𝔀arnings. mention of scraped knee & bandages, reader and martin have an argument, one cuss word (dick) ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ
⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝘆𝗻𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌. this song screams martin (i may be biased because it’s my favorite song but) i just had to write it about him!! not proofread
she can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes
“my name’s y/n” you say with a soft smile as you help him bandage his knee. in his 13 years of life, martin has never seen a smile so bright and honest, which is a lot, since it’s well known puberty does something evil to a teen’s soul, but it looked like it didn’t do anything to yours.
“uhm.. thank you, i’m martin” he says with a quiet voice, a bit embarrassed by the situation “thanks for helping out, you didn’t have to” the corner of his mouth lifts slightly as a sign of gratitude.
you shake your head gently “it’s alright, it can happen. i never tried skating but i bet stuff like this is pretty frequent”.
that was your first encounter with martin. and ever since then, he always found an excuse to hang around you, whether rushing up to you after seeing you from afar, casually skating by your favorite park where you’d hang out with your friends to drop by and say hi, you name it.
despite your friendly demeanor, you were someone who always had something to say. you weren’t afraid to speak up, especially when someone was being disrespectful
and she only reveals what she wants you to see
that’s when martin couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you animatedly fighting with one of your friends at the park over the usual stuff a teenager could fight about, boys? clothes? he didn’t know. he was too busy looking at how your eyebrows were furrowed, how much you gestured to get your point across, how fiery you seemed.
you were always composed around him, never raged out like that. did he not like it? nah, he loved it as much as he loved your qualities.
she can wait if she wants, she’s ahead of her time
“took you long enough to tell me” you say as your lips slightly rise in a smile “i’ve been waiting for like 5 years”. martin’s eyes widened “wait… you waited all this time for me to confess… while knowing i liked you? why didn’t you do anything?”, you chuckle softly, and martin thinks his heart might explode right now. “i know you, you wanted to be the knight in shining armor”.
martin huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, of course she knew, he should’ve figured it out. she’s always been one step ahead of him in everything, and all along he just told himself he was easily predictable.
“so, we’re getting coffee after school?” he asks with a grin, you smile and pull out two iced coffees, his and your favorite “i already knew you’d ask”
but she’ll bring out the best and the worst you can be
“why do you never listen, y/n?! it’s like everyone is always in the wrong with you!” martin says, eyebrows furrowed and his voice loud. they have been arguing for about an hour in her room. for what exactly? he’s not sure, things have been rocky for a while in their relationship. he thought it was the usual kind of crisis most couples go through, that you two would get over it pretty fast, but it was not the case.
“no it’s not! i’m just telling you my point of view but you refuse to acknowledge it!” you bite back, martin can’t believe how stubborn you’re being right now “ok you know what? i don’t want to listen to another word coming from you! the more you speak the more i get irritated so why don’t you just shut up?!”
oh no. that does it.
you stare at him, in disbelief. sure, you were fighting, but shutting you out completely? ignoring your feelings? and to top it all, giving you the look of someone that doesn’t want to have anything to do with you? the tears start flowing down before you can even realize you’re crying.
martin is frozen in place, now realizing how far he’s gone. should he hug you? or maybe give you space? he’s too deep in thought to realize that you’re grabbing your bag without a word and you’re getting ready to leave. he panics as he sees you reach for the door “no no no no no” he mutters quickly, grabbing your elbow gently and spinning you around towards him “hey, no shutting out”.
you choke out through tears “you said you don’t want to hear another word from me! so i’m going–” he cups your cheeks “i’m a dick, you know that better than i do” he looks deeply in her eyes, all the anger from before slowly disappearing “i just… i just exploded, i’m sorry. please, let’s sit and talk it out. i want to be mature for you”. you take a deep breath, searching in his eyes for any hint of dishonesty, and when you find none, you speak with a quiet voice “we need to learn how to handle our emotions better”. martin gives you a tiny and sincere smile “this might be a good start”
but she’s always a woman to me
martin has been with you for almost 2 years now, and he gets surprised when he remembers that, to him, it feels like you two have been together as long as he can remember. and you probably have been, ever since that day where you took care of his bruise at the skate park.
now martin is looking at you, from the door of your shared bedroom, in your own apartment that holds so many memories of you together, staring intensely at you as you busy yourself with some make-up products, getting ready for your date with him.
he watches how you brush your hair, how you put on lipstick, how your mouth slightly opens as you put mascara on your lashes, and he sees the little girl who helped him up after a fall on the skateboard, the teenage girl who was a ticking bomb of emotions, lashing out, crying, and then laughing, and now the woman who he shares his present and future with.
and through all this years, she changed, but she’s always a woman to him.
pairings: idol! james x fem!reader
genre: comfort, fluff, romance, slice of life, insecurity/comfort, established relationship, soft angst with happy ending :)
warnings: mentions of strangers flirting, jealousy, self doubt )no cheating nor love triangle), insecure reader. wc: 800 words synopsis: going out with james means constantly watching strangers try to catch his attention. but while everyone else has their eyes on him, his are only ever on you.
the first time you walked into a café holding james's hand, you understood something that no one had warned you about.
people stared.
some only glanced before going back to their drinks, but others whispered behind menus, nudging their friends and pulling out their phones to take pictures. you pretended not to notice, squeezing his hand just a bit tighter.
james looked down at you.
"you okay?"
you forced out a tiny smile. "yeah."
he smiled back, completely unaware that your confidence had already begun shrinking like a sweater thrown into hot boiling water.
dating james sounded amazing when your friends teased you about it.
"you're literally living in a romance drama."
"if only i had a boyfriend that handsome, i'd never complain about anything."
but they never had seen the awkward moments.
like girls approaching your table with you sitting right there.
like someone asking for his instagram despite the fact that his arm rested around your chair or thigh.
like hearing,
"you're james, right? gosh you're even more handsome in person."
meanwhile, you suddenly became invisible.
it had happened again while the two of you were waiting in line for ice cream.
a girl around your age walked over confidently.
"hi," she said to james. "i just wanted to say you're really cute."
you looked down at your shoes.
her we go again.
the girl continued.
"do you maybe have a girlfriend?"
silence.
you blinked.
more silence.
then james simply answered,
"yeah."
nothing else.
no smile.
no playful laugh.
no lingering eye contact.
he was looking at the menu above the counter instead.
the girl waited another few seconds.
"…oh."
then she quietly walked away.
james turned to you.
"what flavor are you getting, babe?"
"…what?"
"the strawberry cheesecake one looks good."
you stared.
"weren't you listening?"
"i was."
"she was flirting with you."
"i know."
"and?"
"and i wanted ice cream."
you couldn't help but laugh.
but still, the insecurity stayed.
it collected itself piece by piece until on rainy evening when the two of you were walking home.
your umbrella covered both of you, but your thoughts were somewhere else.
james had noticed immediately.
"you've been quiet."
"i'm just tired."
"no."
"what?"
"that's always your fake answer."
you looked away.
he stopped walking.
cars hissed past on the wet street while tiny drops tapped against the umbrella.
"what is it? what's bothering you?"
you hesitated for a second.
then everything spilled out.
"i don't get it."
"what?"
"why you're with me."
he instantly frowned.
"what do you mean by that?"
"you could date anyone."
"no."
"yes."
"no."
"james."
"no."
"you know what i mean."
he folded his arms against his chest.
"i actually don't."
you sighed.
"girls come up to you literally everywhere we go."
"so?"
"they're much more prettier."
"so?"
"they're confident."
"so?"
"they're…"
you tried searching for another excuse.
"…them."
"and?"
"and i'm just me."
for a moment, he simply stared. then he laughed. not a mean type of laugh, the kind that escaped before he could even stop it.
"you think that's how i chose you?"
"i don't know."
"you think i saw a lineup of people and said, 'hmm…i'll take this one.'"
you buried your face into your scarf.
"when you say it like that, it sounds stupid."
"it is."
he stepped closer.
"you wanna know something funny?"
"what?"
"i honestly never notice."
"what?"
"the girls."
you blinked.
"you don't?"
"i notice someone talking."
"and?"
"but i don't really look at them."
"why?"
he looked confused by your question.
"because i'm already looking at you."
the words landed so casually that they almost didn't register into your brain.
"you…"
"when we're out together, i'm wondering if you're cold."
he adjusted your scarf.
"if you've eaten."
he tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.
"if you're having the time of your life."
he reached out for your hand.
"i'm thinking about where you'd like dessert or coffee."
his fingers intertwined with yours.
"so while everyone else seems very interest in me…"
he smiled.
"…i only have eyes for you."
the world suddenly felt very quiet. even the rain had seemed more softer.
you whispered,
"that's cheesy."
"i know."
"you practiced that, didn't you?"
"i absolutely didn't."
"you did."
"i was improvising."
"you rehearsed in the mirror."
"i did not."
he sighed dramatically. "fine."
you gasped. "you did?"
"no."
"you just admitted it."
"i admitted nothing."
"you're impossible."
"and yet…"
he squeezed your hand.
"…you're still walking home with me."
you smiled for the first time all day.
"i guess i am."
he grinned.
"good."
"why?"
"because tomorrow we're going out to that bookstore."
"the crowded one?"
"yep."
"the one where people also recognize you?"
"yep."
you groaned.
he leaned closer.
"then you'll get to watch me ignore every single person that tries to flirt with me."
"and what will you be doing instead?"
james looked at you with such an unwavering certainty that it erased every doubt still hiding in your heart.
