shoe in one hand and your ankle in the other, saying "put your foot in," sliding your shoes on for you. you give him your hand without thinking when his fingers become restless. you pull him into your arms when he's being more quiet than usual. his hand will reach over to your cheek, thumb gently rubbing in a sheer streak of sunscreen that wasn't blended all the way before planting a kiss on the same spot. when he calls you, depending on the time of day, it's either to get lunch together or an attempt to get you to call off work early ("i'll tell my boss the same excuse as you if you do it too, honey." "jiyongie, cut it out. i'm late for a meeting. you're your own boss, anyway." "i married a smart one, hm?"), or how heavy his steps were when walking gave hint to how tired he was that day. you were the other's second nature—a soul meshed; equation solved.

jiyong initially fell for how unapologetic you are. who would've thought on your third date with the utmost famous kpop idol, that you'd be rapping his part in 'we belong together' to him at a random noraebang in gangnam at one in the morning? you remember thinking you couldn't believe you made it this far with him, so you just decided to do whatever—to see what happens, but also alleviate nerves, primarily. albeit you mumbled through a third of it and your hiccups from the soju you shared echoed loudly into the microphone—but you charmed the fuck out of him. he hadn't laughed that hard in a long while, and his flustered state followed him all the way home and into calling you the next day. it trickled into your relationship as it became more serious and into marriage: you were never afraid to tell him an accessory didn't go with an outfit (which has caused some petty arguments), not act like you liked a track when you didn't, or let him think he landed a joke well on a variety show (he always did, though. you just teased him so you could squish his cheeks from how deeply he pouted.) your honesty was refreshing, considering how easy it was to be surrounded by yes-men in the industry he's in.

jiyong showed his love in front of his staff, too. it wasn't only apparent in your holding of his hand in your lap during car rides, or his hand on your lower back as he showed you around sets for his music videos, but just how he visibly brightened at the sight of his wife. even in the midst of a contentious conversation with his team over creative direction, you sucked him out it just by walking into the room. that smile, the glow on his face—it was damning. better yet, you joined in too, unable to ignore the frustrated furrow of his eyebrows. some staffers couldn't help but gossip on their lunch breaks sometimes, saying in those meetings it felt like they were sat with the co-presidents of a company, or giggle over how they overheard you planting rather loud kisses on your husband's face, talking sweetly when you thought you two were alone and out of earshot ("you're my baby—my sweetheart." you kissed his cheek, soon landing on his lips with his makeshift pout from your holding of his face. "i am." he hummed, puckering his lips. "i'm your big baby."—"that's the same man who was growling into the mic the first day i met him?" said one assistant to another over lunch. "no, it makes sense," she countered with the shake of her head after taking a sip of her drink. "he's also the same guy who wrote 'good boy.'"

he does not go to sleep without you. jiyong makes due when he's overseas, albeit begrudgingly and does not let you hang up the facetime call when you both fall asleep. when you're both home, he gets up off the couch and takes your hand, tugging it. "come to bed. it's almost eleven." he said, pulling your arm. "i'm in the middle of my show, my love." you respond, pulling him back towards you. "i'll give you my ipad. now, c'mon." "fine, fine." you give in, pressing the power button on the remote before getting up. his free hand held your jaw, squishing your cheeks together and pouting your lips, placing a playful kiss. "thank you, my baby." he muttered. "yeah, yeah," you said before his lips returned to yours. "it better be charged." and it was, perched in your lap, finishing your episode with his airpods, too, jiyong snoring quietly beside you, having fallen asleep with his hand atop yours over the duvet.

when he comes home after extra exhausting days at work—especially if it was comeback prep, a studio session, a music video or performance filming day that began early that morning—he's very mumbly. upper half of his face hidden under a thick beanie, placing a lazy peck on your cheek as a greeting, shuffling to the shower, and plopping down almost cartoonishly at the dining table with a huff. you bring him a bowl of steaming leftovers from your cooking like clockwork. before you turn around to go get white wine for the both of you, jiyong takes your hand in his, pressing kisses onto your soft skin; a wordless thank you. you brush back his hair with your fingers, kissing his forehead. "i love you too." you say. "eat well, hm?"

you retrieve the previously opened bottle of white wine from one of the kitchen cabinets, carrying two glasses in your other hand. you pour the same amount for him and yourself, cheersing wordlessly before taking a drink. it was then that you saw jiyong still had a colored lens on—his left eye his natural brown, the right an unnatural pale grey, looking at you like an inverted mangekyo sharingan since the pupils weren't completely aligned—and thought to yourself oh! ... must've been a really long day, then.

he plans birthday and anniversary gifts months in advance. early in your relationship, he gifted very often, until he had no choice but to dial it down at your request. you lived in a small studio apartment until you moved in with him a year before he proposed, and there was only so much room for gifts varying from weekly flower bouquets (your personal favorite, even if it meant your kitchen counter and coffee table were virtually unusable with vases filled with daises, roses, and carnations), cartier bracelets ("do i look like someone who has somewhere to wear this to?" "yes, you do. on our trip to jeju next weekend and every single date after that."), or a first edition print of a book you love ("you spend too much money on me." "i would open my own bank just to take care of you.") even so, jiyong still has his ways—a new perfume on your vanity on the anniversary of his asking to be your boyfriend; a weekend getaway for your birthday; restocking your skincare whenever he walks in on you screwing the cap off your moisturizer to get the last bits of it; a mini tin of chocolate truffles paired with a loving handwritten note he always leaves on your bedside table before he travels overseas, even if you see him off to the airport.

wedding anniversaries are mainly spent at home. you've traveled elsewhere for the occasion before, but as you got older, cooking a warm meal together, opening a bottle of champagne, cutting expensive tiramisu cake, and sharing kisses on the couch sufficed more than enough. some anniversaries are tipsier than others, featuring either a comedically inebriated attempt of recreating your wedding dance ("and then i spun you around—" "no, you dipped me, jiyong." "hey! you don't think i know what happened at my own wedding?" "i was there, too! and you dipped me!") whilst the cats meow in protest of the noise, or going down a youtube rabbit hole and him begging you not to put on the bigbang secret garden parody in the recommended ("but it's my favorite thing you've ever done!" "stop lying, i know you like zutter the most!"), or the tradition of him playing 'HoneyBaeGirl,' a short song he wrote—and many since then—about you after becoming official all those years ago ("'girl, you make my pen fly off my paper, but not as fast as the stork that'll carry our baby' ... you really liked me that much?" "you say this every year, and i always tell you that i started looking at rings before our six months.")

however, without fail, every year jiyong is the last to fall asleep on the night of your anniversary. your upper half atop his, legs entangled underneath the fluffy duvet, his arms wrapped around your back, hands holding your head to his chest; two tall glasses once filled with water on his nightside table, downed before bed in an effort to thwart a possible hangover the next day. it's the feeling of his fingers combing your hair back that lulls you to sleep, along with the intermittent flutter of kisses to your forehead, and the vibrations of his chuckles against your ear when you mumbled something tiredly. "i love you so much, honey. thank you for another year." he spoke quietly. "i love you too," you muttered, slumber heavy in your senses. "let's do a millennia." he grinned. "let's do it."

when you fall asleep, his palm rests along your jaw, thumb tracing the supple skin of your cheekbone back and forth. his eyes would watch the rise and fall of your chest against his, or peer down at your face. so blissfully asleep, so easily beautiful. no matter how late at night, or how much liquor he drank, as if on cue, his mind shuffled through memories in a scattered sequence—the first time you spoke on the phone so long that the early morning sun caught him off guard; the coordinated efforts to see you in private; when your relationship leaked anyway during your two year anniversary trip (whilst you were still actively on it); when you were defiant upon his suggesting to break up to protect you ("why should i compromise for people who live in a false reality?"); hundreds of hours spent in the studio when dates felt impossible with his schedule, to you ultimately getting fed up and just meeting him where he was, leading to endless recordings he's kept on his laptop of you haphazardly attempting to rap to a beat he's made or sampling you in songs that stay between the two of you; his proposal, and both of yours blubbering tears ("c-can i—will you—" "—y-yes! oh my god, yes!" "i have to finish the question—oh my god, i can't breath through my own tears—c'mere, i'll wipe yours."); or one night on your four year wedding anniversary trip when you two were at polar opposite ends of the hotel lobby after a particularly rowdy night at the club together following a romantic dinner, both equally drunk if not you rivaling him—jiyong sat in a cushioned chair, on the phone with either an assistant, producer, or his financial advisor. you didn't know, nor the third rum and coke looming in your system hadn't made you care all that much. you were too busy trying to keep your eyes open to not out your deep inebriation to the poor concierge working the overnight shift whilst jiyong spoke quietly albeit with a finger in his other ear as if he was still in the club.

it was his recollection of this next part that always made jiyong grin to himself, the vibrations of his chuckle against your ear resulting in your satisfied yet meek hum amidst your slumber: "could you—would you be able to bring more towels to suite 403?" you asked politely, attempting irrationally to thwart the continued slurring of your words by straightening your posture. "it should be under the name . . . " your eyes went wide. "oh my goodness, what's my name?" you looked around worriedly, catching your shaky balance by gripping the counter, unable to believe that you were so far gone that your surname temporarily slipped from your consciousness. the concierge tried to get your attention saying she knew who you were as she was the person who checked you in a few days ago, but your fingers tapped your lips anxiously, seeing jiyong get up from his seat and walk over. "ji . .. jiyong—" you tried to call him over, but it felt like your voice couldn't go above a certain point. you turned back to the concierge, blurting the first thing that came to mind: "dragon. try dragon." you pointed to the computer, irrational worry knotted between your eyebrows. then your heart dropped for an entirely different reason: "i just compromised our safety." "what?" jiyong giggled beside you, hand finding your hip. "i leave you alone for two minutes and you're talking like you're in a bond film." you quickly leaned towards his ear, making yourself dizzy in the process. "i just told them you're g-dragon." you whispered frantically. he couldn't hold in his laughter, finding the ordeal amusing. the look on your face wasn't any better. he was pocketing this memory forever."that's fine, my love. they know—" "—i told them i'm mrs. dragon!" you whispered. "well, for one: you are." he shrugged his shoulders, hiccuping in the middle of his colorful laughter. "and two: its fine," jiyong assured, taking your hand. its good that we're leaving tomorrow, though. his inner monologue percolated at the back of his head. "let's head to our room. we're gonna feel this in the morning."

speaking of mornings: they're sacred in your household. historically, jiyong's the first to wake. but he doesn't get up until a while later, often silently coexisting with your sleeping form. call it two lost souls finding each other in this life, mere coincidence, or whatever it may be, but you wake up no more than a half hour after him—jiyong's ears perking up at the sound of your all-too-familiar, prolonged hmph. he scoots over, duvet rustling as his body molds against yours, lips finding that spot on your temple. you respond with the gradual wrapping of your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer, warmth doubling. "good morning." he mumbled lowly, satisfied with your barely passing verbal response of another hmph. after a while, you nudge him off, feeling sweat start to build. "m'boiling." "you're s'mean." jiyong protested weakly, but obliged, moving back lazily to his side of the bed. like clockwork, jiyong felt a tug at the collar of his shirt, or hand on his shoulder if he slept without one some moments later, beckoning him when you were more awake, voice coherent. "come back here." "i thought i almost killed you." "stop being dramatic. its barely seven in the morning." "you made me this way." "fine. then i'll take the car myself to work." it took a moment, but jiyong turned back to you, huffing with an air of faux stubbornness upon your lips finding his cheek. "you know i always take to you to work." jiyong muttered into your neck. "its non-negotiable." you adjusted your position, relieving your back and allowing him to lay more comfortably between your legs, warmth of your thighs snuggling against his waist. "anything's on the table if you act stupid enough." "i don't have the brainpower for a witty comeback." "be quiet and let me hold you, then."

