You’ve spent months pretending you’re okay.
Yunho has spent months pretending he believes you.
Tonight, neither of you can pretend anymore.
➢ yunho x fem!reader ➢ angst, hurt ➢ bipolar disorder, depressive episode, suicidal ideation, discussion of suicide, mental illness, medication mention, self-worth issues, impostor syndrome, relationship conflict, emotional breakdown, crying, panic, unhealthy coping mechanisms ➢ 4.4k ➢ this one was more for me than anything else. i’ve been thinking about posting it for a long time, but today felt like the right day. it’s messy, heavy, and probably a little more honest than i originally intended it to be. but sometimes the things that are hardest to write are the things that need to be written. maybe someone will read this and recognise a piece of themselves in it. maybe someone will feel a little less alone. and if that’s the case, then i’m glad i shared it. if you see yourself in any part of this, i’m sorry. and you’re not alone.
You didn’t expect Yunho to come home so soon. That’s why you hurriedly gathered the used tissues scattered around you and shoved them beneath the blanket, wiping your tears on the sleeve of your shirt. You didn’t want him to know. What good would it do anyway? He didn’t need to deal with how miserable you felt. Swallowing the thick lump in your throat, you tried desperately to even out your breathing. The sound of his shoes being discarded echoed from the hallway—you’d probably have to nag him for leaving them carelessly again—followed by the soft pad of his socks on the wooden floor. You turned your back to the entryway, not trusting your eyes to hide the evidence.
“Hey, I’m back,” he didn’t even glance at your curled-up form before heading straight for the kitchen. Something landed on the countertop. Definitely not the milk and eggs you’d asked for. More likely protein powder and instant noodles. You hadn’t expected a warm greeting; he’d been out all day, and he rarely came home smiling anymore. Lately, it felt like he returned out of habit more than anything else, a habit that was still stronger, for unknown reasons, that any haunting thought about leaving.
It’s not love anymore, is it?
“You’re not even gonna say hi to me?”
There it was. That tone again.
Plastering a fragile smile onto your face, you forced yourself up from the living room couch and turned to face him, your eyes still heavy and reddened. “Hi,” the word came out weaker than you’ve liked. You padded into the kitchen space, trying to deflect. “How was wo—”
“You’ve been crying?” he interrupted immediately, his eyes locking onto your face. He let out a shaky exhale—you couldn’t tell if it was born of irritation or some lingering, buried sense of worry. “Again?”
The lump in your throat returned, heavier this time, joined by a knot in your stomach that stole the air from your lungs. Yunho wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t blind. But the voice in your head insisting that nobody cared was stubborn. Unyielding. Even after promising yourself thousands of times that you’d speak up—that you’d finally let him see the hurricane in your mind—the second the opportunity arose, your brain slammed on the emergency brakes. “What are you talking about?” you muttered, “I was just—”
“For God’s sake.” Yunho rolled his eyes, taking in your clearly broken-down posture. “Will you ever just talk to me?” He sounded angry, or maybe that was just the distortion of your own defence mechanisms. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Your eyes are all red and puffy.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” the words slipped out, you swore they did, cold and definitive. You took a step back, intending to disappear into the darkness of the bedroom, but you didn’t even make it half a step when Yunho’s hand, still chilled from the outside air, clamped down on your shoulder, keeping you in place.
“What happened?”
Panic clawed its way up your chest and neck, squeezing tight. Total silence fell over the kitchen, though your ears were ringing with the frantic thud of your own heartbeat. You hated that question, or maybe it was more a fear of it? “Nothing.” You forced your voice to remain flat. You failed. “Let me make you something to eat.” Avoiding his gaze, you reached past him for the grocery bag.
Yunho laughed once, short and humourless. “Right. Same answer as last week.”
You stiffened, your fingers wrapping tightly around the paper handles of the bag. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Desperate for a distraction, you began pulling plates out of the dishwasher, unpacking them just to give your trembling hands something to do. “Can you just drop it?”
“No.” The answer came so fast, so sharp, it forced your eyes up. Yunho dragged a heavy hand down his face, a gesture of pure exhaustion. “No, I can’t just drop it.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You are very obviously not fine.”
“Why does it even matter?” The question slipped out before your brain could filter it. Next came a total silence, heavy and suffocating. Yunho just stared at you, his face freezing but you couldn’t quite get the emotion behind it. You looked away, regretting the words the instant they tasted real. “Forget it.”
“No. Explain that.”
Your chest tightened, the pressure built until it finally burst. “Because what difference does it make?” you snapped, the sudden volume surprising even yourself. “You knowing doesn’t magically fix anything!”
Yunho’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “So that’s it? You just cry by yourself until you can’t breathe, and then pretend nothing happened?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” The moment the words left your mouth, you wished you could violently pull them back.
Something painful flashed across his face. “Wouldn’t understand?” Yunho repeated, his voice rising for the first time. “No, actually, I don’t. I don’t know what you mean because you never tell me anything.”
Your eyes burned fiercely, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. “Because I’m tired!”
“So am I!” The admission hit harder than any physical violence ever could. You flinched, and Yunho looked away as if he needed a second to calm down, shaking his head. “I’m tired of guessing what's going on in your head,” he confessed. “I’m tired of waking up and wondering if today’s gonna be a good day or a bad day. I’m tired of watching you fall apart and pretending I don’t see it, because every single time I ask, you shut me out.”
The room felt microscopic, and the walls were closing in, trapping you both in the wreckage of the conversation. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to hold your shattering pieces together. “Then stop asking.”
Yunho stared at you. For a fleeting second, the anger completely vanished, leaving him looking genuinely, deeply hurt. “Do you really want that?”
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Your throat was completely closed up. Because the truth was: no. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to ask. You wanted him to keep asking. You wanted someone to finally notice—but you just didn’t know how to survive the vulnerability of being seen.
Yunho let out a slow, defeated breath, the fight leaving his shoulders.
“That’s what I thought.”
And there they were. Tears, again.
You sniffled, blinking rapidly as if it could somehow stop them from spilling over. “What difference does it make if you know? It’s not your fault I feel like this. It’s not anyone’s. It’s all on me.” You dragged a trembling hand through your hair, gripping the roots just to feel something grounding. “Do you really want to fucking listen about what it’s like?” The words tore out of you, broken in half by a sob. “To wake up every single morning wishing you could just disappear? Wishing everyone would just forget you ever existed so you could stop being a burden?” Yunho took a sudden step toward you. Instinctively, you flinched and stepped back, leaving his hand hovering in the air near your waist, desperately wanting to steady you, but you kept moving out of reach until your lower back hit the hard edge of the kitchen counter. You couldn’t handle being touched in this satate. You were trapped by the room, and trapped by your own skin.“Do you know how hard it is?” you cried, the act of being fine completely breaking now. “Just getting out of bed every day? Taking four different fucking medications just to stay stable, and still feeling like absolute shit anyway?” Your chest throbbed with ache. Every single breath felt too sharp, like your lungs were getting cut open. “I’m trying,” the confession came out small, and pathetic in your ears. You hated how weak you felt when you met Yunho’s eyes for a brief moment, before looking away again. “I’m trying so hard.” Another sob tore violently through your throat, robbing you of air. “And it’s never enough.”
For the first time since he’d walked through the front door, Yunho didn’t interrupt. He didn’t argue. He didn’t demand that you talk to him, and he didn’t roll his eyes. He just stood there, completely paralysed, listening.
Because maybe, after all this time, you were finally saying something.
“And then you come home,” you choked out, gesturing wildly to the space between you, “after I’ve been sitting in my own rot all day, and you demand answers like I have any!” You let out a harsh laugh, though it sounded far more like another sob. “I’m so tired.”
Yunho took another cautious step forward, his hands half-raised. “Hey—”
“No!” You shook your head violently, the movement making the room tilt. “No, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” Your chest heaved, desperate for air that wouldn’t come, lungs refusing to work under flood of tears.
“Like what?”
“Like you care!” The silence that followed felt endless, it swallowed the whole space between you. You immediately wished you could yank the words back into your throat, but it was too late. Once the words started, they refused to stop. “You don’t get it,” you choked out.
“Then explain it to me.”