"i'll be looking at my girlfriend."
and for the first time ever since you two started dating, you believed him completely.
synopsis: you and your boyfriend have a huge communication issue, so you find other ways to make up after fights
warnings: silent treatment, oral (f receiving), missionary sex, unprotected sex, nipple play, making out, hickies, plot with porn, pretty romancy so if ur a softie this is for u 🥹
authors note: finally made a longer fic after many shorties! these Ni-ki pics with the camo hat are making me hard 💯 I reallyyyyy hope he goes back to black hair I love the blonde so so so much but his black hair was so auraful!!! anyways yea I loveeee writing big rik so more writing ideas are much appreciated ! pls enjoy 💗
authors note 2: WE are birds for Ni-ki chirp chirp
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It was a chill 3am in your apartment alone. Chill weather wise, other than that it had been an irritating night for you. You and your boyfriend had gotten into a fight over the amount of attention he'd been putting into you (not enough). So you've had him alone delivered for the past 4 hours. This didn't let you sleep at all. The fact that he was left unanswered kept you upset despite you not wanting to answer him. He wasn't spamming you or anything, but he stayed on your mind regardless. Was he mad? Does he know you're ignoring him on purpose? Does he think you're hurt? Is he even awake? Your mind felt cluttered and upset and mad and tired and yet somehow wide awake all at once. Definitely not a pleasant mixture.
You turn in bed again, begging yourself to just fall into rem. The sound of your fan spinning and the rain on the windowsill tapping was consistent and only made you think of Riki more. It was cold. You want him to hold you and wrap you in blanket, run his hands through your hair until the only cold you feel is the occasional grace of his ring against your scalp while he brushes. But another part of you told yourself that he doesn't even deserve the chance. He's had you on delivered for way longer than 4 hours before, something you specifically told him you hated. He's probably not even bothered right now. Probably with his guys doing perfectly fine. But what if he is bothered?? Should I text? You hated how childish these fights made you feel.
You continued to listen into the tapping of the rain, hoping into hypnotize you out of consciousness. Until you hear a raindrop louder than the other ones. Multiple actually. You weren't as awake as before, finally in the state between awake and out of it, so your senses were super clear. Then you heard the tapping again, definitely not rain. It also didn't come from your window, it came from the door. You roll out of bed, not even thinking about what or who it could be. Your groggy mind simply head a door and gave you the elementary task of opening it. When you did make it to the door, it was the sight of Riki that woke you out of this.
You open your mouth to yell the same argument you were aggressively texting him earlier only to be shut up by his gentle shush. His hand found your tense shoulder, squeezing it with a comforting rub that relaxed the muscles in your arm. He walked you back into the house, not with any force or even in a slightly obvious manner, but so casually you barely noticed he was inside. You shut your lips, your body giving up the remaining effort in you to be mad at him. You can feel your eyes weakly tear up as he goes in to hold you. His strong arms around their way around you, the gentle pressure erasing the frustration you felt.
"I know, baby, I know," his voice was smoky, you can tell he was tired too. "I dont deserve you."
You gave in completely to him, letting all your anger solidify into tears that soaked through his tank top. "I'm so awful to my sweet girl." Your hands tightened into fists on his back that you originally wanted to hit him with, but you settled for gripping his top instead. One of his arms squeezed around you in a way that gently let out the bottled emotion in you. The other arm had his hand on the back of your head, the soothing touch making you feel warm and at peace. You hadn't even realized you weren't on the floor, he'd picked you up to keep you at level rather than below him, your legs wrapping around him by default. He kicked the door shut behind him like he owned the place.
His attention didn't leave you for a second, still softly hushing and rocking you. He took you back to the couch, laying you down first then making sure not to lay too much pressure down when he followed atop you. His slender fingers brushed back some stray hairs from your face, and you got a clear look at him for the first time tonight. He looked exhausted, his sharp eyes more weary and heavy-lidded than usual. His usual olive, tan complexion faded to a more pale and washed-out shade. The fight had taken a toll on him, one that shone physically just as it did mentally. Yet that didn't seem to phase him at all, not compared to the way he was bothered by your discomfort. He didn't focus on the way he was three shades lighter than usual or the fact that he hasn't had a blink of sleep all night. Why would he put effort into those invaluable things when he could spend that on you instead?
He went down to plant a kiss on your forehead, one that instantly filled you with relief. His plump lips meeting your skin after what felt like years of depravation from him put you in a deep comfort. It felt like you'd been covered in a blanket of warmth that shielded you from the all the useless fighting that plagued your mind earlier. He let them linger for a moment, one long kiss followed by a shorter peck. He pulled back, a smile finally meeting his face. He wiped a small tear from your cheek that you didn't realize had fallen. "Please don't hate me, baby" he mumbles, his gentle eyes taking in every inch of you. "I'm trying not to" you softly reply.
He burrows his face into your neck like he's trying to hide himself from the reality of how angry you might be. He didn't wanna face it, especially after how much he knew he neglected you. But the thought of you upset and alone made his heart sore, so he'll own up to his actions even if it makes him cringe at himself. He'd been so anxious the hours leading up to this. Being left on delivered didn't help, and he nearly lost it trying to pick between giving you space and throwing himself to his knees in front of you for forgiveness. He expected a barrage of insults and scolds and everything you spewed over text but 10x worse once you saw him in person, so he enjoyed the fact that this wasn't that.
He purred softly, the vibrations low against you. The lack of talk between you two was uncomfy, the rain outside somewhat making up for the silence. You felt his lips pucker to leave a small press to your neck, then another. He wasn't sure if you two were even on "kissing terms", but something in his head prayed that maybe if he kissed you enough it would wash away all the anger in you. Honestly, that would've worked had you been mad at him in the first place. You weren't. Mad at the situation? Yes. Mad at the lack of communication? Even bigger yes. But Riki? Never. Yea maybe you ghosted him for the past few hours or so, but you really didn't know how to solve big issues within your relationship like this. You literally wanted more attention, plain and simple, but writing that on paper sounds way more spoiled and needy than wanting to enjoy a few more dates here and there. What you failed to realize was Riki was more than willing, and what Riki failed to do was prove it.
His lips moved up, tracing a path from your neck to your cheek. The cheek kisses didn't last long before he had his lips woven against yours. You felt as if you could melt at the feeling and drown in his presence. The tension in his body lessened and his shifted more comfortably. Your hand met the back of his neck, something that told him you're enjoying this when words didn't get that across. Despite how often you two fight, you really do think you're perfect for each other. Even when it's too awkward to talk things out, your body language was always in time with his. It's like your minds communicated when your words didn't. Kissing especially seemed to do just the trick. Riki was weak for kisses, and god was he good at it. His fuller lips alone gave him an advantage, and he knew how to move them against yours in a way that fit deliciously instead of that teeth-clashing, eating-each-others'-face-off nonsense he hated.
He pulled back, not far, but enough to give you space to breath. He double checks how you're feeling with his eyes, giving a quick up and down scan before going back in. He knew how easy your relationship would be if you two could just spit out the things in your head, but maybe an easy life wasn't the life for you two. He was fine with this, it still worked at the end of the day. It's not like you two had to be perfect, or that perfect was even this set and consistent definition. You were his whole world, and that's what he loved more than "perfection".
His lips continued against yours, your bodies intertwined. You could feel his heart beating against yours, feel his soft breath on your face. He didn't want to pull back for air, needing every second as close to you as possible. His hands gently carded through your hair, slightly pulling you closer as he did so. Your tongues gently moved against one another. The only thought on your mind was Riki. He was so good at taking away the stress and frustration, even when he's the one who caused it. He presses one last kiss to your mouth before letting his lips roams your face and neck again. Your head tilts to give him more access to your sensitive skin. His eyes were glazed over with want and his demeanor was slipping from detailed and soft to greedy. You keep your hand in his dark locks, partially to egg him on and partially to keep him guided. "Missed you so bad..." he purred against you, his first words to you in a moment. "Wanna make you feel better..."
He kissed and nipped at your collarbone. His hand found yours, locking fingers and brushing his thumb on the back. He parted from your collar to kiss down your wrist, his soft lips on your sensitive pulse making you shudder slightly. He kept his other hand busy with the strap of your flimsy tank, searching your eyes for permission. You sit up to slip it off for him, his hands going to your hips. He pecks all over your neck as a thank you, leaving little purple love bites here and there. "Lay back, baby..." he sets you down onto your back, his hands resting around your waist as his lips start on your chest. He cups one of your soft mounds and eagerly wraps his lips on it. The flick of his tongue on the delicate skin makes you arch off the couch.
He kept his mouth set on your nipple while his free hand toyed with the other, pinching and rubbing. He switches occasionally as to not neglect any part of you. He hums against your chest, sending warm vibrations through your core. His plump lips would keep suction while his tongue swiped against the sensitive area. He pulls off and makes his way down through kisses until his reaches between your legs. By now your body had been doused in the gasoline of his kisses, and his teasing was setting you aflame. He settles between your thighs, his hands gripping either one and brings them apart. You slip off your night shorts and panties at once for him, sitting back to let him take it from there. He's almost taunting, kissing the area around what you need rather than giving into what your body craves. "So soaked.." he murmurs between kisses. You feel his tongue on your thighs, slowly inching towards your wet, puffy lips. Finally he licks a stripe up the middle that makes you readjust for more. He starts with 3 kitten licks before fully diving in. He kept up a nice rhythm: a consistent and not too fast pace, light suction paired with teasing your entrance with his tongue. You repeat his name like a pleasured chant, his presence being the only thing you can think of. No other words leave your mouth before 'Riki' and gasping swears. He targeted your clit, mostly sucking but occupying it with his fingers whenever he moved away from it. He went up and down as he devoured, your legs shaking with him between them. He got you so close to what felt like a promised orgasm before stopping. He rose to his knees, still between you, stripping off his own tank and starting at his pants.