you were devastatingly beautiful in the mornings. one peek into your brain and jiyong knew you would think your dry lips, oily t-zone, shorts that rode up your ass comedically and uncomfortably, and sleep lines running across your cheek and arm after a restful night of sleep wasn't exactly the sight—but you were wrong; you were a sight to behold. jiyong's held that sense of awe from the first time you fell asleep beside him on one of your first movie nights as twenty-something-year-olds—never forgetting what it felt like to internalize the sound of your softened breaths, or your head dropping to his shoulder. to have your trust whilst you were in such a vulnerable state tugged at his tear ducts, despite his failed argument of "its because we were watching 'little miss sunshine' that i got so worked up," only to be pulled into your arms upon your catching sight of his increasingly glossy eyes, adorning his face with kisses.

it was the same sensation today as he opened his eyes, thumb tracing the wrinkles of your bottom lip before settling in the temporary divot of your cheek casted by your pillow; waist welcoming the subtle grip of those thick thighs that bestow upon him both heavenly pleasures and a sense of home; fingers fluttering past your rolls for his palm to grip the side of your right thigh, feeling the plushness of your skin nurtured by moisturizer and body oil applied the night before, humming in content at the soft prickle of body hair against his palm; hand sneaking past the bottom hem of your shorts, thumb kneading the powdery plushness of your ass, earning him a shaky breath as his lips peppered kisses onto your neck. jiyong slowly trailed down your chest, propping himself up with his free elbow, pulling your cami down enough to expose your right breast. he relished in your scent, basking in the lingering luxurious vanilla as his lips encircled your areola before taking it entirely in his mouth. he suckled with intent, lapping your hardening peak with his eyes closed. if he didn't think about it, he'd lull himself to sleep. it's happened before.

you brought his free hand to your lips, pressing kisses onto his fingertips until you cut yourself off with a small moan, looking down at your husband completely lost in you. the sun had barely began to rise, but here you two were, clearing either of your senses of slumber with your concurrent libidos—like you weren't a day past twenty-four; going at it in a company car before he walked into the practice room with an unmatched aura and graphic tee on inside out, hair tousled. "make it quick," you whispered, bottom lip caught between your teeth when his hand kneaded your left breast. "have to get up in fifteen minutes." "got it." he murmured. jiyong worked quickly, shoving his pants below his knees whilst you pull your shorts down enough to let him in with ease. it was a picturesque way to start your day: holding onto your husband's shoulders as he worked his hips into yours, listening to his quick pants since he's historically ignored the fact that he's more sensitive in the mornings as to not keep himself from making love to the pussy god herself carved for and bestowed upon him all those years ago—every squeeze a blessing; squirm fruitful bounty; utterance of your name a prayer.

jiyong sounded so frail in your ear, begging for mercy from something he started. "s-shit—f-fuck—slow d-down—" he said to no one but himself, voice falling into a mewl, breathing heavily. "how do you—how do you still feel so g-good after all this time? huh?" he's felt you unabashedly raw for years, but some part of him will always be left in awe—where does he begin? jiyong already sees the pearly gates when the skeleton of his name is whispered meekly through your teeth, let alone how it seems you mutually long for one another in your respective rem cycles, considering you slip so swiftly into one another—literally and metaphorically—mere minutes after you've woken up. its not that odd or rather dubious cliché of "feeling young again" or whatever the fuck—its the familiarity of someone that keeps you sane and drives you crazy all the same. and how your muscle memory serves you right even in a state of slight deliriousness, wrapping your legs as best you can around his waist as his heavy balls plop against the bottom of your ass . . . it was beyond jiyong how he wasn't a father of five yet.

"mmf! fuck! t-taking it s-so well—so e-early in the m-morning, too." "w-wouldn't want it any other—o-oh my god, just like that! just like that!" you grabbed at the back of his shoulders, chest pushing into his, your back arching. "harder, jiyongie. h-harder." the look on your face was his motivation to keep going despite his increasingly blurry vision and mounting pressure on his knees from being in the same position. there it was—the face he strived to make music to encapsulate; etched in his memory so many times, but when he sees it, its like he's never seen it before; if someone showed twenty-year-old him a photo of you and told him you were going to be his wife, he'd need a defibrillator. "f-fuck! h—h-haa!" he whimpered faintly, eyebrows contorted upward, hearing the bed creak as he rammed into you. you were in a state of bliss: hair messy, dried drop of drool in the corner of your mouth, toes curling into the linen, sleepies in the corners of your eyes—stretched out by the love of your life at 7:15 in the morning. you weren't particularly religious, but perhaps this is what being god's favorite feels like.

he's a pussy eater to his core. you spent months stuffing your face into your pillow so your roommates wouldn't overhear at three in the morning; jiyong put a chair to the door when you came by promptly before he was due to work with the company producers that day, making way for you two to become masters at hiding what went down less than an hour before on the same couch his boss was now sitting on; your honeymoon reeked of it—and he's a devout enjoyer to this day. the night you sat on his face for the first time, he booked a studio afterwards whilst you slept peacefully next to him on your full size bed—saying some of the raunchiest shit he's ever thought of into that microphone when no one was around. only to play it for you the next night he was over at your apartment, physically feeling his soul achieve completion when you mounted his face again, disappearing between your thighs; seeing double when you rode his cock like it was your last night alive. it was also a rare night where all of your roommates were out—you didn't take that opportunity lightly. or gently. or timidly, really.

his gaze lingers on you in the kitchen the weekends you have off, stealing glances whilst you tried to make something out of the leftovers from the fridge for lunch; growing sick of ordering in all the time. jiyong's attention had long strayed from whatever was playing on the television, fingers toying with the press-on that was half-on half-off his middle finger, eyes barely diverting from you—relaxed in a cami and shorts, stomach peeking over the top hem, your cellulite and curvature of your body illuminated by the streaks of sunlight pouring in from the balcony window—even when one of the cat's dotingly rubbed against his leg when walking past. he got up from the couch, making his way over. he initially made his presence known with his palm tracing your hips, following the curvature of your ass before his chin settled on your shoulder. it was normal—nothing to be picked up on; a gesture you love so tenderly. in fact, you were the one who turned your head to look at him with a soft grin, leaning in and giving him a sweet kiss. it was the way jiyong reconnected it—slow and with a soft, stuttered hum—that you knew what was up.

"not now." you tutted. as if on cue, your stomach grumbled lowly. "m'hungry." "i am too." jiyong's palm rode up your stomach before nestling on your breast, kneading it slowly—another familiar touch, you just didn't have the patience for it right now. his other hand moved the strap of your cami on your other shoulder, letting it fall down your arm, pressing a kiss onto your skin. "you look s'good. can't help it. wanna taste." he muttered. "here, i'll get on the floor. just stay there." before he made his descent, you turned your head. "you're the one who told me his left knee's been giving him problems these last few days. has that suddenly disappeared?" he pouted. "i wanted to be sexy." you mimicked his pout, jutting your bottom lip. "midday on sunday when i'm trying to make us sandwiches out of more than tuna and leftover kimchi?" you quip. he leaned closer, rivaling your faux pout. "mhm," he closed the gap, kissing your cheek. "should've done it this morning when i had the chance. got too shy." you scoffed. "don't make me laugh," you said. "you're the same person who—what was it, again? the second?" you thought aloud; the memory clear in your head as confirmation. "oh, right. yeah—when you were called into the office the second time dispatch got those photos of us, and you told your boss you'd write a song about our 'tender love' to drive up album sales, since that's what he always talked about." jiyong shrugged his shoulders. "i gave him an in. but i am shy." "you can be. sometimes." "all the time." "sometimes." "all the time."

you adore his facial hair to the point of contemplating hiding his shaving kit. his hiatus, as it riddled him with questions of who he is and where he stands in the world, had its own unexpected pockets of unbridled humanity not tainted by the unforgiving eye of societal pressures. it showed in how jiyong texted you whilst you were at work when it became him being the one waiting for his spouse to come home—photos of the cats, what he made for lunch and planned on either making or ordering for dinner, and that he was going an episode back on the series you two were watching together because he didn't remember how a certain plot point progressed. this was especially prevalent during his military service: Don't worry, I'll remember where we left off

on those days he had his scruff—lining his upper lip and peppering his chin—you were unabashed. sure, in the first year or two when you started dating, it was shy glances and hiding your disappointment when he showed up to your apartment freshly-shaven before a comeback. jiyong may have been young, but he wasn't clueless. it was hard not to put the pieces together whenever it was always "one more kiss" when he left for the night, seeing your eyes flutter to his mouth before leaning in again; your back already arched when he trailed kisses down your inner thighs before eating you out, muffling your own moans behind your palm from how good his scruff felt against your skin. this was certainly the tipping point. you never forgot what his "let me hear you" sounded like—slightly demanding, but all the more knowing. it made you moan louder, unabashedly stuffing his face into your cunt with his tongue's every ministration.

the floodgates had opened with you knowing he knew; fucking him as he tried to fuck you from behind, embattling for power. jiyong tried to keep his composure—it was the hottest thing he's ever fucking seen—keeping his grip on your hips, grunting in the midst of your moans. it was the clapping of skin and watching your globes recoil after hitting his pelvis repeatedly that made him surrender his grip to the headboard to keep his balance. and your breathy fucking "jiyongie—j-jiyongie!" bottom lip caught between your teeth, eyebrows curled upward; elbows and knees set ablaze, stomach rubbing uncomfortably against the duvet, but it felt too good to stop. "f-feel so fucking good!" you cried, eyes rolling back hearing his whimper. "fuck me back. fuck me back—n-need it, baby. need it s'bad." jiyong slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, hearing you wince longingly at the loss of him filling you up. the condom was creamy and visibly wet. he moaned when he saw his cock twitch inside of you. "all—all this—hngh! f-fuck!" he gradually pushed back in, feeling your gummy walls welcome him like never before. "a-all this b-because of some facial hair, baby? yeah?" "y-yes!" you gasped, eyes squeezing shut when his hips showed no mercy. jiyong ate his own words when he came over a different night, telling you he was going to shave tomorrow, thinking he would be able to handle whatever came his way with a smug grin. he looked ghostly an hour later—spread eagle on your bed, hands lifeless on either side of your ass, only mustering enough strength to kiss you back to break it with his own pathetic whimper, begging for more.

now its sweet hums of satisfaction feeling his scruff when he gives you a kiss before work, tracing it with your fingers as he lulls himself to sleep, or admiring how beautiful he looks. don't get it twisted—those desires never went away. jiyong leads you to his lips with his tongue the nights he comes home from traveling abroad, kissing you in just the way you like, but also the way he knows you feel his four-day-old scruff against your skin. it earns him the chill of your engagement ring and wedding band on the back of his neck, reconnecting the kiss sensually but with a hint of hunger, tilting your head to deepen it. you broke the kiss to catch your breath, forehead landing on his as the water sloshed around you in the tub, his fingers fucking you underneath the rose-scented suds. "a little gentler, jiyongie." "m'sorry," he mumbled. "its okay—" "—just missed my love so much, is all." "missed you t-too." his lips cast a kiss on your shoulder before settling his forehead there, hearing your more satisfied breath when he altered his pace.

or a few days later, when he was trying so hard to watch the confession between the two leads of a series he's been waiting eighteen episodes to see with you, but just couldn't stop himself from shoving his dick deeper into your mouth. there you were, back of your head facing the television, laying comfortably on your side with your feet curled up on the bed, listening to the dialogue whilst sucking your husband's dick. you did it with bliss—like second nature, only opening your eyes to catch your breath and pump his hard cock coated with a mixture of his slick and your spit. he watched you with deeply furrowed eyebrows and his bottom lip begging for mercy—contrasting wildly with how casually he propped his head up with his elbow on his pillow. "f-fuck—a-agh!" he mewled, eyes squeezing shut as you did what he loved most, and may or may not have percolated at the back of his mind when he gifted you a lady dior bag for your birthday that year—sucking hard on his tip, then slowly letting go. the sound your cheeks made when un-hollowing was diabolical. twenty-five year old jiyong would want to somehow sneak that into a b-side, distorting the sound enough to pass it as part of the beat drop or something—anything; seamless to the listener, sinful to him. the idea still stood all these years later, but perhaps he would stick to just keeping it in the lyrics . . .