“Why? So you can tell me it’ll get better? So you can give me some hollow promise that you’re here for me?” Your vision blurred into a smear of kitchen lights and shadow. “Look at me!” You spread your arms wide, gesturing to your trembling, broken form. “Look at me,” your voice broke to a whisper, “I’m miserable all the time. I can’t keep my shit together.” You pressed a fist hard against your sternum, right over your aching heart. “I take medication every single day and I’m still a complete disaster.” You swallowed against the burn in your throat, pushing through the final, terrifying truth. “And you know what the worst part is?”
Yunho didn’t answer. Looking at him, you weren’t even sure he could breathe, let alone speak.
“I’m trying so hard,” you wiped angrily at your face with the back of your hand, but it was a useless, desperate gesture that only smeared the hot tears further across your cheeks. “I’m trying,” you whispered again, the repetition sounding more like a plea to the universe than a statement. “And for what?” You didn’t let him speak. If you stopped now, the momentum would die, and you would dissolve into nothing. You let out a bitter, ugly laugh. “For what, Yunho? So I can swallow my meds, force myself to go to work, come home, pretend I’m absolutely fine, and then wake up to do it all over again? Is that the grand prize?”
“That’s not what this is about,” he interrupted, his voice dropping low as he looked at tears restlessly falling down your cheeks.
“Then what is it about?”
His jaw tightened so hard the muscle along his cheekbone twitched. He closed the small distance between you, his eyes locked onto yours. “You won’t talk to me.”
A sharp, hysterical laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Because there’s nothing to say!”
“That’s bullshit,” the sudden, whip-crack sharpness in his voice made you flinch, shoulders violently jerking backward. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of pure guilt crossed Yunho’s face at your reaction. But the softness vanished as quickly as it came, swallowed by a wave of frustration. “No,” he said, his voice steadying, “I’m serious. That’s absolute bullshit.” You could only stare at him, your hands gripping the countertop behind you so tightly your knuckles turned white. “You cry when you think I’m not looking,” he said, taking a deliberate step closer. The cold air from the outside still clung to his jacket. “You lock yourself in the bedroom for hours.”
Another step.
“You barely sleep. I lie awake and I listen to you toss and turn until the sun comes up.”
Another step.
He was entirely inside your space now, the warmth of his body a direct contrast to the icy panic flooding your veins. “And every single time I ask you what’s wrong, you look me dead in the eye and tell me it’s nothing.” You hated how right he sounded. You hated the absolute, undeniable logic of his words, and more than anything, you hated him for being the one to hold it against you.
“What difference would it make if I told you?” you cried, your voice pitching higher.
“Maybe I’d know how to help.”
A ragged laugh tore out of you, loud and mocking. “Help?” The word dripped with a bitter, venomous disbelief. “That’s funny. That’s really funny, Yunho.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
You looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. You focused instead on a small scratch on the kitchen cabinets. “Nothing.”
“No. Say it.” The kitchen suddenly felt microscopic. The walls were pressing in from all sides, trapping the two of you in a space that lacked oxygen. You could feel your heartbeat throbbing violently in your throat, choking you. “Say it,” he demanded again.
Your eyes burned fiercely, a fresh wave of tears blurring the sight of his socks on the floor. “You really want me to?”
“Yes.” The answer came instantly. No hesitation or fear.
So, you gave it to him. You took the most toxic, deeply rooted fear in your soul and you threw it directly at his chest. “You don’t love me anymore.”
The silence was immediate. It was a violent and suffocating, sucking any remaining air out of the room.
Yunho just stared at you. The anger on his face completely froze, his features slackening into an expression of total, uncomprehending shock. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Say it again.” His voice was frighteningly calm now. The storm had suddenly vanished, replaced by quiet that made your instinct scream at you to run.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “You don’t love me.”
His laugh was short, sharp, and completely humourless—a sound that made you flinch worse than his yelling had. “Wow.”
You felt tears spill over your eyelashes, tracing burning paths down your face and onto your neck. But you couldn’t stop. The floodgates were shattered, and your broken brain was running the script it had spent months writing in the dark. “You come home because you don’t have anywhere else to go,” you sobbed, gesturing vaguely to the apartment around you.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.
“You stay because it’s easier than leaving.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“You stay because you’re used to me!” By then, his eyes were shining, glassy tears finally gathering in them. You looked at them and felt a sick twist of validation. “You stay because it’s a habit.”
“You really believe that?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
You didn’t answer. Because the truth was: yes. You did. Every single day, that was the reality your mind constructed for you, and standing here, broken and exposed, you couldn’t tell the difference between the delusion and the truth. Yunho’s head dropped for a second, his chin pressing against his chest as he let out a long, ragged breath. When he looked back up, something about him had changed. It wasn’t love, and it wasn’t the fiery anger from before. It was hurt. Ugly, bleeding hurt.
“So every time I’ve tried to help you—”
“Yunho—”
“No!” His voice rose, cutting you off completely, echoing off the walls. “No, we’re doing this now. We are doing this right fucking now.” The volume of his voice made you stand straight up. Your stomach dropped, making the first hit of nausea hit you. “Every single time I’ve sat up with you until three in the morning,” he started, his hands shaking as he began to count on his fingers, throwing the evidence of his love between you. “Every single doctor’s appointment I drove you to.”
“Stop,” you whispered.
“Every prescription I ran to pick up because you couldn’t face the outside world.”
“Please.”
“Every fucking panic attack where I held you until my arms went completely numb!” His voice shook violently, the tears finally spilling over his eyelids. “And you think I did all of that because I was bored? You think I did that out of habit?”
Tears completely blinded your vision, turning him into a broad, trembling silhouette. “I didn’t mean—”
“Then what did you mean?” The question hit like a slap across the face. Yunho stepped closer, “What exactly do you think I am? Some kind of martyr? A heartless asshole who just plays house because it’s comfortable?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your vocal cords were paralyzed.
Yunho laughed again, and it made the blood in your veins go cold. The sound was terrifying in your ears. “Do you know what the worst part is?”
You wished he would stop talking. You wanted to cover your ears, to scream, to crawl into the floorboards—anything to make him stop. But he didn’t. Not anymore.
“The worst part is that none of this is ever enough.”
You flinched. Immediately. The words struck you in the chest, echoing the exact, terrifying thought you had spoken only moments before: And it’s never enough. The second you moved, regret flashed across Yunho’s face. He blinked, looking down at his own hands as if shocked by the weapon he had just used. But it was too late. The syllables had left his mouth. The damage was done.
“Oh,” you whispered, the sound barely clearing your lips. “Oh.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, taking a step forward, his hand reaching out instinctively.
“But you meant it.”
“No, I didn’t—”
“You did.” Fresh, hot tears spilled down your face, your defenses completely crumbling into ash. “You finally said it.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Yunho shouted, running both hands through his hair.
“You finally admitted it,” you choked out, your voice small, trembling, entirely defeated.
“I didn’t!” His hands shook as he dropped them to his sides. “I am so tired of everything I do being twisted into proof that I don’t care about you! I am so tired of fighting a voice in your head!”
You let out a sharp, bitter laugh through your tears. “And I’m tired of feeling like a fucking obligation!”
The words hung between you. Heavy. Ugly.
Obligation.
Yunho went completely, terrifyingly still.
An obligation. Not a partner. Not a girlfriend. Not the person he loved. An obligation. Something to be checked off a list. A burden to be carried.
You saw that one land. You watched the word hit him, saw the way his shoulders subtly dropped, the way the last remnants of fight drained out of his posture, leaving him looking entirely hollowed out.
Good, a small, vicious part of your brain whispered. You wanted it to hurt.
And the very second that thought crossed your mind, a wave of self-loathing washed over you. You hated yourself for it. Because suddenly, this wasn’t about defense anymore. You weren’t trying to protect your heart; you were actively trying to wound his. Just like he had tried to wound yours.
The realisation made you feel sick, a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach.
Neither of you spoke. The apartment felt impossibly quiet now, the silence heavy with pieces of everything you had just smashed. The hum of the refrigerator felt too loud.
Then, Yunho looked away. He couldn’t even look at you anymore. He stared at the kitchen floor, his voice dropping until it was very soft, entirely devoid of the anger that had sustained him. “I don’t know how to love someone who refuses to believe they’re loved.”
The remaining breath left your lungs in a sharp gasp. It didn’t hurt because it was cruel. It hurt because it sounded undeniably, fundamentally true. And that truth cut so much deeper than any shouting ever could.
“I’m trying to protect you from this,” you whispered, your hands curling into fabric of your shirt, right over your aching heart.