"Spread a little wider pretty thing.." he gets down to his boxers before discarding those too. To think you'd been so mad at him earlier, like his delicious length made up for everything. It stood eagerly as he held it by the base and guided it to your entrance. He let the tip catch onto it teasingly. His brows furrowed in concentration as he slid in, a soft purr leaving his throat. You gasp at the large intrusion, still unable to get over his size despite how much you two get together. This man towered you. His silver chain hung close to your face as he put in the rest of his inches. His breathing was heavy as he bottomed out, staying for a moment to adjust. His eyes catch yours and he smiles. "Feels good?" he lowly asks, to which you nod. You wrap your legs around him as he begins to move, slow strokes at first that get deeper and deeper. You couldn't find the effort to close your dropped jaw with the immense pleasure you were feeling. He was hitting every part of you that itched so badly for him. You tightly gripped onto his strong arm that he held himself up with to the side of you, his other maintained on your waist. He groaned as you squeeze around him, thrusting even deeper to milk the feeling. "So fuckin' good... fuckkk" his eyes closed tightly as he tilts his head back. You felt yourself getting closer with each drill, digging your nails into his biceps. His hips would angle upwards and dug his dick into your sweet spot repeatedly.
He sharply hissed as he felt you come on his dick, keeping up the pace to make it last as long as he could. It didn't take much for his orgasm to follow as well. He buried himself and breathlessly moaned as he emptied himself in your sweet body. He stayed like that for a minute: your bodies tangled and catching breath. After a little cleaning up and more silence between the two of you, you make it to an actual bed instead of the shitty couch you fucked on. He kept you close, spooning you with his arms having you nearly strapped to him. Maybe communication wasn't your thing, but this form of love felt special. A secret, intimate language just between you and Riki.
I just wanna pamper riki with kisses all over his flushed face when he’s sick, blow little raspberries against his lips when he’s sulky, rub his pink cheeks, pet his hurting belly, just pure fluff(but more intimate rather than jokes and games) and sweet talk(babying..?)
A request igggg!😁😁ty
𓆩✧𓆪OMG ANONNN I LOVE YOU FOR REQUESTING TS BRO ♡ please i had so much fun writing ts omdd, i hope i did it the way you wanted !!
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
the apartment was quiet, but it wasn't the heavy, cold kind of silence.
it was just soft.
still.
the only sound was the low, congested hum of riki’s breathing from beneath the mountain of blankets on the bed.
he’d come home from dance practice late the night before with a scratchy throat and a very stubborn refusal to admit he was exhausted, but by morning, a full blown fever had settled into his bones. turning the usually energetic boy into a soft, fragile puddle.
you sat on the edge of the mattress: the bed dipping slightly under your weight as you set down a fresh glass of water and the fever reducers on the nightstand.
riki shifted, his long limbs tangled hopelessly in the heavy sheets as he tried to find a comfortable position.
his face was deeply flushed, a bright feverish pink dusting across the bridge of his nose and high up on his cheekbones. contrasting sharply with the pale, tired skin under his eyes.
his dark hair was a messy, damp mop against the pillow. sticking to his forehead from the sheer amount of sweat.
"riki-ah" you murmured, keeping your voice barely above a whisper so you wouldn't hurt his sensitive aching head.
he let out a tiny pathetic whine in response, his eyelids fluttering open just a crack. his dark eyes were glossy and heavy with exhaustion, looking completely defeated by a simple cold. when he saw you sitting there, his lower lip trembled slightly: turning up into a deep and completely miserable pout.
he was sulking.
he absolutely hated being sick, hated the physical vulnerability of it.
but more than anything, he hated feeling weak and missing out on schedules.
"look at you," you said softly, your heart aching at how small he looked despite his tall height. you leaned over him, placing one hand flat against his forehead.
he was burning up, the heat radiating off his skin in waves.
he moment your cool palm touched his skin, riki let out a long, shaky sigh, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch automatically.
"hurts," he mumbled, his voice thick and raspy. barely audible over the quiet hum of the room's ac.
"i know, baby. i know it does," you whispered back.
your tone dripping with an uncharacteristic softness reserved entirely for moments like this.
you leaned down further, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his burning forehead.
then another one to the crown of his head, right into his messy hair, breathing in the highly familiar scent of his shampoo mixed with the warmth of the fever.
riki’s breathing stuttered for a second before smoothing out, his tense shoulders dropping slightly. you didn't stop there.
you shifted your weight, placing soft and deliberate kisses all over his flushed face. one on his right eyelid, one on the tip of his heated nose, and another on his warm pink cheek.
with every touch of your lips, the stubborn line of his jaw relaxed.
"stop," he muttered weakly, though he didn't move away an inch. in fact, he tilted his face up just a fraction more, silently demanding the exact attention he was pretending to reject and dismiss.
"you're gonna get sick."
"i don't care," you replied against his skin. pressing another kiss right to the corner of his mouth simultaneously.
he let out another tiny, disgruntled sound, his bottom lip sticking out even more. amused by the stubborn pout, you leaned down and blew a quick, soft raspberry right against his dry lips.
the silly, vibrating sound made him flinch in surprise, his eyes flying wide open.
a tiny, reluctant huff of laughter escaped his nose before he quickly buried his face straight into the crook of your neck, hiding his embarrassment and the tiny smile he couldn't seem to repress.
"yah," he complained, his voice muffled against your skin, but his arms came out from under the blanket to wrap loosely around your waist: pulling you down flat against his chest.
"you're so cute when you're grumpy," you teased gently, your fingers finding their way into the back of his hair. untangling the soft strands with slow, rhythmic strokes.
he didn't answer.
just squeezed your waist a little tighter, his hot breath ticking against your collarbone in a continuous rhythm. almost calming.
you stayed like that for a long time, just letting him anchor himself to you while the room grew warmer with the afternoon light filtering through the blinds
after a while, you felt him shift uncomfortably. a small tremor running through his frame.
a faint gasp left his lips, and his grip on your waist tightened into a sudden, tense clutch.
"stomach?" you asked softly, recognizing the exact way he curled inward when he was in pain. he nodded against your shoulder, a tiny, almost miserable sound escaping his throat.
"cramping. it feels tight."
"let me see," you murmured. you gently came out of his tight hold, shifting so you were lying down right beside him on the mattress, face-to-face.
you reached under the heavy duvet, your hand sliding beneath the soft fabric of his oversized t-shirt. your palm found his stomach, which was tense and rigid from the discomfort of the fever and stress.
the moment you started moving your hand in slow, circular motions, pressing just firmly enough to ease the tension, riki let out a long, shaky breath, his entire body deflating against yours.
"is that okay?" you whispered, looking closely at his face.
his eyes were closed again, the thick lashes casting long, dark shadows over his pink cheeks. "yeah..."
"you're doing so well. just breathe for me, okay? let the medicine work."
you said, your voice dropping into that quiet tone that you usually avoided, but right now, it was exactly what he needed to feel safe.
you kept up the steady rhythm, your thumb occasionally brushing against the soft skin of his side to soothe him.
with your other hand, you reached up to gently rub his cheek, your thumb smoothing over the fever flushed skin, wiping away a stray bead of sweat that had gathered near his temple.
riki melted entirely under the undivided attention.
he was usually so independent. always trying to act older and more mature than he actually was, but in the quiet of the bedroom with your hands soothing his aches, he let all of that just...go.
he slid his leg over yours, tangling your limbs together beneath the heavy blankets, pulling you as close as humanly possible until there was absolutely no space left between you.
his head rested right under your chin. his nose pressing into the soft skin of your throat as he sought out your warmth subconsciously.
"thank you," he whispered, the words so soft they were almost inaudible amidst the quiet of the room.
you smiled into the dark of his hair, pressing one final kiss to the top of his head while your hand continued its slow circles over his belly.
"sleep, baby," you murmured against his hair.
riki let out one last deep sigh, his body finally going completely limp against yours as sleep pulled him under.
╰┈➤ : ̗̀➛ simi's note: im doing more riki fluff later bc im obsessed bro
SYPNOSIS : in which…the guys thought it would be funny to play a little prank on you, not knowing you hadn’t completely healed from the way they used to treat you before debuting.
CORTIS 6TH MEMBER AU
a/n: two updates in one day omg…ALSO I LOVE THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH AIAOSOSO I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT AS MUCH AS ME…
01 | 02
series mlist
the past few days had been hell for everyone. avoiding the others wasn’t exactly difficult since you were barely home anymore. whenever practice ended, you usually disappeared with allday project and stayed out until ridiculous hours of the night. if you did return to the dorm, it was usually long after everyone had gone to sleep. you would quietly let yourself in, grab a blanket from the couch, and sleep there until morning before leaving again. the guys had tried everything to catch you long enough for a conversation, but every attempt somehow failed.
even during practice there wasn’t an opportunity. lately, you had been training like your life depended on it. the second practice started, you completely locked in. every break was spent stretching, rehearsing, or running through choreography again. if anyone tried approaching you, you always found an excuse to leave. after a few days, everyone finally realized you weren’t just busy. you were avoiding them.
nobody was taking it well. keonho had probably sent enough texts to fill an entire novel by now, and martin had already tried cornering you twice after practice. even seonghyeon had sent an apology message, which shocked everyone considering he hated talking about his feelings. none of it worked. every time you thought about that stupid prank, your stomach twisted all over again. what hurt wasn’t even the prank itself. it was the fact that they all knew exactly why it affected you so badly.
especially james.
out of everyone, james was the one you couldn’t stop thinking about.
that was how you ended up sitting on the beach late one night. the ocean stretched endlessly in front of you while the moon reflected across the water in a long silver line. the waves rolled onto the shore in a steady rhythm, and for once your thoughts felt a little quieter. you had been sitting there for nearly half an hour when you heard footsteps approaching from behind.
normally, you would’ve ignored it, but something about the pace felt familiar. a second later, someone lowered themselves into the sand beside you. you didn’t even bother looking. you already knew who it was.
james.
for several minutes, neither of you said anything. he sat beside you with his hands resting on his knees while staring out at the water. surprisingly, the silence wasn’t awkward. it never really had been between the two of you. eventually, you let out a slow breath and broke it yourself.