"hngh! oh my fucking—" jiyong's hand slipped into your hair without thinking, at your complete helm as he watched you take more than half of him into your mouth, sucking hard, before bobbing up and down normally. his voice was a noticeable octave higher—"like that, like that—k-keep—keep going!" "shut up," you muttered. you readjusted yourself on your elbow, feeling your neck begin to strain, his hand falling lifeless onto the bed. you let go of his dick, wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, noticing how his cock barely moved from how hard it was. you started pumping him again, hearing him suck a breath through his teeth. "can't hear the tv. turn up the volume." "o-okay, honey—" jiyong gasped when he returned to your mouth. "okay—f-fuck! oh, fuck—okay!" he reached with his non-dominant hand to the nightside table, aimlessly grabbing for the remote, knocking it to the floor in the process. the small crash made you nearly choke on his dick, popping off quickly in attempts to stifle your laughter behind your hand. "s'fine—s'fine. i got it—" he tried to reach down, but to no avail. "get back here," you beckoned, tugging at his shirt. "you've waited long enough."

this goes without saying, but you have everything you could ever need. from the moment he gave you his black card after a year of dating to use on anything you want, spending five minutes after that ensuring you that he was in the right state of mind ("why're you giving this to me? you barely know me." "what? you and i both know i know you enough to trust you.") to calling you that same week to tell you its okay to use it after seeing only two charges for coffee a few days apart ("i want to take care of you. you're the only one for me, you know that?" "you're crazy." "well, for you." "i set myself up for that one, didn't i?") to feeling utmost satisfaction seeing charges for household maintenance or paying for a movie night with your friends ("it felt rebellious to spend twenty dollars per ticket for five people with someone else's money." "i think you're the funniest person i know.")

you weren't exactly a public figure—jiyong made sure of that as much as he possibly could, as it was your wish—but that didn't mean you were completely or utterly unrecognizable. photos of existed out there of the two of you, either floated around by dispatch, or when your thank-you-for-attending cards containing your official wedding portrait leaked to the press—both with years in-between them. you went to concerts when you felt comfortable enough or could. he never pressured you to do something you didn't want to, but if he really wanted you to come (which was more often than not, if not all the time,) he'd find his ways: "there's going to be a fun rendition of crooked, and my hair will be styled the way you like." "jiyong, i already took my pto. i'm coming." "i love you so much."

in the years of his hiatus, there were several months that went by where everything felt fine, so you took public transit. it wasn't much or often, per se, only when jiyong felt too under the weather to drive you ("head down to the lot. i'll get the keys, baby." "you look ghostly. i'll leave ginger tea brewing on the stove before i leave."), wasn't home, or when he woke up feeling a little off, opting to stay in bed for a little while longer after giving you a tender kiss goodbye. if you looked out the window long enough during that fifteen minute commute, you suddenly felt like the twenty-one year old you once were that wasn't able to be on time for anything, let alone for classes. there were some days you would see the knowing glances from other passengers, or double takes a fool wouldn't notice. to your fortune, they either didn't say anything, or you sped to the escalator before they could.

one evening after work, however, you weren't headed home but out to dinner with a friend. several stops before your usual terminal, cutting down the usual fifteen minute ride to four—remember that. you rushed into the crowded train car before the doors closed, holding onto a nearby pole a small group of passengers around you gripped, fixing your hair that was messily tousled by the wind and securing your purse over your shoulder. in the midst of that, you caught sight of a prototype peaceminusone daisy pin, having forgotten you clipped it onto your blazer weeks ago after jiyong showed you the new collaboration he was working on. it was a moment that lasted mere seconds, the pin covered up by your purse strap after adjusting your posture, but it was enough for someone to see and make the connection after recognizing you. you hadn't realized someone was tailing you until you were outside of the restaurant. jiyong didn't let you go on public transit again for over a year, hiring an on-call chauffeur that same week.

private as you were, and as much the universe tested the both of you—you and jiyong had ways of finding humor amidst the turmoil. he's culturally ordained the king of kpop, yes, but also is equally deserving of the title of being-subtle-but-not-silent—exhibit a being the year when he showed up to paris fashion week with a strategically placed dark maroon-hued kiss mark in the divot of his collarbone, purposefully poking out of the collar of the chanel piece he was wearing. you did it in a rush in the bathroom of his hotel suite as he was running late; the idea coming to the both of you when you put the finishing touches on his outfit—a long-standing tradition usually administered through dusting something off his clothing, adjusting an accessory, or in this case, applying one. netizens ate each other alive—some saying it was what it clearly was, despite the angle of the photos and his clothing hiding a lot but not all, and others convincing themselves it was a birthmark not seen before that day, or a new tattoo. exhibit b being when you were spotted on a "rare public outing" (dispatch's words, not yours; you're no stranger to grocery runs) wearing a very obviously bootlegged g-dragon shirt—his face pixelated and off-center in the front, name separated by several spaces as opposed to a hyphen in the back; a gag gift from a friend a few christmases ago. he thought it was hilarious, sending you the photos himself: You look hot. The guy on your shirt not so much :)

it was a lovely surprise to see you in the crowd when bigbang returned to the stage at mama, stood in a closed-off section of the seating with members of his staff. the lip readers of the internet metaphorically rode off into the sunset after revealing to the world that you, indeed, said gleefully to his manager that you've known for years: "he looks so fucking good, oh my god!" and "i'm glad he went with that necklace!" whilst pointing at the stage—all before dancing and shouting the words back to him like it was your last night alive, of course. another staff member took a video and sent it to the group chat for him to watch in bed whilst you did your skincare in the en suite, tucked into his side, burying his face into his pillow as his face grew warmer.

to this day, he becomes so unexpectedly shy. that same night, for example, you had to use both hands to tug his shoulder to get him to look at you. even then, he still hid his face in his pillow, not having the gall to look at you or wipe that stupid smile off his face. your kisses to his warming cheek didn't help him, let alone your usual line: "you've made me see stars. now you don't want to see me?" you said by his ear, hand rubbing up his back tenderly, giggling upon hearing his muffled groan. "don't say that," he elongated the last syllable, arm slinging over your waist, fingers grazing the top of your ass. "you know i can't bear it." "mhm," you hummed, voice sounding akin to honey. "at least give me a goodnight kiss. i worked so hard cheering for you tonight, you know?" you smiled, hand now coming up to brush his hair back, ushering him to you. jiyong lifted his head, bringing his lips to yours. your hand held his cheek, kissing him back, lips separating slowly. "i love you." you whispered. "i love you more."

or when you two make lunch together, him washing and cutting the vegetables whilst you looked for the pan needed to sauté for the quick dish you decided to make that afternoon. you placed the pan on the stove, turning the correlating knob to ignite the fire underneath, drizzling it with olive oil whilst it began to heat up; an anecdote from work commentating everything. "thought i heard something about lay-offs. turns out, it was just that asshole co-worker that got laid over the weekend." jiyong's eyebrows raised, amused. "you heard that on your lunch break?" you gave him a look that deepened his upside down grin, shaking your head. "the shit i hear, my love," you tutted. "i'm surprised i'm not stuck in a state of perpetual grievance." he let out a laugh, his eyes kissing at the end. "you can be so funny, you know?" "can be?" you quipped, unable to hide your grin. "i thought it was the funniest person you knew, hm?" you tugged at this shirt, bringing his cheek to your lips.

your hand found his lower back, rubbing sweetly. "have you finished halving the tomatoes? i think the rice should be done by now." you thought aloud, peering over to the opposite end of the counter, seeing the steam pour out of the cooker. "mhm. almost." he murmured, feeling his neck and face warm. you turned to look at him, seeing the all-too-familiar avoidant gaze and awkwardly readjusting of his posture, topped off with a sharp inhale through his nostrils. you smiled knowingly, wrapping your arms around his waist, looking up at him. "did i blink and suddenly twenty-four year old jiyong showed up?" "stop it." he murmured, prolonging that last syllable. "you were so cute back then—" "—am i not cute now?" "hush. let me say my case." his face scrunched up with his smile, landing his forehead against yours. "we didn't know bullshit about anything. you were so keen to please. in more ways that one." he buried his face in your neck, making you laugh, skin hot against yours as your hands traveled up his back. "you're going to kill me." he muttered. "you know," you said to him. "there's not a boring day with you."

arguments aren't non-existent. when they occurred, you both knew each other well enough to take whatever course of action necessary: talking it out, or if things still felt too hot, taking a breather. you trusted each other to know things would mend, no matter if it was immediate or after some hours of silence. the only exception was if one happened before he had to travel for work—he squashed that shit like a bug. he learned that lesson the hard way in his mid-twenties, thinking he could hold out and carry a grudge to prove a point over some petty argument, only to fly home during the first two-day break on tour, knocking on your door when he knew you were home from work. jiyong couldn't live with it, being hundreds if not thousands of miles away from you, knowing something was pestering your mind, or hurt was ruminating somewhere inside you. no relationship is perfect, but he would be damned if he didn't at least try—especially through the ruckus you've endured from being with someone as famous as him. to jiyong, its the least he could do. he feels fortunate the universe led him to a spouse who wants to handle things with care as much as he does—to move mutually and maturely.

when he misses you, its palpable. whether it be when you leave the passenger's seat after he drops you off at work, or when you can't come with him to new york fashion week, he feels it. as do you. its never nice to wake up to an empty house, or an unfamiliar hotel room, but you make due. texts suffice as much as it can if you can't facetime, making you grin to yourself at your desk: Do you like it? he sent over a mirror selfie and staff-taken photos of him in a chanel ensemble he wore to a runway show in what was his afternoon and your early morning, hearting the one where he looked a little caught off guard. I do! Your hair color clashes with the outfit, though you typed back, stifling your laughter at his response ten minutes later: I'm not coming home. I'm laughing too much at my desk you're going to get me in trouble, you responded, only to have to put your hand over your mouth and muffle yourself. Stop laughing at my misery

jiyong texted you throughout the night for you to read in the morning: photos of his food, Here's the beer I paid way too much for, asking about the cats, and selfies of him in any state: one eye open with the other closed as his makeup artist does his eyeshadow; him pretending to smoke his lighter; one where nothing but his eyes and forehead are visible with the car window down halfway, a glimpse of the empire state building behind him with the accompanying Do you know where I am right now; I think we should have gotten married here; to the most recent I miss you a lot my baby. Call me when you wake up sent an hour ago. it was early morning for you and early evening for jiyong—you swiped right on his last message: Good morning from my side of the world; Are you at your hotel? Make sure you're outside in about 10 min. I'm going to have breakfast on the balcony, we can look at the same sky together

jiyong was out to dinner with his staff, excusing himself from the table when your texts came through. he stepped outside, your phone vibrating after you took your first bite of toast. he felt his sinuses loosen, his eyes misty at the sound of your voice on the other end of the line. it hadn't even been twelve hours since he last heard you, but he got worked up nonetheless: "hello? jiyong, can you hear me?" "yeah, honey. i can hear you," he nodded, blinking hard. "i have—i have the wifi. i'm outside. out to dinner." he swallowed. "what does the sky look like for you? its getting dark here. central park is across the street, and i think i see the moon over one of the trees." "hmm," you thought aloud, leaning to your left. "its early here. the sun hasn't come over the building yet. but the sky is clear. its nice today." "yeah?" he smiled, his vision blurry. "thats—thats good. i'm glad, honey." he nodded, looking down at the sidewalk pavement. "listen, uh . . . you need to stop being randomly poetic over text." "randomly poetic?" "like—like what you said about looking at the same sky, or something." his mind was scrambled. you heard him sniffle. "it hit me—it hit me a little hard."