“By pretending nothing’s wrong?” Yunho asked as he finally looked back up, his eyes dull. “By letting me guess every single day what kind of mood I’m walking into?”
“What am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own head?” you cried, the defense finally dropping entirely, leaving only the raw, terrified human underneath. “How am I supposed to tell you what’s wrong when everything feels wrong?”
“Tell me that,” Yunho pleaded, a single tear tracking down his cheek. “Tell me you’re scared. Tell me your head is lying to you. Don’t look at me and tell me I don’t love you. Don’t erase everything I am because you’re hurting.”
You swallowed hard, the final truth rising up from the darkest corner of your mind. “I’m terrified that one day you’re going to wake up and realise I’m just too much. That the medication isn’t working, that I’m a disaster, and that you’re going to leave.”
Yunho let out a broken, shuddering breath, shaking his head. “And I’m terrified that one day I’ll come home… and you won’t be here at all.”
You froze. Your entire body went rigid, every muscle locking up as the air in your lungs turned to ice. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t blink.
Because he wasn’t just talking about you packing a bag and leaving him.
He was talking about that.
The dark, quiet corner of your mind that you never, ever spoke out loud. The place you retreated to on the worst days, where the urge to just stop existing became too much. You had thought about it. More than once. You had stood in the bathroom looking at the pill bottles; you had laid in bed wishing your heart would just forget to take its next beat. You wanted it. God help you, there were days you wanted it so badly just to make the noise stop. But you were terrified of that desire—terrified of how seductive the emptiness felt, terrified of what it meant that you were losing the will to fight your own skin. You had kept that horror buried so deep, hidden beneath layers of deflection and forced smiles. You thought it was your secret. Your private shame. But as you stared at Yunho, the absolute panic in your chest gave you away. Your pupils dilated. Your jaw slackened just a fraction, a tiny, involuntary gasp escaping your throat. Your hands, still pressed against your chest, began to shake violently.
And Yunho saw it.
He didn’t just hear your silence; he watched the exact moment the realisation registered on your face. He saw the guilt that flashed in your eyes before you could mask it. He saw the confirmation.
The look that crossed Yunho’s face in that microsecond was the most horrifying thing you had ever witnessed.
The last remaining color completely drained from his skin, leaving him a sickly, ghostly pale. His eyes widened, turning completely hollow, as if he were already looking at a corpse. The breath he took got caught in his throat. He hadn’t actually known. It had been his worst, most irrational fear—the nightmare that kept him awake at night. But seeing your reaction? Seeing the truth written plainly in your terrified eyes?
It turned his nightmare into a reality.
“Oh my god,” the words were barely a sound, just air scraping over his throat. He took a half-step back, his knees visibly trembling, as if the weight of the truth had broken his legs. “Oh my god. You... you actually...” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. The anger from before was gone, replaced by terror. He looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers right that second, like if he took his eyes off you for even a moment, you would vanish.
The realisation that he knew—that he had looked inside your head and seen the darkest thing you were hiding—finally broke the last of your strength. Your knees buckled, the energy entirely draining from your body, and you sank directly to the floor. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself, bury your face in your shirt as a fresh wave of tears took over.
Yunho watched you collapse. He took a step forward, his hand twitching as if to reach down and pull you into his chest, but he stopped. He saw the way you were curled into yourself, and he knew if he touched you right now, you would only pull further away. Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor. He sat a few feet away from you, his back leaning against the opposite kitchen cabinets, his long legs stretched out in the space between you. He didn’t try to cross the gap. He didn’t offer a hollow promise that everything was going to be okay. He just sat there in the quiet aftermath of the storm, breathing the same heavy air, refusing to leave you alone.
The silence didn’t heal anything. It didn’t sweep away the wreckage, and it didn’t patch the tears in the fabric of whatever was left of you. It just stayed, breathing heavily alongside both of you.
Eventually, Yunho shifted. The movement was slow, and stiff, as if his joints were made of lead. He dragged a trembling hand down his face, his fingers pressing hard against his skin as if the touch might somehow clear the paralysing shock still stuck behind his eyes. He stared blankly at the edge of the counter, then down at the pattern of the floor—anywhere and everywhere except directly at you.
You stayed curled in on yourself, your forehead pressed against your knees, small and tucked away in your own body. Minutes passed. Or maybe it was only seconds. Time didn’t feel like it belonged to either of you anymore; the clock had stopped the moment the truth was laid bare.
Then, quietly—so quiet the words barely cleared the barrier of your lips—you spoke.
“Did you get the milk?”
Yunho didn’t move his head, but his eyes tracked toward the sound of your voice. The simple question seemed to travel an impossible distance through the space between you just to reach him.
A beat passed. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space between you.
“…Yeah,” he didn’t offer anything else, and you didn’t ask. But the invisible wall hadn’t just gone back up. It was a fragile, trembling truce. He had gotten the milk. He had come home. And despite the terrifying weight of everything you were both carrying, he was still sitting on the floor.
wow mon it looks so beautiful here! i like all the new pretty things, your blog theme must have been put it’s in place! - 🌹
hi rose!! thank you so much, i was not ready yet to give up on my diary theme so i just slightly revamped the previous version!! i was in a desperate need of a change 🖤 i’m glad you like it!!
summary: everyone is pretty sure that jongho is dating someone. in fact it might be super obvious.
authors note: there needs to be more jongho fics in the world
masterlist // request: open
——————————————————————————
“Have you noticed that Jongho seems…happy recently?”
Hongjoong slow blinked at Mingi. He’d woken up to a message from his younger member, asking him to be in the living room when Jongho goes to the gym that evening.
At the end of the message, Mingi had added: don’t tell jongho. It’s IMPORTANT.
All caps.
The members, baring Jongho who had shouted his exit from the dorm right on schedule, gathered on the sofas and watched Mingi with interest.
“You called a meeting,” Seunghwa said slowly, “because Jongho is…happy?”
Mingi huffed and shook his head. “No, not just happy. Like really happy.”
San tilted his head. “I’m not following.”
Mingi leant forward and lowered his voice, words coming out in a whisper. “I think Jongho is dating.”
Hongjoong blinked again. Dating? Their maknae? And they didn’t know about it? It sounded ridiculous. The eight of them were crammed into each other’s spaces pretty much at all times, during their free time and much of their work hours. It seemed inconceivable that anything secret could be taking place at all, let alone a whole separate relationship, but Mingi looked dead serious, not a hint of a joke in his voice or on his face.
That didn’t stop Wooyoung from laughing though. “Jjong? Dating? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not,” Mingi insisted, eyebrows furrowing in offence. “Like, have you noticed he’s been going running recently?”
“And?”
“Jongho hates running for the sake of running,” Mingi reminded them. “He already goes to the gym every night, why add on morning runs? And, what about that time he brought choco pies but wouldn’t let anyone eat them? He kept saying ‘they’re not for you’. But he’d always share his snacks before. Who were they for?”
Yeosang pressed his lips together into a hum, turning his eyes to the ceiling as he thought. “He has been smiling at his phone more,” he offered.
“Ooh, and he’s been locking his phone when I come up behind him,” Yunho jumped on, leaning forward in his chair.
“See?” Mingi pointed, “Like he’s hiding something.”
Hongjoong could see the pieces knitting together, but coincidences didn’t mean anything. Not really. “Jongho is allowed to have privacy, and go on runs, and not share his snacks,” he reminded them, “but I do admit, it seems fishy.”
“I think I know who it is too,” Mingi announced, his smile wide and confident as he saw the member’s coming around to his idea. He said your name simply and clearly.
“The make up artist?” San asked.
You’d been working as part of their glam team for a while, on big and small projects. You’d be shy at first, quietly starstruck but intensely professional. They’d broken down the walls in the way they had with all those they worked with consistently - professional friendship is what they’d call your relationship.
“Why her?” Yeosang asked.
Mingi gave a one armed shrug. “He’s softer with her, I don’t know.”
“He could just be being respectful,” Hongjoong argued but Mingi shook his head in disagreement.
“I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel like that,” Mingi murmured, “sometimes I think I see him looking at her and it’s just…different.”
They thought back to the last time they’d seen you two together, preparing for a photoshoot. You had laughed with all of them, told jokes and got teased in return. Jongho had definitely been speaking to you, his voice low, private. You had blushed and smiled. Maybe that was warmer than with the other members too. Maybe.
“Why wouldn’t he tell us if he was?” Wooyoung pouted.