“out of all people, i thought you’d be the last one to do something like that.”
beside you, james lowered his gaze and nodded once. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t defend himself, and didn’t try making excuses. he simply waited. he knew you weren’t finished.
you laughed quietly to yourself, not because anything was funny, but because you genuinely didn’t know what else to do. “i mean, seriously. i understand keonho or sean. they’re idiots. i love them, but they’re idiots. half the time they don’t even realize they’re doing too much until somebody yells at them.”
that earned the smallest smile from james before it disappeared again.
“but you?” you finally turned your head toward him. “you’re supposed to be my older brother.”
james visibly winced.
“you were the first person in this group who actually saw me as me. before everyone got close to me. before all of that. it was you.” your eyes drifted back toward the ocean. “you saw how badly all that trainee stuff affected me. you saw everything.”
the words came easier now that you had started.
“that’s why i thought you’d stop them. or at least tell them it wasn’t going to be funny. you were there when i cried about that stuff. you were there when i thought nobody wanted me around. you were there when i felt like i didn’t belong here.” you swallowed hard. “so when all of that happened again, even for one day, i honestly felt like we were right back at the beginning.”
for a moment, neither of you spoke. the only sound was the ocean.
when james finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.
“i know.”
you didn’t say anything.
james dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. “and honestly, that’s exactly why i’ve felt like shit this entire week.” he stared down at the sand while speaking. “i’m not gonna sit here and make excuses because there really aren’t any. we thought it’d be a stupid prank. that’s the truth. we thought you’d get annoyed, we’d tell you it was a joke, everybody would laugh, and we’d move on.”
he shook his head.
“but we didn’t stop to think about what it’d actually feel like for you. especially me.”
you glanced over at him.
“i should’ve known better than anyone,” he continued. “i remember those trainee days. i remember finding you crying after practice. i remember how long it took before you finally got comfortable around everyone. the second you came home excited about seeing allday project, i already knew this was probably a bad idea. i should’ve stopped it right there.”
the guilt on his face was obvious.
“and i’m sorry.”
the apology sat between you for a few moments. you didn’t know what to say to it. part of you was still angry. part of you was still hurt. but another part of you could tell he genuinely meant every word.
james looked back out at the water and laughed quietly to himself. “also, whether you like it or not, you’re basically our little sister.”
you immediately rolled your eyes.
“there it is.”
“what?”
“the sibling speech.”
james grinned.
“it’s an important speech.”
“it’s a terrible speech.”
“still important.”
despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched slightly.
james immediately pointed at you.
“that was almost a smile.”
“shut up.”
“it was.”
“james.”
“i saw it.”
you groaned and buried your face in your hands while he laughed quietly beside you. for the first time all week, the tension between you didn’t feel quite as suffocating.
after that, neither of you said much. surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. if anything, it reminded you of your predebut days. back when you and james weren’t particularly close yet, but somehow always ended up sitting together after practice. neither of you had known how to start conversations properly back then, so you mostly sat in comfortable silence until somebody finally thought of something worth saying.
eventually, james pushed himself to his feet and brushed the sand off his clothes. then he held out a hand toward you.
you stared at it for a second.
then sighed dramatically.
“you’re annoying.”
“coming from you, that’s basically a compliment.”
rolling your eyes, you grabbed his hand and let him pull you up.
the walk back to the dorm was almost completely silent. strangely enough, it felt familiar. not because everything was fixed, because it definitely wasn’t. there were still conversations waiting for you back at the dorm and apologies you hadn’t heard yet. but for the first time in days, the distance between you and james didn’t feel quite so impossible anymore.
and for now, that was enough.
the next morning, you woke up before everyone else like you had been doing for the past week. for a moment, you simply stared at the ceiling. your usual routine would be to quietly leave before anybody woke up, spend the entire day avoiding the dorm, and come back sometime after midnight. honestly, you were already halfway through convincing yourself to do exactly that.
instead, you sat up with a sigh and climbed out of bed.
the apartment was completely silent as you made your way into the living room. pale morning sunlight was peeking through the gaps in the curtains. after a moment of hesitation, you walked over and opened the blinds. sunlight immediately flooded the room, making you squint.
you stood there awkwardly for a second, then shook your head. if you were already here, you might as well do something useful.
the kitchen was exactly as disastrous as you expected. judging by the state of a frying pan sitting in the sink, somebody had attempted cooking recently and failed miserably. you didn’t even want to know who.
with a sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and got started.
despite everything that had happened, you still knew exactly how everyone liked their breakfast. james liked his eggs plain. martin liked extra cheese. juhoon hated having too much pepper. keonho somehow managed to complain about every breakfast food imaginable except bacon. seonghyeon preferred his eggs cooked longer than everyone else.
it was annoyingly easy to remember.
by the time you were done, six different plates sat neatly on the countertop. beside them were six different drinks. water for james. orange juice for martin. cherry juice for juhoon. cold milk for keonho. warm milk for seonghyeon.
you had no idea why you remembered all of that.
afterward, you grabbed your own bowl of cereal and sat at the table. you had never liked eggs much anyway. the apartment remained quiet for a while before you finally heard movement coming from one of the bedrooms.
a few seconds later, james shuffled into the living room.
his hair was sticking up in every direction imaginable and his face was still puffy from sleep. he looked half conscious at best. the moment his eyes landed on you, though, you watched something visibly relax in his expression.
like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
james simply grabbed his plate and drink before sitting down beside you. the two of you ate quietly. it wasn’t awkward. if anything, it felt surprisingly normal.
that peace lasted all of five minutes.
the next person to wake up was juhoon. he walked into the living room while rubbing his eyes, clearly still half asleep, when he noticed you sitting there.
he froze.
without saying a single word, he turned around and walked straight back to the bedroom.
“…okay.” you frowned.
james immediately started laughing into his water.
a minute later, juhoon returned, this time holding a folded piece of paper. he walked directly over to you and awkwardly shoved it into your hands before taking several steps backward.
you stared at him. slowly, you started unfolding the paper.
“no, wait.”
you paused.
juhoon looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “don’t read it now.”
you looked up. “why?”
“because it’s embarrassing.”
you immediately became interested. “how embarrassing?”
“very.”
“juhoon.”
“please.”
you grinned. “if this is too corny, i’m literally never letting you live it down.”
juhoon closed his eyes and sighed like a man accepting his fate. without another word, he grabbed his breakfast and sat down as far away from you as physically possible.
you laughed quietly and slipped the paper into your pocket. whatever was written on it could wait until practice.
a few minutes later, the peaceful atmosphere was shattered by yelling.
“i’m telling you that’s not how microwaves work.”
“then explain why it started smoking.”
“because you’re stupid.”
“that’s not an explanation.”
the remaining three idiots.
their argument continued all the way down the hallway before they entered the kitchen together. the second they walked in, however, all three of them froze.
their eyes landed on you.
the silence lasted approximately two seconds.
“oh thank god.”
before you could react, keonho launched himself across the room.
you had literally just taken a bite of cereal when he wrapped his arms around you. the sudden impact made you immediately choke.
“i’m sorry y/n, i love you, you’re my baby sister, please forgive me, i’ll never do that again, i’m horrible, i’m a terrible person, you’re just a little kid—”
you awkwardly patted his back while coughing. “get him away from me.”
james took another bite of breakfast. “nah.”
eventually, martin grabbed keonho by the hoodie and physically dragged him away. keonho hit the floor dramatically and kept whining.
your relief lasted about three seconds, because then you noticed martin opening his arms. “no.”
martin ignored you. the next thing you knew, he had somehow folded himself into your lap despite being significantly larger than you.
“we don’t deserve you,” he cried dramatically. “if it wasn’t for you, we’d be dead. we’d be starving. we’d be eating drywall.”