"oh," your heart melted. "i'm . . . sorry?" you heard him laugh on the other side of the line, hiding your face behind your hand from no one. "its okay, honey. its okay." he assured with a stupidly big smile, despite you not being able to see. "i guess what i'm trying to say is, i don't know how i got so lucky." he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. "and my plane can't come fast enough, you know?" "i know." you nodded, looking down at the floor, corner of your lip caught between your teeth whilst your eyes watered. "you can't make me cry not even an hour after i wake up. you should pay a fine. or something." he let out a colorful laugh, not paying mind to the stares he got from passerbys. "thats fair." he said. "i have to finish breakfast and plate the cats' food. the car'll be coming in ten minutes." "you need to quit that damn job and spend all your time with me. i've been telling you for years now, baby."

you smirked to yourself, taking a bite of your toast. "listen, you keep crying over me like this," you said after taking a sip of water. "then maybe becoming a trophy wife is written in my fate." you joked, hearing him laugh. "i love you!" he exclaimed, smile evident in his voice. "i love you so fucking much, holy shit." "if you're still up by then, i'll call you during my lunch break." "oh, i'll be up. don't worry." he shook his head in reassurance, free hand on his hip. "i'll stay up for you. let me know when you get to work, okay? i love you." "i love you tenderly."

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf, @infinetlyforgotten, @mesopotamism, @riddlerloveb0t, @pepsicolapussi

[mashtatosworld]

angel of my dream

summary: you and your husband are trying to expand the family, but good things take time

You weren’t sure when exactly the fun, carefree decision to have a second baby turned into a full-blown military operation, but by the second month of nothing happening, Jiyong was officially on a mission.

He handled it the only way he knew how - with intense focus and obsession.

He’d send you cryptic texts throughout the day like:

[gdaddy] Fertility window tonight!! xxx

[gdaddy] Wear something easy to take off i'll be home in five

[gdaddy] Do you think if I give up smoking it will help? 😓

That's when you knew he was serious.

Of course he'd cut down on his bad habit since first having Diva, but that didn't mean he wouldn't slip away sometimes to the balcony after one of her tantrums.

Then he started taking vitamins he read about in some random article at 2am, and even started swapping his beloved beer for herbal teas.

And you?

You were amused.

At first.

Then the scheduled baby-making started.

The moment your ovulation tracker lit up with that green window, it was go time. It didn’t matter if you were at home, at a photoshoot, or in a moving vehicle - Jiyong was not about to miss the chance.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The new regime was how you ended up on the sidelines of one of his elaborate music video shoots on New Year’s Eve.

You were perched on the edge of a heavy equipment case, scrolling idly through your phone while the crew made adjustments to the next scene.

Nearby, Diva sat cross-legged on the floor with Jiyong's trusted hairstylist, completely unbothered by the chaos around her. The stylist had given up on keeping her tools organised, letting Diva toy with her collection of glittery clips and hair ties. Your daughter was fully engrossed in slipping said items into her socks, thinking no one was watching.

You sighed, making a mental note to empty her socks before you two left.

Then you glanced up just in time to see Jiyong walking off set.

His white chiffon shirt was half-unbuttoned, clinging slightly to his chest from the exertion of the last take. His hair was deliberately disheveled, a burning orange, and his dark eyeliner gave him a sharp, almost feline edge. He looked sinfully good - smudged makeup and all.

He passed Diva on the way to you, his pace quick and purposeful, but he still slowed just enough to dip down and press a quick, fleeting kiss to the crown of her head.

“Be right back, princess,” he murmured in passing, his voice soft and warm.

Diva, ever the unbothered daughter, didn’t even glance up from her task, simply waving him off with a distracted, “Mm, ‘kay.”

But you knew the look in his eyes when he finally reached you wasn’t the same one he gave her.

He stopped walking, immediately bracing one hand against the crate beside your thigh, leaning over you, his breath still uneven from the performance.

“Hey…” he breathed out, his lips curling into a slow, lazy smirk, the kind that made heat curl low in your stomach.

You glanced up from your phone, raising a playful brow. “You look like an angel.”

His smirk deepened, eyes glinting with mischief.

“We have ten minutes before they reset the lights…” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, dripping with suggestion. His breath ghosted over your lips, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "Here? Right now?"

“Fertility window,” he nodded sharply.

Oh, for the love of -

You barely had time to blink before his fingers curled around your wrist, swiftly tugging you off the crate. His grip was firm, his pace determined and quick as he led you through the winding hallways of the studio.

You glanced over your shoulder once, catching a glimpse of Diva still perfectly content, absorbed in her own task.

Completely oblivious.

Good.

Jiyong’s grip tightened slightly as he pulled you around a corner, slipping through a side door into a dimly lit back room used for meetings, completely out of sight from the crew. The door clicked shut behind you.

He immediately sat you on the table, his mouth claiming yours with a hungry kiss. His hands roamed your body - desperate, urgent, fuelled by his determination. You could feel the tension in him, the need for this to work, the almost frantic edge to his touch.

But the moment things were about to get heated, he pulled back abruptly. You blinked in confusion, lips swollen and parted, but he was already moving.

“Wait, wait…” he muttered breathlessly, rummaging through a nearby box.

“Wait for what?” you asked, dazed and confused as he snatched a small throw pillow someone had left behind.

“Here - ” He slid the pillow under your lower back.

You blinked, staring at him incredulously. “Are you seriously pillow-propping me right now?”

He gave you a wide-eyed, slightly defensive look, dead serious. “Yes. It helps the sperm swim faster.”

Although you two shared certain favourite positions when you were intimate, his research had temporarily steered him away from using them.

You closed your eyes, dropping your head back against the table. “Oh my God, you are so serious about this.”

“Of course I am.” He gently lifted your legs, holding them at a specific angle. “And afterward…” He glanced up at you with a small smirk, still slightly breathless. “We’re keeping these up for ten minutes. Minimum.”

You stared at him, half-exasperated, half-bewildered. “Jiyong… you realise this isn’t exactly sexy, right?”

He sighed, looking down at you with dark eyes. “I know…” he murmured, kissing the bare leg propped against his shoulder. “But once you’ve got my little angel in you…” His voice was low and teasing as he nipped at your skin. “I’ll let you go back to riding me every night. Deal?”

You smirked moving to rest your arms behind your head, getting comfortable. “You drive a hard bargain, Kwon.”

He grinned, eyes burning with affection and longing.

When it was over, you both stumbled out of the room, breathless and flushed. You hastily fixed your clothes, smoothing your hair and wiping at the faint smudges on his lips. His hands were still trembling slightly from the rush.

You barely had time to fully compose yourselves before you were back with Diva. She was now sitting in Jiyong's make-up chair, her legs swinging slightly, watching herself in the mirror as the stylist added some sparkly clips to her hair.

You glanced at your husband, flushed and panting slightly from your intimate escape. He was tugging at the collar of his shirt, trying to cool down. His lips were pink and swollen from kissing, his eyeliner even more smudged. He looked wrecked - and unfairly hot.

The hairstylist glanced at you both, then raised a suspicious brow. She narrowed her eyes slightly, pursing her lips as she tugged at a stray section of Diva’s hair.

“You two look... tired.” Her voice was dry, almost teasing.

You forced an innocent smile, while Jiyong bit his bottom lip, clearly suppressing a smirk.

“Long day,” you offered.

Jiyong stepped forward towards the make-up station. "Let Appa see your new hair," he murmured, lifting Diva from his seat and plopping her on his lap once he sat down.

He sighed and rested his head on hers as his stylist began to fix his messy, slightly damp hair. Meanwhile you found yourself a bottle of water, feeling particularly parched.

You watched your husband in the mirror, his eyes closed and forehead resting against your baby's head.

He looked exhausted and you wondered when he'd finally admit it, or if he'd let himself burn out first.

You sighed to yourself and tightened your grip around the plastic bottle, you wouldn't let it get to that point. Not again.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Four months.

You’d barely noticed the first month slip by without success.

It had been new, exciting, and honestly kind of fun. Jiyong’s sheer determination and focus made the whole trying process thrilling - you couldn’t keep your hands off each other, stealing moments wherever you could, relishing in the stolen intimacy.

But by the fourth month? The thrill turned into something else entirely.

You were starting to feel it now. The exhaustion. The strain. The gnawing disappointment when another month came and went without that tiny pink line appearing.

Jiyong, though? He was relentless.

But as the tour began, it became harder to keep up. You were both exhausted. The constant flights, the back-to-back shows, the lack of privacy - it was wearing you down. You tried not to let it show, but Jiyong could see it.

He didn’t say it out loud, but you knew he was scared.

He was nearly 40. His "I'm too old for this" worries were starting to creep in.

He hadn’t openly voiced them to you yet, but he'd made passing comments, and casually mentioned one night "Maybe we should see a specialist - just in case."

But you weren’t ready for that. Not yet.

So, you decided to ease up. You ditched the fertility teas and the endless concoctions he kept pushing your way. You stopped monitoring your body like a science experiment. Instead, you took a step back to breathe.

You needed a break from all of it.

Which was how you found yourself out for a girly day with Diva.

The two of you strolled through the streets, hand-in-hand, with her dressed in her tiny, adorable outfit: a puffy pink jacket, a fuzzy white hat, and glittery boots she had insisted on wearing. You took her shopping, bought her some new hair clips, and let her pick out her own ice cream flavour at the cute little café she loved.

It was exactly what you needed - a day without pressure, just you and your daughter enjoying each other’s company.

Meanwhile, Jiyong was off filming a YouTube show - a press appearance on "Yong Tarot" hosted by Lee Yong Jin.

He didn’t love doing these kinds of shows anymore. Over the years, he’d become increasingly private. Sure, he had no problem with public appearances and stage performances, but discussing his personal life on camera made him hesitant.

Still, he agreed. It was part of the promo, and he didn’t want to seem difficult.

He stared at the deck of cards skeptically. Lee Yong Jin shuffled the deck dramatically, shooting him a cheeky grin.

“So, what do you want to ask?”

Jiyong twisted his lips in thought. He considered brushing it off with something generic - a typical “Will my album do well?” or “What’s my luck like this year?” But his heart beat a little faster, and before he could stop himself, he spoke.

“When… when do you see my family expanding?”

The host stilled for a beat, eyes widening slightly before glancing at the camera crew with a knowing grin. “Oh-ho! Your family? Another baby on the way?”

Jiyong shifted in his seat, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I- I would like that.” His voice softened slightly, the vulnerability slipping through.

The host shuffled the cards, and for a moment, Jiyong held his breath.

When the man finally revealed the result, he stared at it for a beat, then looked back at Jiyong with a grin.

“This year.”

Jiyong blinked. “What?”

“It’ll happen this year.”

His heart practically burst from his chest.

He wasn’t even a big believer in tarot. He didn’t put much stock in predictions or fortune-telling. But at that moment? He wanted to believe it. Needed to believe it.

Without thinking, he whipped out his phone, his eyes still wide with excitement.

“I need to call my wife. Right now.”

The host chuckled. “You’re calling her? On the show?”

Jiyong didn’t care. He tapped your name, waiting for the sight of your beautiful face to appear as the shows camera zoomed in on him, capturing his eager expression.

You picked up on the second ring, the sounds of Diva’s giggles filtering through the line.

“Hey, Ji.” Your voice was warm, carefree.

“Jagi! You’re on camera right now, but I had to call you. Say hi.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Lee Yongjin just did a tarot reading for me. Tell her what you said.” He shoved the phone toward the host, practically bouncing in his seat.