Seunghwa flicked his ear. “Because none of us would let him live it down.”
“So, do we…wait for him to tell us?” Yeosang asked.
There was a long pause before San leant forward, a sly smile breaking across his face. “50,000 won for whoever gets a confession,” he challenged.
“You can’t seriously be betting on this,” Seonghwa shook his head, “Make it 50,000 and paying for the next BBQ meal.”
“Deal,” Mingi agreed.
“I want my winnings in cash please,” Yunho teased.
Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose and couldn’t help but laugh.
-
You got the ‘coffee?’ message about 3 hours into your day. Your team meeting had just finished, organisation of jobs and glamour looks for the next photoshoots, video shoots and upcoming live stages. It was a lot of information that was settled in front of your head, messy notes scrawled on to lined paper and an increased to do list. You were relieved at the chance to clear your brain, even just for a moment.
You made your excuses for your sunbaes and made your way out of the main team work space.
You always met in the same place, a hidden corner between the recording studio and your usual office. It wasn’t exactly private but in the fast paced work day, there was only so much time you had. It hadn’t started out as a ‘date’ (Jongho wouldn’t let you call them that because I can do way better than this) but you had to stop yourself from skipping in excitement.
He was in comfy clothes, baggy shirts and sweatpants, a usual work day outfit. “Recording all day,” he’d told you. You weren’t sure if he’d actually be able to slip away but of course he could.
He always found a way to see you.
Jongho had a tray of drinks at his feet, and he held yours out as you approached. You couldn’t lean in as close as you wanted, couldn’t curl your fingers around the base of his neck or kiss him like you wanted. You smiled sweetly. He made sure his fingers brushed against yours as you took the take away cup.
You took a sip and hummed. “With hazelnut today?”
Jongho gave a half shrug. “Hazelnut is for planning days.”
You’d told him that once, that the extra boost was always needed to get you through those long meetings. You couldn’t stop the grin that formed around your straw.
He rocked forwards and backwards on his heels, letting his elbow knock against your arm. It shouldn’t make your heart rate pick up, but it does, just the same as if he had slid his arm around you.
In this closeness, both of you could forget expectations, forget boundaries and just be.
Jongho reached out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, following around the curve of your jaw. He kept the contact as long as he could, unwilling to let go before he had to. The gentleness belied the pounding of your heart in your chest.
“Did you sleep well?” He asked quietly.
“Well enough,” you promised, “just…a long morning.”
He hummed in understanding, and brushed his thumb along the clef in your chin.
“Jongho?”
You both startled at the name, a familiar voice that pierced the comfortable silence that blanketed you. Jongho’s hand dropped.
Behind Jongho, Yunho stood in the hallway, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, which lifted a moment later, eyes jumping between the two of you. Your heart thudded, and your head ducked, avoiding eye sight.
You didn’t see Jongho’s face harden just so, from the face he wore with you, to the one he wore with his members. Still soft but different. It always felt different with you.
“Hyung,” he greeted easily. When he turned, his broad shoulders blocked you from view just so. “Manager-nim asked me to drop a drink to ——-sshi.”
“Manager-nim…” Yunho repeated slowly.
Jongho hummed, bent to pick up the members iced drinks, melting freely in their holder on the floor. “Couldn’t you wait for your drink?” He complained.
“Thank you Jongho-sshi,” you murmured and bowed deeply, before making your exit.
Later, Jongho would apologise against your temple, muttering his complaints about impatience things, and laughed when you suggested a better meeting place for their coffee dates.
“It’s not a date,” he corrected.
-
Yunho: he lied, i can’t believe he lied to me
Yunho: we need to have serious words with jong about this
Yunho: and he just sat their in the recording studio
Yunho: like it didn’t matter
Yunho: with his drink of lies
Hongjoong: i think you’re taking this too personally
-
Jongho gave his clothes freely to you. In fact, you were pretty sure he was deliberately leaving them around. There was always a reason for you putting on a hoodie or t-shirt of his, each excuse more outlandish than the next. Not that you it stopped you from actually wearing them. You liked wearing his clothes as much as Jongho liked you in the them.
But then things like this happen. He leaves the wrong hoodie at your home and, on your late start day, you’re woken up by a phone call with a sheepish Jongho telling you that his manager says that jumper needs to go back into catalogued rotation.
“Can you bring it for me?” He asked.
You stifled a yawn. “I can’t exactly say no can I?”
Jongho huffed a laugh. “I’ll bring you another one,” he promised.
“One I can keep this time.”
When you go to find him, he’s in the dance studio. You had suggested that you just put it on the hanger yourself, since you were going that way, but Jongho had reminded you it would look weird for you to have the clothing that he was supposed to have kept. The reminder was like ice down your back.
Right, of course. Sometimes, you forgot that you were keeping things quiet when Jongho had taken over so much of your life at this point.
He’d sent you a text, letting you know that the coast was clear, and so you had gone to him. Jongho smiled at you, eyes creasing sweetly in the corners, as soon as the door slid closed behind you.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he muttered, hand slipping over yours to handle the bag.
“I am missing sleep wear,” you counted.
His eyes moved from your face, down, with a knowing tilt to his eyebrows. “Don’t worry on my account,” he teased, “I don’t mind.”
Your cheeks burned. “Jong,” you admonished, but he didn’t blink, grin widening into a smirk, a cheeky dance in his eyes.
Like this, when it was just the two of you, things felt easy. The knot that had formed in your stomach lessened, your shoulders felt lighter and, for a moment, you were just every other couple.
Jongho was still holding your hand, and he used it to tug you closer. You went willingly on stumbling feet until your shoes bumped together. That was the thing with Jongho, you had realised early on - you couldn’t resist.
“You look pretty,” he murmured, voice soft and honest, eyes jumping around your face as he took in everything.
You flushed and bite your bottom lip as you smiled. You weren’t used to compliments, not the way that Jongho did them. So earnest, so honest, just for you.
You almost missed the door opening behind you. But then Jongho’s hand was slipping from yours, feet stepping back and the distance between you felt like a sudden dunking in ice.
You turned to see Seonghwa, dressed for rehearsals, pausing in the doorway. “Oh, am I interrupted something?”
“Of course not, Seonghwa-sshi,” you answered quickly. “I was just….”
“Dropping off something for me,” Jongho finished.
“Yes,” you nodded, “and now that I have, I’ll go back to work.”
You bowed to both members before making your leave. You barely heard Seonghwa’s soft, “have a good day”, as you sped past him.
This was happening more and more, and honestly, you were not the best liar under pressure.
But when he pressed you into the mattress that night, kisses burning as they trailed down your neck, you found yourself repeating that the lie was worth it.
-
Seonghwa: i asked him why ——- would have his hoodie
Seonghwa: but he just pretended he couldn’t hear me
Yeosang: i think we need a more direct approach
Yeosang: lets be honest
Yeosang: jongho would never lose a battle of wits
Yeosang: especially against you clowns
Wooyoung: rude
Yunho: and yet fair
-
It was four hours into a photoshoot when Wooyoung noticed. They were doing a photos in pairs, Jongho and him, as part of the upcoming comeback. He couldn’t remember if this was for the album or a photocard or anything else. The photographer, Byungmin, was a new hire. They’d done a few shoots before but this was the biggest one he was leading.
“The concept is rock gods, got it?” Byungmin had expressed.
Wooyoung had an elbow resting on Jongho’s shoulder, jaw angled upwards as they stared down the camera.
“Excellent,” Byungmin checked the image through his lens, and gave a satisfied grin, “last one, and we’re good. Can you turn to face each other? Think enemies during peace time. Verge of fighting. I want to feel the tension through the camera.”
Around them, the photography assistants fluttered, readjusting limbs and leg stances until they got the approval of their boss. Wooyoung didn’t enjoy this part of the job - the hands that pushed and prodded and arranged you like a child would a doll. But he let them, did as he was told, and waited to be told he was done.
Wooyoung’s head was angled downwards by one of these insistent hands. His eyes followed downwards momentarily, and he caught it. Just below neck line. Wouldn’t even have been noticeable if it wasn’t for the way he was standing and that he looked down just as Jongho’s collar was readjusted.
Lip marks.
Those were lips marks on his collar.
Jongho had lipstick marks on his collar.
It was pink, a noticeable shimmer on the curve of Jongho’s neck. It sat there, like a hidden claiming mark.