“martin, you’re crushing me.” you coughed while trying to shove him away.
eventually, after several seconds of struggling, you managed to push him off. martin immediately collapsed onto the floor beside keonho.
both of them remained there.
your attention drifted toward seonghyeon. unlike the others, he hadn’t said much. he was already sitting at the table with his breakfast in front of him. when your eyes met, he immediately froze.
for a second, neither of you looked away. then seonghyeon lowered his gaze.
you frowned slightly. the tension was definitely still there, which was strange.
you had already forgiven keonho. honestly, the second he threw himself at you and nearly caused your death by cereal, most of your anger disappeared. martin was martin. juhoon had apparently written you some sort of emotional apology letter. james had already talked things out with you last night.
but seonghyeon felt different. he didn’t feel angry, defensive or anything like that.
he just looked nervous as hell. almost like he’d been rehearsing something in his head for days and still hadn’t figured out how to say it.
and judging by the way he kept staring down at his breakfast instead of eating it, you had a feeling that conversation was coming sooner rather than later.
practice had gone surprisingly well.
the atmosphere was completely different from how it had been a week ago. everyone was joking around again, teasing each other whenever someone messed up choreography, and arguing over things that didn’t matter. for the first time in days, things felt normal.
during break, you slipped away to the balcony with a can of cola.
the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky orange and pink as a cool breeze drifted through the air. after making sure nobody was following you, you finally pulled the folded letter out of your pocket.
juhoon’s handwriting was terrible.
you immediately smiled.
dear y/n.
first of all, before you start making fun of my handwriting, shut up.
i know you’re already laughing.
anyway.
i’m not really good at saying stuff like this out loud, so i’m writing it instead. james told me that’s a coward move, but i’m choosing to ignore him because he’s old.
i wanted to say i’m sorry.
not just for the prank. i’m sorry for every time i’ve made you feel like you weren’t important to us. because you are.
i don’t think i tell you that enough.
actually, i don’t think i tell you that at all.
you do so many things for us that none of us even think about until they’re suddenly gone. you remember everyone’s schedules. you remind us to eat. you know exactly how everybody likes their food. you somehow always know when one of us is having a bad day before we even say anything.
and the thing is, you act like nobody notices.
but i do.
i notice how every night before bed, you stand on the balcony for a few minutes and stare outside before going to sleep.
i notice how you always leave the last piece of food for somebody else even when you’re still hungry.
i notice how you pretend you’re not tired because you don’t want anybody worrying about you.
i notice how you always check if everyone’s home before you go to bed.
i notice how every time one of us gets sick, you somehow become the most annoying person alive because you’re constantly checking on us.
i notice how you’re always the first person to congratulate us when something goes right and the first person to comfort us when something goes wrong.
you think nobody notices those things.
but i do. and i know the others do too.
i think sometimes you forget how much you’ve become part of our lives.
if i’m being honest, i can’t really remember what the dorm was like before you moved in, which is probably a problem because it definitely existed before then.
but you get what i mean.
you’re family.
you annoy me constantly. you steal my hoodies, and i steal your stupid skinny jeans. you threaten violence every other day. you insult me at least seventeen times daily.
but you’re still family. and i love you.
even if saying that makes me want to launch myself into traffic.
i’m really sorry, y/n and i hope someday you’ll forgive me completely.
please burn this letter after reading it. seriously. i’m begging.
love, juhoon.
p.s. if you show this to anyone i’ll tell everybody about that embarrassing thing you did in 2024.
p.p.s. you know exactly which thing i’m talking about.
you finished reading and immediately started laughing through the tears in your eyes. by the end of the letter, your vision had become blurry. stupid idiot.
a small smile remained on your face as you carefully folded the paper and slipped it back into your pocket.
that’s when the balcony door opened.
you looked up at seonghyeon who stood there. the second your eyes met, he looked like he wanted to run away. instead, he awkwardly walked over and sat in the chair opposite yours.
for a moment, neither of you spoke. then you sighed. “i know there’s stuff you wanna get off your chest, so just say it. you know i’ll never judge.”
seonghyeon immediately looked down. his fingers twisted together in his lap. he chewed anxiously at the inside of his cheek while trying to find the words.
you waited.
eventually, he looked up. the second he did, a tear slipped down his face.
your heart immediately dropped. “seonghyeon—”
“i was jealous.”
you froze as he laughed shakily and wiped at his eyes. “that’s it. that’s the reason.” more tears followed.
“every time you talked about allday project, you’d look so happy.” his voice cracked slightly. “like… really happy.”
you stared at him quietly.
“and i started thinking maybe that was because they were your first choice.” another tear slid down his cheek.
“and maybe we weren’t.”
your stomach twisted.
seonghyeon looked away. “i know it sounds stupid.”
“it doesn’t.”
“it does.” he laughed bitterly. “because instead of talking to you like a normal person, i got jealous.” his shoulders shook.
“i kept thinking maybe you still liked them more than us. maybe you were only here because you had to be. maybe if you could choose, you’d pick them every time.”
you felt your chest tighten. “seonghyeon…”
“and then i started thinking about how i’m probably the member you’re least close to.” his voice had gotten so quiet you could barely hear him.
“i mean… can you blame me?” he wiped at his eyes again. “i treated you like absolute shit before debut.” the bluntness of it made you flinch.
“and i know we moved past it. i know you’ve forgiven me.” he shook his head. “but part of me always thought maybe you didn’t forgive me completely.” the words seemed to physically hurt him.
“so when everyone started talking about pranks, i suggested ignoring you.” he laughed bitterly. “because i was jealous.”
another tear rolled down his face. “and because i’m an idiot.”
by now, tears were running down your own face too.
“i’m so sorry, y/n.” the guilt in his voice was unbearable. “i’m sorry for the prank. i’m sorry for being jealous. i’m sorry for everything before debut. i’m just… i’m sorry.”
for a few seconds, neither of you moved. then you grabbed your chair and dragged it closer. before seonghyeon could react, you wrapped your arms around him.
immediately, he broke. his face buried itself in your shoulder as sobs shook his entire body.
you held him tighter and before you knew it, you were crying too. “you’re so stupid,” you mumbled through your tears.
he nodded immediately. “i know.”
“you’re actually so stupid.” another nod.
“i know.”
you laughed weakly, then hugged him tighter. “i love you all equally, seonghyeon.”
his shoulders froze while you pulled back just enough to look at him. “you guys are not my last choice.”
more tears spilled down his face.
“not even close.”
he immediately buried his face back into your shoulder.
“please don’t ever think that again.”
seonghyeon nodded so fast it was almost painful. for the first time in days, you felt some of the tension finally disappear.
inside the practice room, meanwhile, absolute chaos was unfolding.
martin was standing by the door with his phone out.
“clip that, clip that!” keonho giggled from beside him
“i am clipping it.” martin whisper yelled at keonho
james looked exhausted. “guys, she literally just forgave us. let’s not make her angry again.”
neither of them listened.
juhoon, meanwhile, looked like he was experiencing genuine psychological distress.
“i need that letter back.”
nobody answered him.
“i’m serious.”
still nothing.
“i need to burn it.”
keonho immediately looked over. “was it that bad?”
In which your period gets the better of you, and Martin thinks you look like sad glorp when you cry?
MARTIN EDWARDS X FEM!READER (1.4k words) — established relationship, period & blood mentions, hurt comfort, martin calls reader baby, my love, and mama, lowkey very down bad and mushy behavior on both ends lol.
⋆˚꩜｡ dae’s note : and i DO have to write a period related fic every time im on mine! i need martin 😞 ALSO i cannot for the life of me figure out what artist the glorp art is from so if anyone happens to know please tell me so i can add credit 🥹
⊹ ࣪ ˖ requests open for cortis ! i write headcannons, one-shots, text fics, and love to represent for my plus-sized readers. feel free to send requests, thoughts, or simply chat! <3
dividers from @pixopix !!
Martin said you were going out for dinner.
Just dinner, you thought.
He knew you started your period, and you’d already expressed that you’re feeling it this time around. It wasn’t just occasional cramps and the inconvenience of bleeding, it was severe, constant pains, fatigue, a lingering headache, nausea, and your moods being all over the place. You weren’t feeling your greatest, to put it lightly.
So, when he brought up stopping at a store you guys frequent, you reluctantly agreed. You could do one store, and it did sound nice, but you had your mind set already. Get food, go home, take a long shower, and pass the fuck out, to hopefully sleep off some of the pain.
After the first stop, he suggested another. You should have said no. He wouldn’t have been mad, or even disappointed. In fact, he’d have been more than content to get dinner and head home, but he assumed some shopping might make you feel better. He loves spoiling you, and if it would make your day better, why would he not?
Not to mention, you and him regularly go “lurking” as you’ve come to call it. It’s always spontaneous, usually the same spots, and even after going multiple times a month, you never seem to get bored of it. Maybe it’s just because you’re doing it together. It’s familiar, and just domestic enough to not be draining.
Given your state of discomfort, though, you simply weren’t in the mood. You were under the impression that Martin specifically wanted to make the stops, not necessarily that he was doing it to try and put a little pep in your step.
Which is why you powered through. If he wanted to go to the various stores, you didn’t want to stop him from having fun just because you felt like shit…but then the pain relievers you took started wearing off.
By the time Martin was suggesting another store, you were overheating, cramping, tired, and damn near starving.
You snapped at him. It wasn’t cruel, just a harshly spoken “I thought we were getting food.”
Martin blinked, eyes flicking up from his phone screen—where he was likely finding directions to that next stop—to meet your gaze.
He stared at you for a long moment, clearly taken aback. Yet, he simply nodded, and with a simple, “Let’s get food, baby,” started the car and began towards the restaurant you both had picked.
Martin moved on fast. He didn’t take it personally, and somehow, that made you feel worse than you had already felt about snapping at him.
It wasn’t like you’d been seriously mean, but the way he looked at you kept replaying in your head. You weren’t sure if he actually looked that pitiful, or if your brain had contorted it to be a hundred times worse as a reflection of your guilt, but either way, you felt terrible for it.
You’d already been extra irritable and sensitive the last few days. You woke up to your period, which only seemed to further push your buttons. The cherry on top was letting your emotional state get the best of you.
Which is why, by the time Martin pulls up to your house, you’re in tears.
“Text me when you— Baby.”
Martin says the petname with such tenderness, it makes your heart squeeze its way into your throat, choking you up even worse.
“What’s wrong, my love?” He asks, reaching out to take your hands in his, his brows furrowed with worry.
A broken laugh mangled with a pitiful sob escapes your lips, and Martin frowns deeply as he lifts his hands to wipe your tears, cupping your cheeks.
“I feel so bad,” you manage to cry out, bawling in the passenger seat of his car, “I was mean to you—“ You sob, sniffling as his thumbs caress your wet cheeks.