The comedian grinned at the camera. “I told him he’ll have another baby this year.”

You blinked, startled, and let out a surprised laugh. “Oh? That soon?”

Jiyong practically melted. His face lit up, his smile so wide it nearly split his face in half. He turned the phone back to himself, his eyes glimmering with excitement.

“You heard that, jagi? This year!”

You laughed softly, but before you could say anything, Diva’s little voice piped up.

“No baby.”

Jiyong sighed, already knowing what was coming. You pressed your lips together and slowly panned your phone down, to where she sat beside you. Diva glared right at the screen.

“No baby!” she repeated firmly, crossing her arms.

The host burst into laughter, and Jiyong shook his head, going into dad-mode.

“No, no, no,” he tutted. “We've already talked about this. Don't you remember why I bought you the iPad?"

She shook her head with a fierce scowl. “No baby. No, no, no - " Diva pointed accusingly at the camera.

"Ok, enough of that, you two," You intervened, knowing it would only be a war of 'no's' between them.

Clearly, she was not on board with the expansion plan.

When the call ended, Jiyong went back to grinning like a fool.

On his way home, he couldn’t stop thinking about Diva’s jealous little outburst. It made him laugh, but it also tugged at his heart.

So, on impulse, he stopped at a toy store.

By the time he walked through the door, he was holding a box with a small baby doll inside - a cute one, with chubby cheeks and a pink onesie. When you gave him a questioning look, he just smiled.

“It’s so she can get used to the idea of a baby being around.” He held it out proudly.

Jiyong walked into Diva's room with the new toy but you said nothing, letting him test the theory for himself.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The next morning, he woke up to an unfamiliar silence.

No gentle tugging on his hair, no giggly calls of “Appa, wake up!”, and no tiny feet stepping all over him.

The bed was unusually quiet, the sheets cool where Diva’s warm little body usually snuggled between you and him.

Jiyong frowned groggily, slowly sitting up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. He squinted at the clock - half-past ten.

His princess was always up before this, demanding his attention the moment her eyes fluttered open.

The silence made his chest tighten slightly.

“Princess…?” he called softly, voice rough with sleep, expecting her tiny footsteps to come padding into the room any second.

Nothing.

He pushed the covers off hurriedly, padding out of the bedroom in his rumpled pyjamas.

When he reached the sitting room, he stopped short.

There she was.

Perched on the floor with her legs crossed, Diva sat with her back to him, facing the tv. It was switched off but the remote was beside her like she'd tried to figure it out.

She had also helped herself to breakfast: a half-squashed handful of strawberries, two packets of gummy bears, and a juice box she had punctured at the wrong angle, making it leak slightly down the side.

She sat there, completely independent, with her tiny chin lifted in defiance as she took a loud, dramatic sip from the juice box straw.

Jiyong’s heart sank slightly.

“Yah, what's this…?” he said aloud, stepping toward her.

She didn’t even turn around. She just hmpffed, louder than necessary, her tiny shoulders stiff with exaggerated offence.

He crouched down beside her, frowning slightly, tilting his head to catch her eyes.

“Hey, baby… why didn’t you call for me?” he asked, his voice soft and almost pleading.

She stubbornly kept her eyes on the blank screen, refusing to look at him.

Jiyong reached out tentatively, brushing his fingers over her soft hair. “You don’t want me to help you with breakfast? Turn on your show?” he murmured gently.

Without a word, she shrugged his hand off and scooted further away, pointedly ignoring him.

His chest tightened with guilt, his lips parting slightly in disbelief. She never ignored him.

And then you appeared from the bedroom, blinking at the sight of the two.

"Hey, did you do all that by yourself?" You asked at the sight of her little set up.

She nodded and you chuckled.

"Well done, baby. You're so smart."

You passed them and headed to the kitchen, ready to make some proper breakfast for her anyway. Jiyong hurried after you, a deep frown on his face.

"No." he said, resting his hands on the marble counter top as you pulled out a mixing bowl. "Not well done."

"Huh?" You ask in confusion, continuing to work around him as he stewed.

"It's dangerous. She shouldn't be able to run about the house unsupervised. She could have hurt herself. We need to put her back in the crib."

Oh.

So that's what this was about.

You shook your head with an eye roll. He hadn't been happy to move her from a crib to a toddler bed because he thought she'd no longer call for him.

That fear had gone unwarranted though, and now she would just see herself into your room instead. Until that morning.

"Independence is good for her." You disagreed. "All the drawers have locks on them. She only found what she could reach." You shrug, cracking a few eggs into the bowl.

"y/n, you know what she's like. Soon she'll be climbing on the counters."

"Well we'll remove the stools."

But he wouldn't hear it. "No - "

"Jiyong, please don't." You sigh, not wanting to argue first thing in the morning.

He huffed but stayed silent, glaring down at the pattern in the cold marble beneath his palms. He hadn't even realised you two were heading towards a fight. He'd been so on edge lately.

You carry the egg shells to the waste bin and halt, biting your lip at the sight before you.

"Oh dear,"

Jiyong lifted his head and hurried over, coming to a short stop beside you.

"Shit."

You both stared at the little plastic feet poking out of the waste bin. He exhaled sharply and snatched the doll from the bin. The poor toy was even missing an arm and you burst out laughing at the sight.

"I'm sorry, it's not funny."

"No, Jagi, it's really not. This is serious." He shook the broken, discarded doll before stomping to the sitting room.

You wash your hands and waited a moment before hesitantly following after him. But you lingered in the door way as he spoke to her quietly, she was now settled in his lap - her tantrum waning.

“If we have another baby… you’ll still be the princess, okay? You’ll still be Appa’s baby.”

His soft words made you retreat quietly. You feared this was becoming too much for all of you.

You didn't know how much longer it could last before something gave.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You stared at the single pink line. Again.

Your heart sank.

For the fifth month in a row, the test stared back at you with that same stark disappointment. It was always the same: one lonely pink line mocking you with its singularity. No faint second line. No glimmer of hope. Just one.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you set the test down on the bathroom counter. For a brief moment, you considered hiding it - throwing it away before Jiyong could see. Maybe you could protect him from the letdown just this once.

But you knew he was waiting.

You stepped into the bedroom, test in hand. Jiyong was sitting on the edge of the bed, still dressed in his stage clothes from that night’s concert. His hair was slightly damp from sweating under the lights, clinging to his forehead. The exhaustion was obvious in the dark circles under his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders.

Still, when he saw you, he gave you a tired but hopeful smile.

“Hey…” His voice was raspy, worn from performing. “Did you - ”

You silently held the test out.

The second he saw the single line, his face crumpled.

He didn’t say anything at first - he just stared at it. Then he exhaled shakily, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his face.

You could see the weight of it hitting him all at once.

This wasn’t just about the test.

It was everything.

The sleepless nights from touring. The constant travel. The strain of trying to be present for you and Diva despite his packed schedule. The nagging insecurities over his age. The creeping doubt in his own body. The guilt over how Diva still adamantly rejected the idea of a sibling.

It all came crashing down on him at once.

“y/n…” His voice cracked slightly, barely above a whisper. He didn’t look at you. His hands stayed pressed against his face, his shoulders trembling slightly. “Why… why isn’t it working this time?”

You felt your heart clench.

You knelt in front of him, gently prying his hands away from his face. When his tear-filled eyes met yours, you cupped his face, trying to hold him together.

“It’s okay…” you murmured softly, running your thumbs along his damp cheeks. “Hey… it’s okay.”

But he shook his head, blinking back the tears. His voice broke slightly, frustration and heartbreak tumbling out.

“No, it’s not. We didn’t even try the first time. It just… happened. But now? Now, it’s like - ” His breath hitched as he choked back a sob. “ - like my body’s too old or too tired or too - ”

“Stop.” Your voice was firm, cutting through his self-deprecation. You held his face more firmly, forcing him to look at you. “None of that. Do you hear me?”

His lips pressed into a trembling line, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the weight in his chest.

You exhaled softly, brushing your lips against his damp temple, then his cheek.

“Maybe…” you whispered gently, “maybe we should just put this on hold for a bit. Let’s focus on other things for now.”

The moment the words left your mouth, he jerked back slightly, eyes wide and desperate.

“No.” He shook his head fiercely. “No, baby. Please. I - I don’t want to stop trying.” His voice was frantic, raw. His fingers dug into your wrists, holding on like you might slip away.

You stared at him for a long moment, feeling your throat tighten. You could see it in his eyes - the desperation, the exhaustion, the fear of giving up.

But you also saw how utterly worn down he was.

So, you exhaled softly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

“I know, my love… I know.” You pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, trying to soothe the storm in his chest. “But I think right now… you need to breathe.”

You stood, gently pulling him with you.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Let me run you a bath.”

But he immediately shook his head. “I can't. It’s bad for my sperm.” His voice cracked slightly in protest.

You let out a breathy laugh, despite yourself, and grabbed his face again, kissing him softly.

“I don’t care.” You smiled against his lips, brushing your nose against his. “You matter more right now.”

His hands slowly loosened their desperate grip on your wrists, falling to your waist instead. He let out a shaky breath, eyes searching yours. For a moment, he seemed like he might fight it - but he didn’t.

You walked into the bathroom, reaching for the faucet. As the water began to fill the tub, you moved to throw away the discarded test.

But when you glanced at it, you stilled.

Your breath caught in your throat.

There, next to the first line - the bold, mocking one that had been there moments ago - was a second line.

Faint. Barely visible. But unmistakably there.

You froze, staring at it.

The second line had appeared. The test was positive.

You blinked, trying to make sure you weren’t seeing things. You squinted, tilting it slightly under the light. The faint line remained - solid, unwavering.

It was real.

Your hand trembled slightly as you placed the test back on the counter. Your heart hammered violently in your chest, and you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping.

But you didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

Instead, you turned back to the tub, keeping your expression calm and steady. You adjusted the water temperature, watching the steam rise.

“Jagi?” Jiyong’s voice was soft behind you. When you turned around, he was leaning against the doorframe, watching you tiredly.

You smiled softly and held your hand out to him. “Come on, let’s get you in.”

He sighed heavily, walking toward you. He let you help him out of his shirt, then his pants, before stepping into the warm water. He released a long, shaky breath as he sank into the tub, his tense muscles slowly relaxing.

You rolled up your sleeves and sat on the edge of the bath, trailing your fingers through the water.

Jiyong leaned his head back against the tub, closing his eyes. “You’re getting in, right?” His voice was drowsy, his words slurring slightly from fatigue.

You smiled softly.

“Mm… scoot back.”

You undressed and slipped in front of him, leaning back against his chest. He relaxed immediately, exhaling heavily as his arms folded over you.

For a few moments, you stayed like that - until you turned and pressed a few kisses on his chin.

His voice came out soft and drowsy as he roused at your touch. “y/n… are we trying again?”

You smiled faintly, your lips grazing his damp skin.

“We don’t need to.”

He blinked slowly, tilting his head slightly. “Jagi… I told you, I don’t want to stop trying.”

You smiled softly up at him, your heart racing.

“No… we don’t need to.”

You felt his body still slightly, and his eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

“What?”

You reached over the side of the tub, grabbing the test. Without a word, you placed it in his hand.

His brows furrowed as he stared at it - perplexed.

Then his breath caught.

His eyes widened.

The second line.

“Jagi…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking. “Wait… does this mean - ”

You laughed, your voice trembling slightly with emotion.

“I mean, I'll have to do a few more - just to confirm but - we did it, Ji.”

Your husband stared at the test for another beat as his hands trembled, and he turned his gaze back to you.

Then he crushed you against him, clinging to you desperately as tears soaked your neck.

“We did it…” he whispered again and again, voice trembling with disbelief and awe.

And you returned his embrace.