Byungmin paused to tell Wooyoung that childish wasn’t really the vibe of the shoot right now.
“Sexy, right? Alluring,” he reminded.
“Of course, sorry,” Wooyoung apologised quickly. It took a moment to school his features appropriately, professional as he was. He couldn’t stop the way his body hummed in excitement and his fingers tapped an agitated beat against his thighs.
Oh, he couldn’t wait to see Jongho’s face.
Jongho noticed the behaviour change, and arched an eyebrow in silent question. What’s up with you?
Wooyoung returned the look, teasing, letting his lips twitch upwards into a giddy smile.
He leant closer for a moment, tried to make the movement smooth and effortless, just another poise, as he whispered, “Next time, you should probably tell your girlfriend not to wear lipstick on a shoot day.”
Jongho’s lips turned downwards into a frown, confused.
Wooyoung grinned, eyes darting to his neck for a moment. When Byungmin ended the shoot, and called for the next pair - Mingi and Yeosang - to make their entrance, Wooyoung tapped his own neck knowingly.
He laughed when Jongho’s ears went red.
-
Wooyoung: IT WAS PINK DO YOU KNOW THAT MEANS
Hongjoong: Jongho looks good in pink
Seonghwa: it was really obvious and we’re all blind that it took us that long to notice that he’s dating anyone
Mingi: jong is getting smooches
Mingi: and you’re not
Wooyoung: rude san would smooch me
San: don’t drag me and my smooches into this
Yeosang: can we please stop saying smooches?
-
“I think they know,” Jongho mused.
It was late. Jongho had gone on his usual workout session at the gym before making the short walk to your apartment. He’d showered, redressed himself in cleaner clothes, and made himself at home on your sofa.
It was a part of life now, the end of each of your days that you enjoyed every moment of. It wasn’t exactly sneaking around, but it was private, just for the two of you. Everything with Jongho was quiet, private. A comforting touch, a familiar sigh.
The televison was playing the ending credits of a drama you had been watching together. Soon, it would be time for Jongho to head back to the dorm rooms, a time that made your stomach twist with bittersweet longing. Which was silly, you knew, because you’d only see him again the next morning. You just wished these moments could stretch on.
You huffed a laugh. “I’m surprised it's taken them this long. Honestly, you’re not exactly subtle.”
“Who left their lipstick on me?” He challenged.
You groaned in embarrassment. Honestly, you couldn’t believe that had actually happened. A momentarily weakness that had seemed thrilling and sexy at the time, now just made you feel deeply mortified. “You’re the one that said Seonghwa has been asking about the missing hoodie since it happened,” you reminded.
“Hey, the hoodie one wasn’t my fault,” he argued, “You borrow a lot of my stuff.”
“You let me,” you challenged.
Jongho’s fingers slid along your chin affectionately, smirking at the blush that bloomed on your cheeks. “But you look so cute in them,” he murmured.
“Jjong,” you slapped a hand against his chest, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
He arched an eyebrow, challenge clear in his face. You wanted to accept it, let him show you, but you were firm. Your fingers curled into the loose ties at the front of his hoodie. “You need to get back.”
Jongho hummed. His hand moved so he could stroke your cheek, and you leant into it. His hand felt so warm against you, you could float away. His eyes darted over your face, like he was memorising every detail over and over again. “Soon,” he promised.
You turned your head to kiss the palm of his hand. Such a simple act, so sweet, and it made Jongho’s heart clench before the uptick of its beating. Yes, he was so completely in love with you.
“I should tell them soon,” he said.
You looked at him under your lashes. “Whenever you want to,” you agreed.
“It’s not that I don’t,” he reminded. You hummed in understanding. Things were far more complicated than that. “Once they know, I just need to figure out how to keep you.”
You were quick with your answer. “You’ll always have me.”
Jongho said your name, quiet and revertant, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His hand moved to your neck and dragged you closer, until your lips could slot together. He always kissed like this - firm, with purpose, like he would crawl into you if he could. It made you breathless, lightheaded, lost in the moment.
When Jongho finally left, your lips were swollen and your heart ached even more to say goodbye.
-
Admittedly, Jongho wasn’t even trying to pretend anymore. He left your home three nights before, a heavy weight in his stomach that he wasn’t able to just stay. He never liked going, having to leave you behind so that no one noticed, but something about that day itself just caught him sideways.
You hadn’t really been able to see each other this week due to schedules, leading up today - the new music video. He’d watched you out of the corner of his eye as you moved around, bumping shoulders with your coworkers, nodding at your managers when they gave an update, laughing with his members while you assisted other make up artists before those on your rotation were ready to sit in your chair.
You’d finished Yunho before him, laughing at jokes that Jongho was pretty sure weren’t funny. Mingi was in the chair next to him, and the conversation flowed easily. You fit in there so effortlessly and he was once again struck by the thought that he was so lucky to have you.
“Jongho-sshi,” you called over your shoulder as you straightened your supplies, and then turned to flash him the brightest smile.
His mouth felt dry.
God.
Yeah. He was gone.
He watched you as you worked. You had to move around him constantly, applying and blending, adding powder to set. His eyes followed you, smile soft, like he couldn’t bear to look away.
You caught him, blinked in surprise. He had looked at you like this before, but never so out in the open. It felt like a spotlight blinking to life upon you.
“You’re staring,” you murmured, voice low, slipping into secrecy. He traced the flush from your cheeks to the tip of your nose with his eyes, wishing desperately to do so with his fingers.
“You’re cute,” he replied, quiet, honest.
He saw how the surprise in your gaze melted into warmth, affection. “Jongho,” you shake your head in amusement.
“What? Am I making it hard for you to concentrate?” He teased.
If you could have, you would have flicked his forehead. “You’re the worst client,” you joked.
“Lies, I’m your best,” he counted.
You hummed in amusement. You swapped one brush for another. “Close your eyes,” you instruct. “I need to do your shadow.”
He obliged. Even in darkness, you surrounded him. The touch of the brush on his eyelids was delicate. The end of your overshirt - an old button up that you wore over a tank top - brushed the top of his hands where they rested on the chair. Your perfume wrapped around him. Your free hand curved around his jaw so gently, holding him steady as you worked.
Jongho shuddered a breath he couldn’t hold any longer. Like this, he could pretend you were alone, lost in sensation. Your thumb stroked on the underside of his jaw once, barely noticeable to anyone but him, before you withdraw. “Okay, open.”
His eyes were dark, hooded, lost, only for you. You didn’t think anyone else would notice, but you did. You always did.
“Looks good,” you comment, throat dry, voice croaking.
Jongho makes a noise of agreement. His fingers twitch from the urge to pull you closer.
Later, in the shadow between the stage lights, Yeosang approached quietly and said, “You have failed at subtly my friend.”
Jongho huffed a laugh. “Kind of stopped caring that I needed to be,” he admitted.
“Does this count as a public announcement then?” Yeosang joked, sliding an arm over his shoulder.
He angled his head to look at the older member. “Honestly, it took you guys long enough.”
Jongho’s smile became a tad wider. “And now, you all know.”
“I mean, once it was pointed out, you do have that soft look about you.” Yeosang poked his maknae’s cheek.
“Yeah, I do,” Jongho agreed.
-
Jongho: Meet at the dorms after shoot
Jongho: we should talk
-
They gathered back in the dorms living room. Yeosang was already there, looking smug, while Jongho was splayed in the arm chair, a set look of determination on his face.
“What’s this about?” Seonghwa asked.
Of course, they already knew.
Jongho leant forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees. “I’m dating ——-,” he said simply.
Mingi hissed his intake of breath. “Yes, I knew it.”
Jongho raised his phone screen, showing a timer. “You have three minutes to ask whatever questions you want. Then, my relationship is just a normal part of life, got it?”
He didn’t wait for a response and hit go.
“How long have you been dating?” Hongjoong asked first.
“10 months.”
San jumped in. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Jongho shrugged. “I wanted to keep it just for a us, just for a little while,” he admitted. “Plus, with our jobs…it was easier.”
“Is she nice to you?” Yunho asked.
Jongho’s lips twitched. “Yes hyung.”
Yeosang counted, “are you nice to her?”
“She hasn’t complained so far.”
“When can we meet her?” Seonghwa asked, “you know, officially, as your girlfriend.”
“Next team dinner,” was the quick answer.
“What shade is her lipstick?” Wooyoung wondered.
San raised his eyebrow. “That’s your question?”