“You didn’t do anything wrong and I was just overwhelmed because I feel so gross and my cramps are so bad and—“
Martin listens intently, despite your jumbled and choked out words. You curl into his touch, letting his hands support your head, and he gently guides you to lean over the console, placing your head against his chest. It’s not the most convenient position, but it’s good enough for the time being.
When your words morph into sobs, he shakes his head slightly, rubbing his thumbs against your skin.
“Baby, my love, mamas, you were not mean,” he assures you, rubbing your back in big circles, his free hand lingering on your face. “You’re not feeling good. It’s okay — and, like, you’re on your period. That’s a perfectly valid reason to be more sensitive. I get it….matter of fact, I don’t, because I don’t get periods, but you know what I mean,” he laughs at himself, and your lips threaten to curve into a smile, just because he’s such a dork sometimes.
“I’m sorry,” You sniffle, sighing shakily at the feeling of his lips on your head.
“Don’t be sorry,” he muses with a shake of his head. He holds you there for a long moment, car idling outside of your house.
“…Don’t want you to go home,” You mumble after a few minutes of silence, pulling back to look up at him.
He looks down at you, wiping your eyes once more. “Want me to stay the night?” He asks quietly, voice a soothing hum.
You nod, the pitiful look on your face making his heart ache because how can you be so cute?
Martin has grown familiar with your bedroom, and your house in general, so he makes himself comfortable while you shower.
He’s sprawled across your bed when you come back into the room, his eyes half lidded with sleep as a youtube video plays quietly on your tv.
“Feel better?” he asks lowly, blinking a few times to wake himself up. You sigh, tossing your dirty clothes into your laundry basket, before crawling onto the bed with him.
“Head hurts. Sleepy. Cramps.” You sit on your knees next to him, resting a hand on his abdomen.
He hums sympathetically, reaching out to gently rub your arm. “Going through it today, aren’t you, mama?” He asks, smiling knowingly at your sad little nod.
“S’ okay, baby,” he gently grips your hand, guiding you to lay down with him. You hook your leg over his hip, his hand finds your thigh like it always does, and he wraps his other arm loosely around your back, while yours drapes over his chest.
He kisses your head, then your forehead, then your lips, when you tilt your head up at him. The kiss is soft and sweet, a silent reassurance that he’s got you, that he gets it.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” you mumble against his lips, and when he pulls back, you look like you’re about to burst into tears all over again.
He smiles slightly, sighing fondly. “Even though you don’t have to be, I accept your apology,” he murmurs promisingly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
When he looks down at you again, his smile grows, like it always does when he’s being cheeky. “You look like sad glorp,” he teases quietly.
“Sad glorp?” You echo, with a sappy little laugh that makes his chest hurt.
“Yeah,” he chuckles lowly, rubbing his hand up and down the length of your thigh. “You look cute,” he adds, making you roll your eyes.
You don’t feel cute. In fact, you feel ridiculous for various reasons, but you do feel loved, and that is something you cherish wholeheartedly. Something Martin has always managed to make you feel, and feel it sincerely.
“I love you so much,” you mumble, eyes watering as an overwhelming wave of emotion washes over you, making your throat tighten, and your eyes burn.
“Oh my gosh,” Martin laughs breathily. He’s not mad at you for being emotional. If anything, he’s so utterly endeared to you, that seeing you like this is near intolerable. How is such a miserable being—in this moment—going to look this precious?
“You’re adorable. I love you more,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Come here, mama,” he whispers lovingly, as a tear rolls down your cheek. He pulls you against his chest, wrapping his arms snugly around you.
OMG HIII I LOVE YOUR WRITING!! can i request a fic with either keonho or seonghyeon where the reader is the 6th member of cortis and is the youngest, and as they're preparing for their comeback she's been really overworking herself and she gets sick with a fever and is really tired and burnt out so they take care of her and make it really cute and hurt/comfort?? THANK UUUU
when lights finally dim
↬ pairings: seonghyeon x 6th member!reader ↬ warnings: overworking, exhaustion, burnout, fever, emotional vulnerability, light illness ↬ genre: idol au, fluff, slow burn, hurt/comfort. ↬ wc: 2,400 words. ↬ synopsis: the youngest member of cortis refuses to slow down before their very big comeback, until her body makes that decision for her.
↬ EIGHT DAYS BEFORE THE COMEBACK
the practice room clock had read 11:47 PM. everyone had stopped paying attention to it hours ago.
music blasted through the speakers for what felt like the thousandth time that day as the six of you stood in formation. again.
"and five, six, seven, eight!"
the choreographer sighed.
"reset."
you nodded before anyone else could.
"i'm okay."
no one had asked.
seonghyeon had glanced over.
your smile appeared immediately when you noticed him looking, the kind you always wore whenever someone seemed concerned.
he knew that smile too well. it meant the opposite.
then, the music started again.
by the end of the run through, your breathing had become very uneven, but instead of asking for water, you jogged back into position.
"one more."
james blinked, staring at you with concern.
"you sure?"
you laughed.
"if we do it one more time, we'll get it."
the other members exchanged looks.
one more became four more tries.
two hours later, everyone collapsed to the floor.
martin ordered late night food from a convenience store.
juhoon was stretched against the mirror.
you were the only one that was still practicing.
again.
again.
and again.
the move where you spun and landed perfectly had been bothering you. you missed it once, then twice, so you kept going.
seonghyeon stood up.
"you're done."
you looked over.
"i'm almost there."
"you've been at the same move for around forty minutes."
"i just need—“
"you need to sit."
"i can sit later."
"you said that yesterday."
"and?"
"and the day before yesterday."
you laughed.
"you sound just like my mom."
he folded his arms across his chest.
"good."
you stuck your tongue out before returning to the mirror.
he sighed.
"this kid."
the new comeback was huge. new concept, new styling, new expectation.
articles were everywhere, already calling it CORTIS' biggest era yet. everyone felt pressure.
but yours seemed much more different.
being the youngest meant you always felt like you had to prove yourself. if someone complimented your vocals, you worked on your dancing.
if someone praised your dancing, you practiced your expressions.
if someone had praised everything…
you searched for something else to improve on.
the company stylist arrived the following morning. they had began fitting outfits.
you stood while pins were adjusted to your jacket.
"you've lost weight."
you blinked.
"huh?"
"this fit perfectly fine last week."
"i'm fine."
"you've been eating, right?"
"mhm."
seonghyeon looked up from his phone, you answered too quickly.
later, lunch had arrived. everyone grabbed boxes. you opened yours. then your phone buzzed.
you checked it.
practice schedule updates. you quietly closed your food.
"i'll eat later."
seonghyeon reached over.
"no."
"hm?"
he pushed the box back towards you.
"now."
"i will."
"now."
you smiled.
"you're so bossy."
"i'm serious."
"so am i."
five minutes later he looked over, your food was untouched. you had fallen asleep sitting upright.
he gently tapped your shoulder.
"hey."
your eyes opened instantly.
"i'm awake!"
"i know."
"no, really."
"you were literally holding your chopsticks while sleeping."
your cheeks had turned a bright shade of pink.
"no i wasn't."
keonho pulled out his phone.
"i took a picture."
"no!"
you lunged towards him.
all the other members laughed. for a moment, everything felt normal.
it didn't last for too long.
the next rehearsal was harder.
the choreography had changed.
the vocal arrangement had changed as well.
you stayed behind after everyone had left. the mirrors only reflected on one person now.
you.
you repeated the bridge.
again.
again.
and again.
your voice cracked. you coughed.
"it's fine."
you drank water.
again.
again.
and again.
outside the room, seonghyeon stood quietly. he never went in, he just watched.
after another twenty minutes, you finally sat down. not because you wanted to, but because the room suddenly tilted.
you rubbed your eyes.
"i'm just tired."
you stood, the floor had disagreed.
he caught your arm before you hit it. you looked very surprised.
"when did you get here?"
"…don't tell the others."
"why?"
"they'll worry."
"they already do."
you looked away instantly.
"i can't be the weak one."
he answered immediately.
"you're not."
the silence that followed somehow felt much more louder than the music ever had been.
the next morning, you arrived first. the staff looked surprised.
"you slept here?"
you laughed awkwardly.
"…maybe."
"you mean yes."
you scratched your neck."
"i was working."
"since when?"
you had checked your phone, it was at 3%.
the time stamp on your last practice video read 3:18 AM. your first schedule was starting at 7:00 AM.
four hours. that was enough, right?
you smiled. "i'm okay."
except this time, even you didn't believe it.
↬ FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE COMEBACK
"no."
that was seonghyeon's answer after watching you nearly miss a step.
"i'm fine."
"no."
"i just slipped."
"no."
"it happens."
"no."
"you only know just one word today?"
"apparently."
the members tried not to laugh. you pouted dramatically.
"you're being mean."
"i'm being correct."
by afternoon, the air conditioning in the practice room had felt freezing. everyone else complained it was too cold for them.
you secretly thought it was too hot.
your sweatshirt stayed on. then another. your hands shook slightly while you opened your water bottle. you blamed the cap.
the choreographer finally had called a break. you immediately stood to practice alone.
the manager stopped you.
"break."
"i know."
"so…?"
"i'm going to practice during it."
"that's not what a break is."
you grinned. "it is for me."
that evening the members climbed into the van. you took the window seat
normally you talked non stop. today you just rested your forehead against the glass. the city lights had blurred together.
seonghyeon glanced over.
"you okay?"
"mhm."
"you've answered everything today with 'mhm'."
"mhm."
"…exactly."
he gently reached over and touched your forehead. you flinched.
"what?"
his expression changed.
"you're burning up."
"no i'm not."