You held your tired, beautiful, loving husband - knowing your family was about to grow by one more.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

so we've learned a few things: diva is an ipad kid, the timeline of this series compared to real-life is severely skewed - my bad, and baby number 2 is ON THE WAY!!

this was very comforting gd focused but don't worry this will switch up a bit in the next one!

and i know five months isn't too long to wait to conceive but his frustrations is piled with his age (reader is implied younger) + his perfectionism + the fact it happened so quickly the last time so...

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @lariem-blog2 , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999

[aettuddae]

BLUE BLOOD — chapter 1.

ᝰ synopsis: after the death of his predecessor, devi's father assumes the position of prime minister of south korea. this brings her closer to the royal family, where she crosses paths with crown princess karina, with whom she finds herself in a back-and-forth of friction and interactions that blossom after a night they spent together, but which cannot be repeated.

masterlist | next

[written chapter]

devi was an extremely multifaceted person, a true wonder. she was a shot in the air, the hurricane that came to sweep away everything in its path. she had never learned to set limits for herself, and if she did it was out of pure survival instinct. although that's what devi did least of all, survive. surviving meant you weren't living, not the right way. ha devi was in love with life and the adrenaline rush of giving her heart and soul to it. she was passionate about her convictions, she fought for what she believed in and was always at the front of any stampede that moved in the direction of something better.

devi was a traveler. she knew the world as she knew herself. she loved paris, she loved escaping to the different countries that made up the caribbean, she treasured her memories of her adventures in africa, but most of all she loved seoul.

she believed that a good politician was one who loved their land, and there were none of those left. her sensitive being was squeezed when she saw power in the hands of those who only wanted money or to take advantage of the weakest, of the people. unfortunately, she was surrounded by that kind of person.

that's why seeing her at a royal event was so peculiar, like meeting a jaguar in the middle of a public road. a gala full of economists, politicians and businessmen was no place for a dreamer like her.

but devi was also a lover. she loved to live like she loved to give her heart to whomever she thought was worthy, and she loved people. she was someone who would come for you at four in the morning when you needed company, she was the one who would follow you to the end of the world if you asked her to. and she was the one who would show up at a masquerade ball just because her best friend yunjin wanted it.

the lights were dazzling, changing and flashing to the rhythm of the music that the girl found extremely boring, but she understood that it was what was supposed to musicalize the lives of such monotonous people with such empty goals. the crowd was suffocating, but not for someone who was so fascinated with the human being and how it worked, not for someone who looked for connections between people as if she was under the sea and looking for oxygen. she thought that among so many packages without content maybe she could find someone who was worthwhile.

and so she did. because when you look, you find. and even more so with the determination and stubbornness that characterized the young woman.

the night had passed without notable events, beyond the fact that she enjoyed being in the presence of her friend who was characterized by being the soul in any crowd she found herself in, and with her other friend, jiyong, who if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to make a party entertaining.

but it wasn't until she went outside to smoke a cigarette away from the distressing tunes that were dazing her inside the hall, that she found something that really gave her evening something to look forward to.

everyone at the gala was wearing their masks, as they went about their business, it was hard to tell who you were running into, but when a slender, delicate figure made her presence known in the courtyard next to devi, she didn't need to see her face. the woman had the most striking back and nape she had ever seen in her life, if she had ever paid attention to that. it was her aura of elegance that called ha to not be able to take her eyes off of her.

and devi wasn't shy or slow. if something caught her attention, she wanted it for herself, so after a moment of letting her eyes lose themselves in the woman's porcelain skin and finishing her cigarette, she approached this one. she positioned herself behind her and leaned in so that her head was on her shoulder, at ear level.

"are you looking for something?" she let out in a whisper that ran through her body.

the latter gave a little jump from the fright of the sudden company and turned quickly to see who it was. "i don't know who you are." was all she could say due to the uncertainty of the situation.

"for now." her mask only covered her nose and eyes so the confident smile that had been drawn on her lips was easily visible.

"who are you?" repeated the girl already calmer, and now slightly annoyed by the intrusion of the contrarian.

"i can't tell you." she refused. "that's what masks are for." she pointed to the pieces covering their faces. "but if you let me buy you a drink you'd be one step closer to knowing."

"and why would i accept a drink from you?" she folded her arms and from behind the garment covering her could still be seen furrowing her eyebrows in annoyance.

"because clearly i'm the most interesting thing that's happened to you all night."

maybe it was the drinks, or the sweet words that came out of devi's mouth like a waterfall, or her delicacy to treat a woman. or maybe the lady was extremely bored like everyone else at that party and was looking for something to generate dopamine. there were several possible factors as to how they had arrived at that situation, the only certainty was that they had ended up on the second floor that was desolate, in the darkness of a corridor, desperately kissing each other.

it was like that. when devi set her eyes on something, she got it.

the woman's hands tangled in devi's hair as they frantically sought to bring her even closer than they were, while ha's touch ran up and down the back of the other woman's back whose dress left exposed as if inviting her to explore it. their mouths were in a war to prove who needed the other more and their tongues caressed each other when they saw the opportunity to do so. the blackhaired lifted one leg with difficulty due to the big dress she was wearing and caressing devi's side with it she reached her waist wrapping it around it to which the latter held her firmly to avoid her from falling.

"we should go back." the woman spoke between kisses.

"no." she secured her grip on her waist and leg. "we shouldn't."

she brought her hands up to her cheeks to pull her away a little. "i didn't come here alone." she reported, still unable to stop the kisses the contrarian was leaving on her lips.

"neither did i." she concurred. "but i guess they wouldn't mind losing sight of me for a night." she tried to rejoin their lips only to be stopped by a hand resting over her mouth.

"maybe you have that privilege." she observed. "but if they lose sight of me, there's going to be a big problem." she laughed softly.

"let there be." she instigated. "what would life be without trouble?" she smiled broadly, her opponent's hand still on her lips.

"it's not that easy." she spoke with some sadness.

"things are only hard when you make them hard."

"do you have a philosophical saying for everything i say?" she looked at her amused.

"i must convince you to stay with me somehow." she raised her hand to her shoulder to carress her arm from it gently to take the hand resting on her lips and pull it away a little so that she could leave a kiss on the back of it. "would you let me take you out of here?" she proposed, her eyes expectant.

"and where would you take me?" she asked with a laughing expression.

"to my humble quarters, of course." she stretched her arms in the air as if speaking of something obvious. "i must warn you." she raised her index finger in the air, placing it in front of her as a warning sign. "that i am not the tidiest person in the world." she extended her palm after giving herself away. "but my mattress is extremely comfortable." she returned to her, grabbing her waist.

"i can't afford to run away with a messy felon."

devi showed a pout on her lips, which made the woman laugh.

"not without first knowing who i'd be running off with." she hinted mischievously.

"oh, of course." the girl took her distance, to a point where the other could see her clearly. she took the mask covering her face and carefully removed it, arranging her hair and clothes after doing so as if to look more presentable, finally staring at her exposing herself as if she were the muse of a painting. "devi." she held out her hand inviting for a squeeze. "to please you." she winked.

the woman took her hand as she laughed at her opposite's comment and tugged this one closer until she was at a sufficient distance to give her a gentle tap on the shoulder. devi wrapped her arms around her and looked into her eyes, losing herself in them as had been happening to her all night. the blackhaired took advantage of the closeness to inspect her features carefully, squinting her eyes as if that would help.

"i think i know you from somewhere." she mentioned, but she wasn't able to decipher where she knew that face from.

"i don't think so." she shook her head. "i'm never in one place for too long."

"you'd be surprised to know that i'm not either." she concurred.

"now that i've revealed my super-secret identity." she began. "could you give me the privilege of knowing yours?" she asked kindly.

"okay." she agreed after hesitating for a few seconds. "but don't freak out as soon as you see me."

"never." she assured and stepped back to give her space.

the blackhaired took a moment to meditate on what she was about to do, devi noticed her anxiety as she shook her hands as if trying to shake off the nervousness that way. she took a breath and raised her arms to behind her head to untie the straps that held the mask over her face. finally removing the piece and revealing the person underneath it.

devi froze, staring at her as if she had come face to face with a ghost. she was the most beautiful creature her eyes had ever seen, but it wasn't the first time they had seen her. she contemplated for a second that she had gotten herself into a barbaric mess, but another great quality of devi was that she was brave and didn't shy away from even the biggest of disasters. and if she thought about it, this was more of a blessing than a problem, a peculiar blessing.

devi arranged her garments again and quickly bowed. "jeoha." —your highness —.

"oh, please." she scoffed. "get up." she commanded and immediately devi obeyed. "you have put your hands inside my dress, all of this is performative."

"my hands were inside your dress before i knew you were a royal princess." she defended herself.

"you really didn't know?" she inquired incredulously.

"these masks." she held up her own, showing it. "they really do the job." she joked.

"do you understand now why it would be a big deal if i disappear for a night?"

"i understand." devi took a few quiet steps toward the princess. "and yet i still think we should give it a try." she admitted.

"you're stubborn." the blackhaired pointed out.

"i just really like you, princess katarina." she confessed.

the largest of the audience halls at gyeongbokgung palace was packed with a large number of the elite waiting to see the king appoint the new prime minister following the tragic and untimely death of the one who had previously served in that job.

the news had announced a tragic car accident and plans for his wake and the upcoming inauguration of the deputy prime minister were set in motion according to protocol as quickly as possible.

normally, the ceremony for the appointment of the prime minister was somewhat more discreet, but this time, a big event had been arranged. ha yoonho had been chosen by the king himself to take office, and after being accepted by parliament, the organizations for the celebration had begun immediately. it was no coincidence that the king had thrown such a party for the occasion since the ha dynasty and the yu dynasty had been close friends for decades, and in this case, ha yoonho and king yu seongmin were close friends.

the huge doors opened, letting in the new prime minister of south korea, bringing everyone to their feet. behind a large wooden table waiting for him at the end of a long red carpet were the king and his wife. while the royal princesses were seated to one side, their seats being closest to their parents. on the opposite side to them was yoonho's spouse, and next to her was an empty chair.

as the man walked in front of the attentive gaze of all those people who were part of the parliament cabinet and the south korean upper class to the rhythm of a melody played by a string ensemble, a bit of commotion began to build in the area where his family was supposed to be. people began to run and make room for each other while someone's agitated voice could be heard in murmurs. out of the crowd emerged ha dabin, or devi, the prime minister's daughter, who had overslept and was late for her own father's appointment as the most powerful person in the country. she made her way awkward and hurriedly to her mother and took a seat in that waiting chair, earning a rebuke from the woman next to her.

karina's eyes, who was watching everything from the front wing, expanded in horror as she saw her next to the woman who only minutes before had greeted and introduced herself as father ha's wife. that's where she knew devi from, it all finally made sense. she was the daughter of one of her father's closest friends and she had seen her at a few events throughout her life.

but more important than that, it meant she had slept with the daughter of the new prime minister.

from her place, devi began to survey the room, her ability to pay attention to things being very short, she always needed something to stimulate her mind, and as she let her eyes wander around the room, she found it. her gaze fell on princess katarina who was already staring at her from earlier.

karina expected anything but to meet her one-night stand in the middle of a royal appointment.

devi smiled sideways at her, her eyes showing confidence. the girl was happy to see her again, for a moment she had forgotten that she would be there, to be honest, she wasn't even sure if the princesses would attend. karina wore her hair down and a white dress that clung to her body perfectly, the newcomer was unable to tear her gaze away from her.

she winked at her.

and karina looked away.

the ceremony passed with devi paying very little attention to what was going on with her father and too much to the crown princess, while this one pretended not to see her and tried her best to stay focused on the event, giving a few glances at the other at times, only to be discovered by her.

everyone left the courtroom and devi was now officially the daughter of the prime minister of south korea. she congratulated her father before anyone else and took advantage of the gathering of people who came to speak to him to go on her journey to find the woman she had been with a month before.

after that night, waking up in ha's apartment, karina had practically fled. she said a fleeting goodbye and left no way of contacting her for a devi who was now fascinated with her. of course the blackhaired did not expect the prime minister to die in a car accident, nor that devi would turn out to be the daughter of his predecessor.

the chestnut slipped through the corridors of the palace, following the faces that seemed to work for the nobility, finally slipping behind the large wooden table into a small place off to the side, she walked around for a while and stumbled into a room where she could see the king's ceremonial accessories being taken from him. she assumed she was going the right way, so she kept on walking. then a voice alerted her and reached her ears briefly, a voice she knew. she followed the direction it was coming from and came across a small room where she could see, through the small opening of the door, princess katarina desperately explaining something to her lady-in-waiting.

she didn't manage to hear clearly what the blackhaired was saying, but she did hear when her companion told her to wait there. devi quickly ducked around the corner of the hallway and waited for the girl to walk away, then approached the room and carefully entered, closing the door behind her.