“It was a good shade,” he defended, “—— and I always wear the same brand!”
“I’ll find out for you Woo,” Jongho promised.
“Was it love at first sight?”
“Of course not.”
“Not a romantic bone in that body,” Mingi complained under his breath. “How he got anyone to date him…”
Wooyoung vibrated with energy when he asked, “Who asked who out?”
“She asked me.”
“Good for her, girl power and all that shit.”
The timer went off. Jongho turned it off and returned his phone to his pocket. “And now we’re back to normal,” he emphasised. He stood up, pushed his hair away from his face and began to walk towards the door. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“Hey, where are you going?” Mingi stammered, startled by the sudden dismissal.
Jongho grinned at them, teasing and amused. His eyes creased at the edges. “I’m going to see ——-. Don’t have to sneak around anymore, so don’t wait up for me.”
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Wooyoung sniffed mockingly. “Oh baby is all grown up.”
Yunho flung an arm around Woo’s shoulders and pouted. “They grow up too fast. Bring me back my baby Jongie.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes but the smile across his face was warm. “Jongho seems happy,” he concluded.
“Smitten,” Yeosang added. “And on that note,” he grinned widely, “I’ll take those bank transfers now.”
——————————————————————————
a/n: if you have any fic requests (sfw/nsfw) feel free to ask! like and reblog if you enjoyed this one 💕
oh how i loved this 🥺 i was smiling the whole time!! the way you captured Jongho in love is so… like him (at least in my mind)? and the way he handled telling them, it was so funny but yet again I can easily imagine him being like this irl 😭😭 gosh, i need a love like this!! so soft and cute and well… loving 🥺 it’s for sure a favourite!! 🖤
Since you posted it, the fic itself has become my weighted blanket 🥺
If you are taking requests, may I request, a domestic scenario with vampire Yeo/ Yunho?
(Idk why I thought about vampire, but like he’s a vampire, but this scenario is very mundane, everyday, slice of life ish)
Love you, take care and hope this year shows you some really good times! Happy new year 💕
- 🦋
my dear 🦋, it’s been a while since you came around here and i’m really sorry i’m not good with keeping up with my inbox, but thanks to this ask i rediscovered my absolute obsession with vampires, and i wanted to thank you for it!! if you ever come by my blog again you’ll see there’s already no biting the girlfriend posted, and an entire vampire special to celebrate my upcoming 2k followers milestone!! nabi (let me call you that since it’s butterfly in korean) i hope you’re doing okay and that the word treats u kindly!! 🖤
➢ In which you decide to test the infamous “Can I hold it?” question on the boys right as they are trying to go to the bathroom. ➢ purely comedic, urination mentioned, pissing kink mentioned (joke), suggestive, alcohol consumption, inspired by this post, minors do not interact ➢ 2.6k ➢ hyung line version
#San
San had been attached to your side all evening, but he finally stood up from the bed, stretching his arms over his head with a lazy yawn that had his shirt lifting just enough to show a bit of skin. “I’ll be right back, baby,” he murmured, giving your hair a fond tug as he started walking toward the bathroom.
You sat up, clearing your throat to keep your voice steady. “Hey, Sannie?”
“Yeah?” He paused with his hand on the doorframe, turning his head to look at you.
“Can I hold it?”
“...Hold what?”
You pointed directly at his lap. “You know.”
San’s eyebrows twitched, “Oh.” He fully turned around, leaning his back against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked you up and down, “You want to hold… my penis?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed, trying to maintain your confidence, though your heart was suddenly hammering.
“Like while I’m peeing?” San chuckled, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants, and taking a slow step backward into the bathroom.
“Yeah.”
“Just to see what it's like?”
You shrugged, trying to act casual. “Maybe.”
He tilted his head, a dimpled smirk cutting across his face. “Well, come on then.”
You got right out of bed, marched into the bathroom, and rolled up your sleeves.
San leaned his hips back against the sink, looking down at you with an incredibly serious expression. “Alright. Any questions before we begin?”
You blinked up at him. “Why are you acting like this is a workshop?”
“Because this is your first time,” he explained logically, nodding his head.
“It’s not—”
“It is your first time holding a peeing penis,” San corrected, his tone entirely flat and matter-of-fact.
You let out a heavy sigh, realising he was right. “Fair.”
San’s smile widened as he watched you take your position, completely focused, determined to do a good job. “Alright, are you ready?” he teased, leaning his head back as he waited for you to do your thing.
A moment later, disaster struck. The stream started, and you instantly panicked. The angle changed, threatening his sweatpants. You rapidly adjusted but then the pressure shifted, and the angle changed again.
You adjusted a second time, but in your panic to maintain control of the stream, you adjusted way, way too much.
“OW!” San nearly launched himself back, his body went rigid, back slamming violently against the mirror behind him as his eyes practically threatened to pop out of his head.
You immediately let go, throwing your hands in the air like you’d just been caught red-handed at a crime scene. “Oh my god!”
“BABY!” San shrieked, his voice cracking into a register so high it could have shattered the bathroom lightbulbs.
“I'M SORRY!” you yelled back, backing up until your spine hit the closed door.
“You bent it!” San accused, his face instantly exploding into a furious, sweaty shade of crimson as he wheezed for air. “You absolutely bent it!”
“I DID NOT BEND IT!” you argued defensively, your face burning .
“You absolutely bent it!” he insisted.
“I was trying to steer!”
“STEER?!” San echoed, looking at you like you had lost your mind. “It's not a garden hose!”
The image of a garden hose was the final straw. You completely doubled over, clutching your stomach as tears of laughter started streaming down your face. “I DIDN’T KNOW IT MOVED SO MUCH!”
“Moved so much?” San repeated as he wiped a tear from his eye, still hovering protectively over his lap. “What did you think was going to happen? What did you expect?”
“I thought it would be more cooperative!”
“Cooperative?”
“Yes!”
San stared at you in dead silence. Then, he slowly looked up at the ceiling, as if asking the universe what he had done to deserve this. Then, he looked right back down at you, his shoulders bouncing as a massive, uncontrollable laughter completely consumed him. “Out. Out of the bathroom. Mission aborted.”
#Mingi
Mingi was in peak drunk form—a little too touchy for a club, arm draped over your hips, and lips always chasing yours for a kiss. You were trying to get him to drink some water when suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he gasped as if he had just remembered a life-saving piece of information. “Babe,” he whined, leaning his entire body weight onto you, his face burying into your neck. “Babe, I gotta pee. Like, so bad. My bladder is going to explode.”
“Okay, let’s go then,” you laughed, shoving his heavy frame toward the bathroom. Mingi let out a whining noise, but he let you guide him, his body stumbling slightly against yours as you dragged him down the crowded club. You kept your hand firmly planted on the small of his back until you finally reached the bathroom door. You grabbed the doorknob, turning it to make sure it was empty, and looked back at him. “Alright, in you go. Don’t fall asleep in there.”
Mingi pulled you right along with him as he stepped backward into the bathroom, shutting the door behind the both of you. “Can you hold it for me?” he blurted out, deciding this was the perfect time to use his “stage voice.”
Your jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?!” you hissed.
“I’m tired!” he protested, his lower lip trembling as he did a little dramatic stomp. “My arms are so heavy, babe. I can’t do it by myself, I’m gonna miss and pee my pants.”
“I am not holding it while you pee,” you backed up until your spine hit the door.
Mingi leaned one hand against the wall right next to you, trapping you easily. “Why not?” he leaned down, warm breath fanning across your neck. “Don’t be shy now. It’s not like you haven’t held it before.”
Your face exploded into a violent pink. “Oh my god!” you gasped, swatting his chest. “Not for peeing! That is completely different and you know it!”
“Same object, different context,” he nudged his knee between yours, looking down at you with a teasing grin that was definitely fuelled by more than just the alcohol. “Come on. Just give your boyfriend a hand. I’ll even let you do whatever you want with it after.”
“Jesus Christ,” you huffed, rolling your eyes at him, but your hands were already moving, settling onto his zipper. “I'm helping you because you’re a drunk mess,” you clarified, looking up at him with completely unbothered expression. “But that’s all you’re getting in here. If you think we’re
doing anything remotely sexy in a disgusting club bathroom, you’re out of your goddamn mind. So stand still, look at the wall, and let’s get this over with.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he whispered, his voice entirely dazed as he quickly snapped his gaze on the bathroom wall, completely frozen in place.