"you absolutely are."
"nope."
"you have a fever."
"no."
"you are literally arguing with temperature."
"i don't get sick."
the manager turned around to see what the commotion was.
"what happened?"
before seonghyeon could answer, you smiled.
"nothing!"
then you sneezed. twice.
silence.
back at the dorms, everyone surrounded you.
"i'm fine."
"no," martin said.
"it's allergies."
"in december?" james added.
"…seasonal?"
"what season?" seonghyeon asked.
"…all of them?"
no one believed a word you said.
a thermometer appeared.
"no."
"yes."
"i don't want to."
"too bad."
"i'll survive."
"thats exactly why were checking," keonho said.
you crossed your arms. "this is betrayal."
juhoon whispered,
"she's dramatic when she's sick."
"i'm not sick!"
beep.
the manager looked at the screen. then back at you, then back.
"…you're done for today."
"what?"
"bed."
"i have to do recording."
"no."
"i have--"
"bed. now."
you lost. mostly because standing suddenly felt physically impossible. your legs felt twice your weight. the hallway had seemed longer,.
you reached your room. then stopped.
your vision blurred.
the next thing you knew, someone was holding onto your shoulders,
"easy.'
it was seonghyeon.
"i can walk you know."
"i know."
"i'm walking."
"you've been standing still for about forty seconds."
"oh."
the companies doctor confirmed it.
high fever, sever exhaustion.
"you need to rest."
"i have schedules."
"you need rest."
"the comeback--"
"you need rest."
you looked defeated. the room became quiet. finally, in a tiny voice, you asked.
"…did i mess everything up?"
he didn't answer immediately. because he knew that wasn't what mattered.
seonghyeon sat beside you.
"you know what's actually messing things up."
you shook your head.
"you thinking you have to earn your place every single day."
your eyes widened.
"i do."
"no."
"i'm the youngest."
"so?"
"i don't want anyone regretting adding me to the lineup."
he stared at you, then laughed once.
"you think any of us want cortis without you?"
you looked down.
"i don't know."
he gently flicked your forehead. "dummy."
for the first time in weeks. you cried, not loudly, just quietly.
tiny tears falling from your eyes, onto your blanket.
"i'm trying really hard."
"i know."
"what if it's still not good enough?"
he answered without any hesitation.
"it already is."
that night the dorm looked very different. someone made soup, someone found medicine, someone brought extra blankets, someone complained that you always stole their hoodies anyway, so you might as well wear one now.
the living room became a tiny hospital tun by five people who have no clue on what they were doing.
you couldn't stop smiling.
at 2:17 AM, you woke up.
the fever hadn't broken, you sat up slowly.
a blanket slipped off your shoulders.
"you awake?"
you turned.
seoghyeon sat on the floor beside the couch.
"…have you been there the whole time i was sleeping?"
he shrugged.
"maybe."
"you should sleep."
"so should you."
"you have practice tomorrow."
"so do you."
"i won't be there."
"no."
"…sorry."
he had blinked genuinely confused.
"for what?"
"for becoming a problem."
his face softened.
"you know what family does when a person gets sick?"
"what?"
"they take care of them."
he pulled the fuzzy white blanket back over your shoulders.
"so quit apologizing."
for the first time since preparations began, your eyes closed without worrying about the next day.
↬ COMEBACK DAY
three days later. the fever had went away. but the exhaustion was still there.
the doctor allowed you to return under one condition.
“no overworking yourself.”
everyone had looked at you.
you looked at the floor.
“…i’ll try.”
the practice room erupted.
“she’s back!” martin had yelled dramatically.
keonho pretended to cry.
juhoon had handed you a water bottle before you even sat down.
your manager pointed.
“drink.”
“i just got here.”
“drink it.”
you sighed. “fine.”
seonghyeon smiled. “good.”
things were much more different now.
whenever rehearsal ended, someone dragged you away from the mirror.
whenever meals arrived, someone watched you as you finished the meal.
whenever you said, “i’m okay.”
someone answered, “we know. eat anyways.”
it became a running joke.
the showcase arrived. fans, lights, and cameras.
the countdown began.
your heart raced. “what if i mess up?”
seonghyeon adjusted your in ear monitor.
“what if you don’t?”
“what if i forget everything?”
“you won’t.”
“what if—“
he held a hand up.
“no more what ifs.”
you nodded. then he smiled.
“and if i do something wrong?”
“we’re six people.”
he pointed towards the stage. “nobody’s falling alone.”
the music had started. one beat, two, three. the curtain lifted.
thousands of lightsticks sparkled like stars across the arena.
you forgot your fear. your body has remembered everything. the choreography flowed. the vocals soared.
every member found the others exactly where they needed to be.
when your center part came, the cheers became deafening.
for a split second, your eyes met seonghyeon’s.
he gave you the tiniest nod.
see?
you’re here.
the performance had ended. applause echoed everywhere.
backstage, everyone collapsed onto the couches. sweaty, happy, exhausted.
the manager walked in. “you all did very well.”
the room had filled with cheers. the manager looked directly at you.
“and you.”
you stood up straighter.
“…yes?”
“i’m very proud of you.”
you smiled. “thank you.”
“but.”
“…but?”
“you took your break.”
the other members started dramatically clapping.
you groaned.
“can we stop talking about that forever?”
“no.”
“please?”
“no.”
“i’ll buy everyone snacks.”
tempting, but still no.
later that night, everyone had returned to the dorm, you stepped onto the balcony.
the city shimmered below. the door slid open.
seonghyeon walked outside carrying two cups of warm tea. he handed you one.
“you okay?”
this time, you thought before you answered.
then you smiled.
“…i’m okay.”
he laughed. “good.”
“and happy.”
“even better.”
“and…”
you looked down at the warming cup in your hands.
“i think i finally understand something.”
“what?”
“i don’t have to prove that i belong here every single day.”
“no.”
“because i’m already part of cortis.”
“exactly.”
the silence between the two of you wasn’t awkward. it was peaceful.
inside, the other members were shouting for the both of you to come play a game.
martin insisted he was going to win.
keonho accused him of cheating even before the game had started.
you laughed.
“they’re so loud.”
“they’re your family.”
you nodded, then headed inside.
the comeback had been a success.
the performances would continue.
schedules would pile up again.
and there would be hard days in the future.
but now, whenever someone had asked you how you were doing, there was a new answer.
not “i’m okay.”
not “i’m fine.”
just the truth.
and somehow, surrounded by five members who refused to leave you to carry stuff alone, that truth had felt lighter than ever.
a.n:: this was such a cute request omg 🥹 i enjoyed writing this thank you for the request!! 🫶🏻
can you please write pussydrunk hee I need that BAD
dada hee strikes again
Heeseung is completely gone.
He’s been between your thighs for what feels like hours now, face buried so deep in your pussy that the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. The bedroom is filled with the wet sounds of his mouth devouring you, long, hungry licks, filthy slurping, and his constant, broken groans like he’s the one getting fucked instead of you.
“Fuck… baby,” he rasps, voice wrecked and hoarse. His strong hands grip the back of your thighs, spreading you wider, almost folding you in half so he can get even deeper. “I can’t stop. I can’t fucking stop tasting you.”
Your back arches clean off the bed when he drags his tongue from your leaking hole all the way up to your swollen clit in one slow stripe, then sucks your clit into his hot mouth like it’s his favorite candy.
“Heeseung—! Ahh—too much—” you whimper, fingers tangled tightly in his dark hair, pulling hard enough to make his scalp sting. But he only moans louder into your pussy at the pain, hips grinding desperately against the mattress because he’s so painfully hard just from eating you out.
He’s drunk, drunk on your pussy, and completely, stupidly addicted.
His tongue pushes inside you again, fucking you with it in messy, eager strokes while his nose grinds against your clit. Every time your walls flutter and clench around his tongue he lets out this broken, needy sound, like he’s dying and being saved at the same time.
“Shit… she’s sucking me in,” he mumbles against your folds, half-delirious. “Your pretty little pussy keeps pulling my tongue in like she missed me. So fucking greedy… just like her owner.”
Two thick fingers slide into you without warning, curling instantly against that spongy spot that makes you see stars. Your thighs start shaking violently around his head as he pumps them slowly, scissoring you open while his tongue flicks relentlessly over your clit.
“Oh my god—Hee—Heeseung—!” Your voice cracks into a high, sweet whine as another orgasm crashes into you. Your pussy gushes around his fingers and tongue, soaking his chin, his lips, dripping down to the sheets.
But he doesn’t stop. He never stops.
Heeseung moans like a man starved as he drinks every drop of your release, tongue lapping messily, fingers thrusting faster to draw it out longer. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide when he glances up at you from between your legs, hair messy, cheeks flushed, mouth and chin shiny with your slick.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, almost whining. “Sweeter every time you cum for me. I’m addicted, baby. I need it. Need your pussy on my tongue all the time.”
He pulls his fingers out only to spread your folds open with his thumbs, staring at your clenching, dripping hole like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Then he leans in and licks a long, slow stripe through your sensitive folds again, humming happily when your hips jerk.
“Hee—please— I can’t— I’m so sensitive—” you sob softly, trying to close your legs, but his grip is iron.
“Just one more,” he lies sweetly, pressing a tender kiss right on your clit that makes you twitch. “Just let me have one more. Please, baby. I’ll die if I don’t taste you again.”
You’re a trembling, overstimulated mess, but you nod shakily because the way he begs for your pussy is too hot to deny.
Heeseung dives back in like a man possessed. This time he’s even messier. Sloppy. Desperate. His tongue laps at you like he’s trying to memorize every fold, every twitch, every taste. He sucks your clit, then moves down to push his tongue as deep inside you as it’ll go, fucking you with it while his fingers rub tight, fast circles on your clit.