"aeri, did you forget something?" the woman said with her gaze focused on detaching the lock from her bracelet.

"shall i help you with that?" spoke devi seeing the difficulty the girl was having with the accessory.

karina lifted her head with momentum at the sound of the girl's voice, it didn't even take her a second to recognize it. "how did you get here?" she asked in surprise.

"let's just say you need better security at the palace." she joked.

"devi." she named seriously. "you can't be here."

"can't i?" she feigned bewilderment. "i thought being the prime minister's daughter gave me certain powers."

"certain ones, but not wandering around the royal palace at your leisure." her attitude was serious, unlike the intruder's, who seemed to be enjoying the interaction. "what are you doing here?"

"i saw you earlier and couldn't resist." she began walking towards her. "let's just say i haven't stopped thinking about you and was excited to see you." she confessed, her voice soft and confident.

"devi." she dropped her head and let out a sigh. "look-"

"you haven't thought about me?" she interrupted.

"i can't answer that." she dodged.

"it's a simple question."

"but it exposes me." she explained. "listen, what happened between us was really nice." she moved closer to her and put a hand on her chest. "but it's not going to happen again." she sentenced. "and these things." she pointed to her and the door. "they can't be happening."

"did i do something wrong?" devi's confidence was flagging, some disappointment infiltrating the way she spoke.

"other than breaking palace rules and security to see me." she laughed, but it carried a bit of bitterness. "you didn't do anything wrong." she assured sincerely. "but nothing is going to happen between us and if you keep looking for me, you'll only get into trouble."

"but what would life be without trouble?" she smiled as she repeated what she had said to her the night they met.

"that philosophy could maybe convince me once, but i don't fall for the same trick twice." she reined the girl in.

"could at least know why?" she inquired, her face exuding frustration.

"because i'm the crown princess." she said simply. "and someday i will have a husband to give me heirs." she explained. "i can't risk being caught with a woman." she turned away from the girl.

"and do you want that?"

"no." she answered truthfully. "but it's not my decision." she clarified, these things seemed assumed by her long ago. "i'm sorry, but you should go now."

devi didn't know what to answer, one thing that was uncharacteristic of her, she always had a come back for everything, but at that moment she had become mute. she hated everything she couldn't have, and at the same time she longed for it even more. she turned and walked to the door. "i just want you to remember," she stopped to speak to her. "that i'm incredibly stubborn." she reported. "and it just so happens that we'll be seeing a lot of each other from now on." she put her hand on the door handle.

"that's not the way things work."

"things work the way i want them to." she winked and gave her one last smile, then walked out of the room, leaving karina alone.

(!)

taglist [OPEN] : @saysirhc @awgeezwrld @nwjnsloona @babocheesecat @onlymymnd @rinapomu @mirrorr @arihiu @yeetaberry127 @aliceiwk @w1w2

[saymonsays]

Unreleased track and Secret Sessions

pairing: idol!jiyong x idol!reader

wordcount: 9k

‎2012

‎

‎Before the world knew your name, the industry already did.

‎

‎You were twenty-three and blazing through the charts with haunting vocals and visuals that made headlines every other day. A soloist without a company-crafted scandal or dating rumor, your mystique only made you more addictive to the public. You were the type to keep your head down and let the music speak, but even that couldn’t quiet the buzz. Every award stage you graced, every OST you lent your voice to—it was all becoming iconic. Quiet, elegant, untouchable.

‎

‎That’s what they thought, anyway.

‎

‎But somewhere across Seoul, in the smoke-filled dorm of BIGBANG, someone finally said your name out loud.

‎

‎“Yo, have you heard that girl’s vocals?” Daesung said, waving his phone in Jiyong’s face. “You know—what’s her name again?”

‎

‎“Y/N-ssi?” Youngbae offered, leaning back on the couch.

‎

‎“That’s the one! She's everywhere lately. It’s insane. Her visuals are next level too, like—damn.” Daesung swiped through a gallery of screenshots from your recent music show performance, pausing on a still of you with your eyes closed mid-note.

‎

‎Jiyong barely looked up from his notebook, pen scratching lyrics across the page. “Heard the name. Not the music.”

‎

‎“You’re missing out,” Daesung chimed in, half-laughing. “She’s got this song—what’s it called? ‘Only If’ or something. Gave me chills. You’d like her stuff. Real emotional.”

‎

‎That made Jiyong pause.

‎

‎Chills?

‎

‎He reached over and took Daesung’s phone, putting in one earbud. The moment your voice came through—soft, raw, heartbreak slipping into every line—he froze. His brows furrowed. The melody, the vocal control, the emotion—it was everything he admired in an artist.

‎

‎“…She wrote this?” he asked, voice low.

‎

‎Youngbae smirked. “Yeah. All of it. She’s legit.”

‎

‎Jiyong didn’t answer. He just played the song again.

‎

‎Then, later that night—alone in his room, still hearing your voice in his head—he opened his notes app and started typing:

‎

‎to: Y/N

‎from: G-DRAGON

‎subject: collab?

‎

‎A week later — YG Studio A, 2012

‎

‎“Don’t freak out,” you told yourself, glancing at your reflection in the tinted glass door before pushing it open.

‎

‎You weren’t the type to get starstruck. You had worked with legends, trained under pressure, performed on stages that demanded perfection. But this was different. This was G-Dragon. The same one who had texted your manager directly after hearing your song, requesting a meeting. The same one whose name was practically carved into the walls of Korean music history.

‎

‎And now he was sitting across the studio—black beanie low on his head, legs crossed like he had all the time in the world.

‎

‎He looked up as you stepped in.

‎

‎And smiled.

‎

‎"You're even quieter than I imagined," he said, standing.

‎

‎You blinked. “And you’re less intimidating than I thought.”

‎

‎That made him laugh. It was a soft sound, surprised—like he hadn’t expected you to say that.

‎

‎“I mean that in a good way,” you added quickly, setting your lyric notebook down on the table between you.

‎

‎He tilted his head. “That’s fair. People usually expect leather jackets and sunglasses.”

‎

‎You smiled. “But you’re wearing both.”

‎

‎He glanced at his outfit, then back at you. “Touché.”

‎

‎The meeting was casual at first—small talk, compliments, the usual back-and-forth. But when the producer came in and asked about concept direction, everything shifted. You became serious. Jiyong noticed. You weren’t just a voice— you were a storyteller. You talked about wanting the album to explore duality. Beauty and bitterness. Love and loneliness. And he listened. Closely.

‎

‎Halfway through the meeting, you offered a melody idea you’d written last night at 2 a.m., and Jiyong stopped scrolling his phone. He leaned in, asking to hear it again. Then again. Then he pulled his pen out and started writing beside you.

‎

‎That was the beginning.

‎

‎Not of the album.

‎

‎Of the collaboration.

‎

‎Of the story that would span four years and seventeen unreleased tracks.

‎

‎Of the thing no one else knew.

‎

‎Of the thing that would one day haunt Track Seventeen.

‎

‎Flashback: Late 2012 — YG Studio Rooftop, 1:43 AM

‎

‎"You didn’t have to stay,” you told him, the cold air biting your cheeks as you sipped your convenience store coffee. “You could’ve gone home.”

‎

‎Jiyong shrugged beside you, hoodie pulled up, eyes squinting out at the dark city skyline. “Could say the same to you.”

‎

‎Silence settled—comfortable, stretched between the buzz of caffeine and the high from a night of recording. You didn’t look at him, but you felt him watching you.

‎

‎He said it so casually, like it wasn’t going to change everything.

‎

‎“I think I like you.”

‎

‎You turned your head, blinked. “You think?”

‎

‎He smiled, lazy and slow. “Fine. I know.”

‎

‎Flashback: Early 2013 — Jiyong’s Car, Late Night Drive

‎

‎No cameras. No stylists. No producers.

‎

‎Just you, him, and the quiet sound of your unreleased demo playing through his speakers. Your hand was in his lap, fingers interlocked, like it had always been that way.

‎

‎“We’ll keep it between us, yeah?” he said softly, almost like he was asking for permission.

‎

‎You nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. Not because you were ashamed—never that. But the world wasn’t kind to private things. Especially not when they bloomed between two public people.

‎

‎Flashback: Summer 2014 — Somewhere in Europe

‎

‎A getaway between tour dates. You two tucked away in a barely-used cabin in the south of France, rented under fake names.

‎

‎There were no reporters. No staff. Just wine, sunburned shoulders, your laughter echoing off stone walls, and the sound of Jiyong humming in the shower.

‎

‎That night, he wrote a song called “Sunlight Thief” after watching you dance barefoot across the wooden floor in nothing but one of his shirts.

‎

‎You kissed him before he could finish the chorus.

‎

‎Flashback: 2016 — Right Before the Breakup

‎

‎A hotel room in Tokyo. The air smelled like room service and exhaustion.

‎

‎He stood by the window, hands on his hips, head bowed.

‎

‎“You’re leaving for the US tour,” he said. “And I’ve got comeback prep.”

‎

‎“Yeah.”

‎

‎“And after that…?” he asked, voice a little too soft.

‎

‎You didn’t answer. You both knew the truth.

‎

‎It wasn’t love that was the problem.

‎

‎It was time. The lack of it. The demands that came from being artists first and lovers second.

‎

‎So you hugged him that night like it was a goodbye.

‎

‎Because it was.

‎

‎Back to Present — 2025

‎

‎Nobody ever knew.

‎

‎There were no scandals. No blurry airport photos. No soft dispatch reveals.

‎

‎Just seventeen tracks no one had ever heard.

‎

‎Until now.

‎

‎Until Track Seventeen dropped, and the world heard Kwon Jiyong moan your name like it was still stuck in his throat.

‎

‎And maybe… it was.

‎

‎The Internet Explodes

‎

‎The album drops at midnight.

‎

‎By 12:03 AM, “Track Seventeen” is trending in four countries.

‎

‎By 12:07, fans are already uploading their reactions:

‎

‎“EXCUSE ME DID HE JUST MOAN A NAME IN TRACK SEVENTEEN??”

‎“IS THAT A GIRL’S NAME OR AM I DELULU??”

‎“Bro this song is literally audio porn—what is happening???”

‎“Why is this sex song lowkey romantic? I’m gonna scream.”

‎“WAIT—IS THAT [Y/N’S STAGE NAME]??? 👀👀👀”

‎

‎And then... someone posts a side-by-side audio clip.

‎

‎Your voice in a 2014 demo run—breathy, soft, unmistakable.

‎

‎And Jiyong’s moan at the bridge of Track Seventeen.

‎

‎The tone. The syllables. The way his voice cracks just slightly.

‎

‎It matches.

‎

‎You’re trending before sunrise. Tagged in every post. Your latest Instagram photo flooded with comments like:

‎

‎“TELL US YOU WERE THE MUSE WITHOUT TELLING US 😭🔥”

‎“How do you FEEL about being immortalized in track seventeen?? 👀”

‎“Did y’all hear the lyrics? The way he said ‘lace on your spine’ and ‘arched like my prayers were answered’—ma’am.”