You kept your face blank, focused on the task at hand to avoid dying of secondhand embarrassment. Taking careful aim, you made sure your grip was secure, steady, and—most importantly—completely void of any sexual motions.
As the stream started, Mingi let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping. “This is crazy,” he mumbled, a love-struck smile taking over his face. “You’re so cool baby. Most girlfriends would just leave me to pee on my own shoes, but you’re here with me. That’s true love.”
“Mingi, if you keep talking, I’m letting go,” you threatened, though the corners of your mouth twitched with a smile.
“I’m quiet!” he squeaked, squeezing his eyes shut.
The second he finished, you didn’t waste a single moment. You tucked everything back in, zipped him up, and slapped his chest. “Done. Wash your hands.”
Mingi turn around to look at you as you immediately began scrubbing your own hands with an aggressive amount of soap. A massive, smug grin spread across his face as he leaned against the sink next to you, nudging your shoulder with his. “So...” he hummed, his voice dropping back into that low, suggestive register. “You said nothing sexy in here. Does that mean the ride home is still a green light?”
#Wooyoung
You slid over from your side of the sofa, plopping down right beside Wooyoung, your shoulder bumping into his. You folded your hands neatly over your knees, a wide, suspicious smile plastered across your face.
Wooyoung’s thumb instantly froze on his phone screen. Without moving his head, his eyes flicked sideways to look at you. “Oh no,” he gasped as he tossed his phone onto the coffee table. He turned his body to face you, pulling a throw pillow into his lap. “Why do you look like that? What did you do?”
You smacked his arm, the dull thud followed by a loud whine from him. “Nothing! Just answer honestly.”
“That sentence has never led me anywhere good,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read your expression.
You cleared your throat, trying desperately to keep your posture straight and your face completely blank. “Can I hold your...” You paused, the words catching in your throat for a split second as you looked down. Wooyoung tilted his head, his gaze following yours. “...wee-wee.”
Wooyoung looked down at his own lap, then looked back up at your face, “My what?”
You pointed vaguely toward his lap, your cheeks starting to burn. “Your wee-wee.”
“Are you five?”
“Stop interrupting!” you hissed, swatting at his knee.
“Do you also call cars ‘vroom-vrooms’?” he shot back.
“Can I finish?!”
He threw his hands up, gesturing dramatically toward you. “Please. Go ahead. This is apparently a very important kindergarten discussion.”
You took a deep breath, ignoring the fact that his shoulders were already shaking with suppressed laughter. “Can I hold your wee-wee when you pee?”
“What?!” he shrieked, his voice cracking into high-pitched, laugh.
The dam broke, and you immediately started laughing, burying your burning face in your hands. “Just answer the question!” you yelled over his laughter.
“No! Explain yourself!” Wooyoung gasped for air, his face turning a shade of pink as he pointed a trembling finger at you.
“There’s nothing to explain!”
“There is everything to explain!” He shifted on the couch, leaning in close. “Why do you want to hold it?”
“I don’t know!” you wailed, your shoulders shaking from a mix of laughter and embarrassment.
“Do you have some kind of pissing kink?”
“NO!” you screamed, throwing a couch pillow directly into his face.
Wooyoung caught it easily, tossing it aside with a smug smirk. “Then why is this your dream?”
“It’s not my dream!”
“You’ve been thinking about this," he accused smoothly, leaning closer until his nose almost brushed yours, thoroughly enjoying how flustered he was making you. “You’ve been plotting. You sat there, looked at me, and thought, ‘Yes, today is the day I want to hold his wee-wee in the bathroom.’”
“I HAVE NOT!”
Wooyoung was already shaking his head, sighing heavily. “Unbelievable.”
“What?” you asked, wiping a tear of laughter from your eye.
“I let you into my life, my home, my heart—”
“Oh my god,” you groaned, knowing exactly where his dramatic ass was taking this.
“—and now,” Wooyoung continued, his voice dropping into a whisper before he suddenly snatched your wrist, “you’re trying to steal my job.” Before you could even process the words, Wooyoung exploded into action. He leaped off the couch, using his grip on your wrist to haul you right along with him.
“Wait, what are you doing?! Let go!” you laughed, your socks sliding across the floor as he effortlessly dragged you down the hallway.
“No way! You made the request, now you have to see it through!” Wooyoung yelled back, throwing the bathroom door open with a dramatic bang. He pulled you inside, backing up against the sink and leaning against it with a challenging, intensely suggestive grin. He reached down, his fingers playfully tapping the waistband of his sweatpants. “Come on then, my little pervert,” he teased as he raised an eyebrow at your bright red face. “The stage is yours. Let’s see what you’ve got. But if you miss the bowl, you’re scrubbing the floor!”
#Jongho
Your eyes practically burned holes into Jongho’s back as he walked towards the bathroom. You knew this was a high-risk gamble. Your boyfriend was, after all, an absolute menace, and if you actually went through with this, he would never, ever let you live it down. In his mind, this trend was undoubtedly the stupidest thing the internet had ever conceived.
“Honey?” you called out the moment you heard the click of the bathroom door swinging open. “Wait a minute!”
You quickly scrambled out of bed and rushed down the hallway, turning the corner just in time to meet his completely unamused, deadpan stare. He hadn’t even stepped inside yet; he was just waiting for you, one hand resting on the doorknob. “No.” That was all he said as he immediately began to pull the door shut right in your face.
“No?! What do you mean no?!” you gasped, throwing your weight against the door to stop it.
Jongho didn’t even look surprised. “I know exactly what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.” You quickly shoved your foot in the doorframe right before it could click shut, forcing it back open. Jongho let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh, standing with his hands on his hips.
“Jongho, come on, you don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“You’ve been staring at your phone for hours, you had a weird smirk on your face, and you just followed me to the bathroom,” Jongho listed off, entirely unamused, his voice perfectly calm. Then, he reached into his pocket, holding up his phone. “What's that?” you asked.
“Evidence.”
“Evidence?”
On the screen was the exact video you’d been watching. You gasped. “HOW DID YOU FIND THAT?”
“You reposted it.”
“Oh.”
“I am not doing it baby. Now, get your foot out of my door.”
You gasped, genuinely offended by how well he knew you. “It’s a bonding exercise! It builds trust!”
“It builds a mess on the floor,” Jongho corrected immediately, not breaking eye contact for a single second. “I am a grown man. I pee on my own for over twenty years. I do not need a supervisor, especially one who is probably going to try something stupid.”
“I won’t try anything! I just wanna hold it!” you whined, taking a bold step inside the bathroom anyway. “Just let me try once. Please?”
“No.”
“Just once?”
“No.”
“Five seconds?”
“No.”
“Three?”
“No.”
“Are you seriously telling me you’re too scared to let your own girlfriend help you out?” You delivered the line with a sly grin, completely intentional. You knew exactly what you were doing, aiming right for his pride, fully expecting him to crack a competitive smile and challenge you right back.
Instead, Jongho just stood there. The silence stretched between you for a long moment until a tiny, knowing smirk finally broke. Slowly, he raised his hand. You braced yourself, but instead of pushing you out, he just reached over and fondly ruffled your hair. “Nice try,” he hummed, his voice entirely calm as he dropped his hand back down. “But no.”
“Jongho—”
“You can hold it in our bedroom whenever you want, though,” he added carelessly. He leaned in just an inch closer, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “Now get out,” Jongho chuckled as he gently but firmly gripped your shoulders and spun you around, pushing you out into the hallway. “I actually have to use the restroom. Go think about what you’ve done.”
yunho: hey hey hey shhhh. shhh. it's okay hey you're safe here. okay? you're okay. you're safe. just put the phone down okay? that's right he can't hurt you if the phone is away. just set it down slowly, slow-- that's right, good, shhh. shhhhh. okay. okay?
➢ In which you decide to test the infamous “Can I hold it?” question on the boys right as they are trying to go to the bathroom. ➢ purely comedic, urination mentioned lol, inspired by this post, minors do not interact ➢ 1.8k ➢ maknae line version
#Hongjoong
Hongjoong was never bored with you. As a notorious workaholic, he rarely had the time for boredom anyway, but you somehow always managed to keep things exciting. Tonight, he was stretched out on the couch, the movie playing while you sat comfortably between his legs, your back resting against his chest. You were both munching on a bowl of still-warm, slightly too-salty popcorn.