‎“It was NOT just a collab back in the day I fear.”

‎

‎Some fans are joking. Some are practically FBI agents. And some—some are simply streaming the song on repeat, hopelessly obsessed with the smutty, almost too intimate detail in every line.

‎

‎You — 7:22 AM

‎

‎You’re sitting in bed. Phone in your lap. Head spinning.

‎

‎You didn’t sleep. How could you?

‎

‎The moment you saw the title on the tracklist, your heart dropped. You knew.

‎

‎And when you heard it—really heard it—when his voice dropped into that soft, sultry rasp and you heard your name whispered like a secret between teeth…

‎

‎You almost dropped your phone.

‎

‎Your body remembered things your heart tried to forget.

‎

‎The lyrics?

‎

‎They weren’t metaphor. They were memory.

‎

‎The lace? That black backless dress you wore in Paris.

‎The moans? That one night in Jeju.

‎The last chorus? “Even now, I write you into every rhythm I ruin.”

‎

‎God. You were ruined.

‎

‎And now the world knew—maybe not everything. But enough.

‎

‎Enough to make you want to text him.

‎

‎Enough to make you scared that maybe… he left that track open for you.

‎

‎And worst of all—enough to make you want to reply.

‎

‎To: Kwon Jiyong

‎[Sent at 7:43 AM]

‎

‎I listened to the album.

‎I wasn’t going to say anything, honestly. I figured we were past this—past us. But then Track Seventeen played. And Jiyong… you know what you did.

‎You moaned my name.

‎You didn’t even try to hide it.

‎I know that song. Not just the lyrics. I remember it—the breathless laughter, the lace on the hotel floor, the way your voice sounded right against my ear when you said you’d write a song about that night. I thought you were joking.

‎I don’t know if I should be mad or… touched. Probably both.

‎‎But if this is your way of reaching out—if this was for me—then you should’ve just called.

‎‎Or maybe you knew I’d hear it.

‎‎You always did know how to get my attention.

‎‎– You know who

‎

‎From: Kwon Jiyong

‎[Sent at 8:11 AM]

‎

‎I wasn’t sure you’d listen.

‎‎I wasn’t sure you’d recognize it.

‎But I guess I was wrong on both.

‎‎I didn’t write Track Seventeen for the charts, or for the label. Hell, I didn’t even write it for the fans.

‎I wrote it because I couldn’t keep it in anymore. You’ve been stuck in every chord, every half-finished lyric, every rough cut I’ve made since 2016.

‎‎I didn’t say your name to start drama. I said your name because no other one fit. No other name could’ve pulled that sound out of me, or that memory out of the dark. That night—it’s ours. And the track had to be ours, too.

‎‎I wanted you to hear it and know.

‎That I still remember.

‎That I’m still haunted.

‎If you’re willing, I’d like to see you. Just talk. No pressure, no expectations. Just… two artists who know each other too well, sitting in a studio again.

‎‎But if you say no, I’ll understand.

‎‎I just needed you to know—I meant every second of that song.

‎

‎The Award Show – Present Day

‎The lights are blinding, the crowd is roaring, and your heart pounds like it’s trying to escape your chest. You’re standing in the green room after your stage performance, still glowing from the adrenaline—and from the fact that he’s here tonight. Kwon Jiyong.

‎

‎You haven’t seen him in years. Not since you slipped out of his apartment in 2016 with his kiss still drying on your skin.

‎

‎You’d seen the announcement earlier—he’d be performing. You hadn’t expected him to perform that song.

‎

‎And yet, when the beat of Track Seventeen dropped halfway through his set, the entire arena stopped breathing. The sensual beat. The heavy, hungry lyrics. The way he moaned your name—drawn out and unapologetic. You felt like the whole industry just turned to you.

‎

‎Now, as you try to slip out of the venue unnoticed, a hand catches your wrist.

‎

‎You freeze.

‎

‎You already know who it is.

‎

‎“Running again?” His voice is soft, teasing—but there's a heat simmering just below it.

‎

‎You turn slowly. He looks unfairly good in his tailored black suit, shirt undone just enough to reveal the tattoo that peaks beneath his collarbone.

‎

‎You force a breath. “Didn’t think you’d catch me this time.”

‎

‎He smiles—that smile. The one that used to pull the air right out of your lungs. “You dropped a whole album and disappeared. You really thought a moaned name wouldn’t get your attention?”

‎

‎You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “Subtlety was never your strong suit.”

‎

‎“I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” he says, stepping closer. His fingers graze your hip, light but claiming. “I wanted you to feel it.”

‎

‎“And I did,” you whisper. “I felt everything.”

—

Author's note: so yea this fic is just basically jiyong moaning your name in an unreleased track

‎

‎

‎

[loveesiren]

CONGRATS ON 1500 FOLLOWERS! You deserve every single one of them and more 💕 absolutely love your writing 🔥

May I request a T.O.P blurb with "can't sleep?" and "we can't keep doing this?" 👀

Thank you so much babes!! <333

Vali's 1500 Celebration

warnings: smut, mdni 18+

wc: 1.3k+ (this ended up being longer than I planned lmfaooo I tried to make it short I really did)

You laid wide awake in the cramped tent, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally offended you. Beside you, Jiyong snored loud enough to scare off any wildlife within a five-mile radius. You turned your head, watching him sleep with growing irritation. His limbs were splayed out across the ground, mouth open, a thin trail of drool creeping down his cheek onto the shared pillow. Charming.

You let out a quiet scoff. This entire trip had been his idea. “We never get sibling time anymore,” he said. “It’ll be fun,” he promised. And yet here you were—freezing your ass off, stuck in a tent with your overprotective older brother who insisted on bunking together because “I need to protect my baby sister.” You were only a year and a half younger than him. You could survive a weekend in the woods without supervision, thank you very much.

Still… you had to admit, it wasn’t all terrible. Seunghyun was here. And that made everything a little more bearable.

You waited until Jiyong let out a particularly loud snore before slowly inching your way toward the entrance. Every crinkle of the sleeping bag made you wince, but he didn’t stir. Just flopped onto his back, oblivious as ever. He’d always been a heavy sleeper.

Rolling your eyes, you carefully unzipped the tent and slipped outside into the cool embrace of the night.

The air was crisp and you instinctively hugged your hoodie tighter around your body. Most of the camp had gone quiet—just the occasional crackle from a dying fire and the distant hum of crickets. A few stragglers were still awake, laughing softly around a dim lantern, but no one paid you any mind as you stepped into the shadows of the trees.

That’s when you saw it—a tiny orange ember glowing in the distance by the creek. A cigarette. Seunghyun.

You made your way toward it, careful to avoid snapping twigs beneath your feet. As you drew closer, you found him perched on a smooth boulder, cigarette nestled between his fingers, his other hand resting on his knee. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around him like mist.

“Hi, Oppa,” you whispered.

Seunghyun flinched slightly, surprised, but when he turned and saw it was you, his features softened. The corners of his lips pulled into a quiet smile, and the moonlight painted his face in silver.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked as you lowered yourself beside him, your shoulder brushing his.

He shook his head, flicking ash off the edge of the rock. “Too quiet,” he muttered. 

“Sounds nice. I can’t sleep with Jiyong’s snoring.” You scoffed, taking the cigarette from him and taking a long drag.

“Yeah, I don’t miss living with him.” Seunghyun chuckled.

You smiled to yourself, eyes drifting to the water as it shimmered under the moon. The silence that settled between you was comfortable, like this moment had been waiting for you all day. Just you, him, and the quiet pull of something unspoken.

You stubbed the cigarette out on the edge of the rock, the embers dying with a soft hiss. Without a word, you shifted, sliding into Seunghyun’s lap, your knees framing his thighs. Your arms looped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. You leaned in, capturing his mouth in a deep, desperate kiss.

He groaned low against your lips, his hands instantly roaming—rough palms finding the swell of your ass beneath your shorts. He squeezed, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough. But just when you started to lose yourself in the kiss, he broke it—his breath brushing against your cheek.

“We can’t keep doing this…” he murmured, voice barely above the rustling of the trees.

“Why not?” you whispered, lips ghosting over his jaw. Your hand slid between you, fingers brushing against the hard length straining beneath his pajama pants. “You like it. I like it. So what’s the problem?”

He whimpered under his breath as you stroked him through the fabric, his head tipping back against the cool night air. “Because you’re my best friend’s little sister…” he said, as if trying to convince himself more than you.

You kissed a slow trail up his throat, your breath warm against his skin. “That just makes it even hotter,” you teased, voice soft and wicked.

He growled at your words, the last of his restraint snapping. His hands gripped your hips firmly, lifting you just enough to tug your shorts and panties aside. You helped him, impatiently fumbling to free him from his pants. The second he lined himself up at your entrance, you sank down onto him with a slow, breathy moan.

Seunghyun cursed under his breath, one hand flying up to cover your mouth. “Quiet, baby. Gotta be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” he whispered harshly, eyes dark and pleading. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You nodded quickly, your wide eyes locking with his, pupils blown. Slowly, he lowered his hand, placing it back on your hip to help guide your movements.

You bit your lip hard as he thrust his hips up, the thick drag of him hitting deep—right where you needed him most. The pressure was overwhelming, delicious. You held on tighter, your breath catching in your throat.

“Fuck…” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “You feel unreal… the way you squeeze me…”

Your moans spilled out in soft, breathy whimpers with each thrust. Seunghyun reached up, slipping two fingers into your mouth, and you took them without hesitation, nearly gagging when he pressed them deep.

“Can never be quiet, can you?” he panted, his pace growing faster, sloppier, as he bounced you up and down on his cock. “So fucking tight… so wet… shit, I’m not gonna last…”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body already trembling. That familiar heat coiled in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter until you were seconds from falling apart.

“You’re close, huh?” he breathed, his voice shaking. “I can feel it, jagi… fuck, cum for me.”

His words snapped something inside you. You clenched around him hard, stars bursting behind your eyes as your orgasm washed over you in waves. You felt him stiffen, his grip bruising as he followed right behind you with a broken moan into your neck.

You collapsed against him, your chest heaving, your skin sticky with sweat despite the cold air. His arms stayed around you, cock still buried deep inside, as you both tried to catch your breath.

“You make me feel so fucking good,” you whispered, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

A soft smile ghosted his lips, but it quickly vanished when a voice cut through the trees—

“Y/n?!”

Your blood ran cold. “Shit! My brother!”

You scrambled off his lap in a flurry of tangled limbs and whispered curses. Seunghyun helped you, his hands fumbling to pull up your panties and shorts as he tucked himself back into his pants.

He grabbed his cigarettes, quickly lighting two, and handed you one just as Jiyong’s voice rang out again, this time closer.

“I’m here!” you called back, praying your voice didn’t shake.

Jiyong burst through the brush a moment later, hair sticking up in wild directions, eyes squinting from the sudden light of the moon. “What are you doing out here?” he asked suspiciously.

You blew out a slow drag from your cigarette, shrugging. “Can’t sleep when you sound like a fucking jet engine.”

Jiyong grumbled, settling beside you on the rock with a huff. “Should’ve just woken me up. I wouldn’t’ve minded company.”

Seunghyun forced a tight-lipped smile, offering the pack and a lighter. Jiyong took one without a second thought.

The three of you sat there in a tense silence, the smoke from your cigarettes curling up into the stars. You could still feel Seunghyun’s touch lingering on your skin. Your thighs ached from how quickly it had ended.

Jiyong, luckily, was as clueless as ever—especially when he was half-asleep. But Seunghyun’s hand brushing yours beneath the rock was enough to remind you just how close you’d come to being caught.

And maybe… how badly you wanted to get caught next time.

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