“Baby, can you pause it for a minute?” he murmured, shifting his weight so he could look down at your face. “I need to use the bathroom real quick.” Hongjoong shifted, his hands resting on your waist for a brief second as he prepared to untangle himself from the nest of blankets you two had built. “Don’t eat all the popcorn while I’m gone,” he warned, a tired smile at the corner of his lips.
You didn’t look back at him, just stared ahead at the frozen screen, chewing slowly on a particularly salty piece of popcorn. “Hey, Joongie?” you called out, your voice too casual.
“Yeah?” He stopped, one foot already out of the room.
“Can I hold it?”
Hongjoong froze.
For a solid three seconds, the room was dead silent. His brain, already fried from a fourteen-hour day in the studio, went through a visible system reboot. He blinked, staring at you as if you had just spoken to him in a foreign language. “Hold... what?” he asked carefully. “The remote? It’s right next to you.”
You finally turned your head, looking up at him with the most innocent, wide-eyed expression you could muster. “No. Not the remote.”
He squinted, looking down at his own hands, then at the popcorn bowl, then back to your face. The slow realisation of what you meant hit him. Hongjoong’s entire face flushed pink, the colour rushing all the way to the tips of his ears. He let out a choked sound—halfway between a laugh and a gasp of disbelief—and immediately covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking. “Oh my god,” he muttered into his palms, his voice muffled. “You are deviant. I am literally just trying to go to the bathroom.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful!” you protested, biting back a laugh.
He uncovered his face, pointing a warning finger at you, though the effect was entirely ruined by the massive grin he couldn’t hide. “You are a menace to society. Sit there, eat your salty popcorn, and think about your life choices. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
As he walked away, you could hear him muttering “can I hold it, unbelievable...” all the way down the hall.
#Seonghwa
“Do you think I could hold it when you pee?” you blurted out, a forkful of spaghetti frozen halfway to your mouth.
Seonghwa choked violently on his white wine. His eyes widened, staring at you in absolute terror as he tried to clear his throat. “I’m sorry... what did you just say?” He placed his glass back down on the table with gentleness. Without it, he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands, which now hovered in the air.
You chewed your pasta calmly, holding his gaze. “You know what I said...”
Seonghwa’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, looking exactly like a fish out of water. A blush crawled rapidly up his neck, staining his cheeks. “I—I really don’t think I do,” he stammered, his voice pitching slightly higher than usual. He finally folded his empty hands neatly in his lap. “Because it sounded like you just asked to... to assist me. In the restroom. While I am...” He couldn’t even bring himself to finish the sentence. He looked around the restaurant, suddenly terrified that the waiter, the couple at the next table, or God himself had overheard you.
“I did,” you confirmed, entirely unbothered, taking another bite of spaghetti.
“We are eating dinner!” Seonghwa hissed, leaning across the table, his eyes darting around frantically. “We are eating pasta, in public, and you are asking to hold my—” He choked on his own breath, cutting himself off. He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, taking a slow, deep, shuddering breath. “Why would you even say that? Where did that thought even originate in your brain?”
“I’m just curious...”
“Curious?” he repeated, his voice slightly cracking. “Curious?” He leaned across the table, lowering his voice to a whisper, his hands gesturing wildly. “Curiosity is for things like... wondering what the weather will be like tomorrow! Or wondering how a movie ends! It is not for offering to act as a tripod in a public restroom!”
“I mean, it's a valid question,” you countered, swirling another forkful of pasta.
“It is the least valid question in human history!” Seonghwa pressed his palms to his flaming cheeks. “Curious about what, exactly? I am a grown man, I have been handling this solo for decades!” He let out a defeated sigh, slumping back into his chair and staring at the ceiling as if asking the universe why he was being tested like this.
“I just wonder what it feels like from your perspective.”
Seonghwa’s face went through three different shades of red in a matter of seconds. He covered his face with both hands, letting out a long, defeated whine that was entirely muffled by his palms. “Please stop talking,” he pleaded from behind his fingers. “I am begging you. The waiter is coming back with the bread basket and you are discussing my... my peeing perspective.” He dropped his hands, giving you a dramatic glare that was completely ruined by how flustered he still was. “The answer is no. Absolutely not. Curiosity killed the cat, and it is currently killing my appetite.”
#Yunho
Yunho was in the middle of closing the bathroom door when you suddenly slid between the frame and his body. You looked up at him with wide eyes and a slightly awkward smile on your lips. He stopped mid-motion, looking down at you, and raised a single, amused eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
“Can I hold it?” you blurted out.
Yunho didn’t even blink. He didn’t stutter, he didn’t turn red, and he certainly didn’t look terrified. Instead, he just leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he looked down at you with amusement. “Sure,” he said smoothly, stepping back and gesturing into the bathroom like a host inviting you into a five-star lounge. “Come on in. Be my guest.”
Your jaw dropped slightly. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, why not?” Yunho leaned down a bit closer. “But if you’re going to hold it, you gotta aim it too. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?”
“Yunho, oh my god, no—” You started to back away, your face suddenly burning hot.
“Hey, where are you going?” he laughed, reaching out to wrap a hand around your wrist, tugging you back with a giant smile. “You’re the one who asked! Don’t back out now, let’s go!”
You didn’t pull away. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders, looked him dead in the eye, and stepped into the bathroom. After all, you were his girlfriend. You didn’t bluff. And you also were pretty competitive. It was time to get down to business. Yunho followed you in, completely amused and slightly bewildered by your determination.
You took your position, hands ready, aiming carefully before the stream even started. Yunho looked down at your hands, then up at your hyper-focused face, and let out a quiet laugh. “You’re going to miss the bowl.”
You frowned, adjusting your grip slightly, and looked up at him. “How do you know that?”
Yunho burst out laughing, “Because I’ve been doing this for a very long time, baby. Trust the expert. A little more to the left.”
You adjusted according to his professional feedback. “Don’t doubt my skills.”
“Oh, I’d never doubt you, I just don’t wanna pee on the wall. Just don’t let go.”
#Yeosang
Yeosang was completely locked in, utterly obsessed with whatever mobile game he was playing, while you lay beside him on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through social media. Suddenly, he stood up without a word, slipping his phone into his pocket.
“Are you... going to the bathroom?” you asked, immediately jumping off the couch and following his footsteps down the hall.
Yeosang paused, turning around to look at you with a slightly confused gaze. “Yeah. Why? Do you need to go first?”
You stopped right in front of him, looking up with a completely straight face. “No. But... can I hold it?”
Yeosang stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked twice, his large eyes seemed to process the words in slow motion. Then, a faint pink tint started at the tips of his ears. “You... want to...” he murmured, his voice turning into a squeak. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but his eyes darted frantically to the floor, completely weirded out but trying hard to understand your logic. He fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. “I mean... I guess... if you really want to... it’s okay?” He rubbed the back of his neck, incredibly stressed-out smile forcing its way onto his face.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out laughing at how genuinely conflicted and sweet he was being. “Are you sure?” you teased, taking a step closer.
Yeosang immediately took a half-step back, his hands coming up in a gentle, defensive gesture. “I—I mean, yes, but also... why? Is this a new internet trend? Did Wooyoung put you up to this?”
“I’m just curious...” you said, tilting your head and looking up at him with total sincerity. “About... you know, how you do it.”
Yeosang’s hands dropped to his sides as his jaw went slack. “How I do it?” he covered his face with both hands, fingers pressing against his eyes as a muffled groan escaped his lips. “There is no secret technique! You just... you stand there!”
“I promise I won’t tell Wooyoung,” you laughed, crossing your arms.
“That doesn’t make me feel better!” he let out a dramatic sigh, shoulders slumping in total defeat as he looked at you looking at him with big eyes and a pout.
“Please?”
“Fine,” he muttered, stepping aside to let you into the bathroom first. “Just... if you’re really going to do it... please don’t squeeze it, okay?” You snorted, a laugh slipping out before you could stop it. “I’m serious!” Yeosang’s head snapped back to look at you, eyes full of panic. “Don’t laugh! It’s a delicate situation! I am putting my full trust in you right now, so just... handle with care, please.”
currently in a fight with my blog theme because i have zero aesthetic commitment. everything looks messy and i am just not vibing with it at all summary of my life right now ughhh
if someone have any tips or suggestions where to find inspo or where to edit pictures/dividers for the pinned post i will be forever grateful.... my inbox is open because i will lose my mind