Your moans turn into broken sobs and whimpers. “Nnghh— Hee—! Feels too good— gonna cum again—!”
“Yes— fuck yes, give it to me,” he growls into your pussy, the vibration sending you over the edge again.
You cum hard, thighs clamping around his head, hips grinding against his face as you ride it out. Heeseung moans loudly, happily, drinking everything you give him like it’s nectar. His fingers keep moving, prolonging it until you’re shaking and crying his name.
Even then, he keeps going, gentler now, but still obsessed. Soft, loving licks through your soaked folds, kitten licks on your clit, pressing slow kisses all over your pussy like he’s worshipping it.
“My favorite thing in the whole fucking world,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust and affection. “This pretty pussy. So wet… so warm… clenching around my tongue like you want me to live here.”
He slides three fingers back inside you slowly, watching with dark, hungry eyes as your walls suck them in greedily.
“Look at that,” he whispers in awe. “She’s hugging my fingers so tight. Greedy little thing. Just like you, baby.”
You’re nearly delirious at this point, body limp and glowing, but Heeseung still looks like he could eat you for hours more.
He crawls up your body eventually, but only after one last long, possessive lick from your entrance to your clit that makes you jolt. His face is glistening, lips puffy, eyes half-lidded with pure satisfaction and need.
He kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, grinding his painfully hard cock against your thigh.
“I’m not done,” he breathes against your mouth, voice rough. “I’m never gonna be done with this pussy. Gonna eat you every single day until you understand how fucking obsessed I am.”
He slides back down your body again, already hooking your trembling legs over his shoulders.
Because Heeseung is completely, utterly pussydrunk.
And he has zero plans of sobering up anytime soon.
summary: You come home exhausted after a horrible day at work, and your boyfriend Sunghoon immediately comforts you, takes care of you all night and stays close until you fall asleep in his arms.
content: very fluffy, established relationship, comforting, reader cries, kisses, petnames (baby), reader has a toxic work environment - lmk if i forgot something!
ʟᴀʏ'ꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ 🧸✦ this is my first fic and english isn't my first language so please understand if this isn’t perfect yet! hope you enjoy this corny first fic i wrote <3
ᯓ★ now playing: Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex
- ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀⠀
Ever since you started working at your new job, life had become a lot more exhausting than it used to be.
Working in an office full of people who were much older than you was already intimidating enough, but what made it worse was the constant feeling that you never truly belonged there. No matter how hard you tried, your coworkers rarely included you in conversations, and every day felt like a battle to prove that you deserved to be there.
Today had been especially difficult.
One coworker had spent the entire day making passive-aggressive comments, and somehow your boss had found yet another reason to criticize you in front of everyone. By the time your shift ended, you were mentally drained. You had spent most of the day fighting back tears, counting down the hours until you could finally go home.
The moment you unlocked your apartment door and stepped inside, you were greeted by the familiar warmth of home.
Sunghoon was sitting on the couch, one arm stretched across the backrest while some random show played quietly on the television. As soon as he heard the door open, he looked up, his expression softening immediately.
“Baby?”
You didn’t even have the energy to answer properly.
“Hi.”
Sunghoon muted the television and studied your face for a moment.
“That bad?” he asked.
Your shoulders immediately dropped.
“I’m so tired, Hoon.”
Without another word, he opened his arms and that was all it took.
You practically collapsed onto the couch beside him.
The second you settled against him, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you into his chest. One hand slid into your hair while the other rubbed slow circles against your back.
“Tell me everything.”
You buried your face against his hoodie and let out a quiet sigh.
Then the words just spilled out.
You told him about your coworker, about your boss, about how alone you felt, and how every morning you woke up already dreading work before the day had even begun.
Sunghoon listened quietly the entire time. He never interrupted, never looked distracted, and never once told you that you were overreacting.
He simply listened.
When your voice finally cracked, the tears you’d been holding back all day started falling. Immediately, his arms tightened around you.
“Hey, hey…” he whispered.
He pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead.
“It’s okay.”
You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut.
“I’m trying so hard and it’s still not enough.”
“For them, maybe.” he murmured softly. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not enough.”
You closed your eyes as his words settled over you.
Sunghoon rested his cheek against the top of your head, holding you a little closer.
“You know what I see?”
You sniffled and looked up at him slightly.
“What?”
“Someone who wakes up every morning and keeps going even when things are difficult.”
He pressed another kiss to your forehead.
“Someone who works harder than anyone I know.”
Another kiss.
“Someone who’s incredibly kind.”
His lips brushed your skin again before he smiled softly.
“And someone I love very much.”
Fresh tears filled your eyes.
“Hoon…”
“They don’t get to decide your worth, okay?” he whispered. “Some rude coworkers and a bad boss don’t get to tell you who you are.”
You felt yourself relaxing slightly in his embrace, and Sunghoon’s smile softened when he noticed.
“There’s my girl.”
A weak laugh escaped you.
“I should make dinner.”
The second you tried to sit up, his arms tightened around your waist.
“Absolutely not.”
“Hoon-” you tried to stand up but his grip tightened.
“Nope. I can cook.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lie.” you said, knowing that he usually hates cooking.
He gasped dramatically.
“I’m offended.” your boyfriend said in a playful tone.
You couldn’t help laughing. “You’re terrible at cooking.”
“Okay, rude.” he answered.
“You’re literally proving my point.” you smiled at his answer.
Sunghoon pinched your side gently, making you flinch and laugh at the same time.
“Comfortable clothes. Now.”
You chuckled. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your nose.
“Let me take care of you tonight.”
- ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀⠀
While Sunghoon attempted to make dinner, you changed into one of his oversized hoodies and a pair of shorts before heading back into the kitchen.
You found him standing in front of the stove, concentrating harder than anyone should while making scrambled eggs.
Quietly, you wrapped your arms around his back from behind.
“How’s it going?” you asked him softly, smiling into his neck.
“Don’t distract me baby.”
You laughed softly. “It’s just eggs.”
“Exactly.”
“Hoon, these eggs are fighting for their lives right now.” He let out a small laugh at your comment.
You rested your chin against his shoulder, watching him work. “It smells good.”
Sunghoon smiled proudly without looking away from the pan.
“See? I’m improving.”
A few minutes later, the two of you were sitting together at the table.
The meal wasn’t fancy, scrambled eggs, toast, a few cherry tomatoes, and leftover rice and tofu from the day before. But somehow it tasted better than most restaurant meals.
Maybe because of who made it.
Sunghoon watched you carefully while you ate. When you noticed, you pointed your fork at him.
“Why are you staring at me?” you asked while you covered your mouth with your hand.
“Because you’re cute.” he said smiling at your cute reaction.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“Sunghoon.”
He laughed softly, then his expression slowly softened as he looked at you.
“I just hate seeing you sad.”
Your heart squeezed at his words.
He reached across the table and intertwined his fingers with yours, holding them gently.
“I love you.”
You smiled immediately.
“I love you too.”
“Good.”
“Good?”, you asked, chuckling softly.
“Just checking.”
You laughed under your breath.
“Idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
- ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀⠀
After dinner, Sunghoon insisted on washing the dishes despite your protests.
While he took care of the mess in the kitchen you settled down on the couch and scrolled through your phone but after he disappeared into the kitchen for several minutes, you went looking for him.
Before you could say anything, two arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind.
“Found you.” Sunghoon said, his grip softly tightening around you.
You smiled.
“There you are.”
He rested his chin lightly on your shoulder.
“Come with me.”
He guided you toward the bathroom, still holding onto your hand. The moment the door opened, you froze.
The room was filled with the soft scent of vanilla. Warm candlelight flickered across the walls, and the bathtub was already prepared, steam gently rising from the water.
You turned toward him.
“You did all this?”
He shrugged slightly, almost shy.
“Hoon…”
He cupped your face gently, his touch warm and steady. “You deserve nice things too, you know.”
Your expression softened immediately.
“Thank you so much.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Take your time and relax.”
- ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀⠀
After your bath, you felt lighter.
Not because your problems had disappeared, but because for the first time all day, your shoulders didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
When you stepped back into the bedroom, Sunghoon was already waiting.
He looked up from his phone and smiled softly. “There she is.”
You climbed onto the bed beside him, slipping under the blankets with a quiet sigh. The moment you settled in, he reached for you almost instinctively, like it was second nature.
His arm slid around your waist.
“Comfortable?” he murmured.
“Mm-hm.”
“Good.”
But apparently that still wasn’t close enough for him.
A few seconds later, he gently pulled you back until your back was pressed fully against his chest.
You let out a quiet laugh. “Hoon.”
“What?”
“You’re squeezing me.” you laughed.
“And?”
“And I need oxygen.”
“You’ll survive.” he answered, holding you as tight as possible.
Sunghoon's voice was already getting heavier with sleep, which only made you smile. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and let out a quiet, content sigh.
You could hear the smile in his voice even without seeing it.
Being close to you like this had always come naturally to him. Holding your hand, resting his arm around you, pulling you closer without thinking like it was the most normal thing in the world. Especially after days like this.
His fingers found yours beneath the blanket and intertwined with them.
“I’m proud of you, you know.”
Your heart softened immediately. “For what?”
“For getting through today.” He pressed a soft kiss behind your ear. “And yesterday.” Another kiss. “And every difficult day before that.”
You closed your eyes, breathing a little slower now.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
For a while, the room fell quiet. Only your breathing and the distant city outside filled the space.
Just when you thought he’d fallen asleep, his arms tightened around you slightly.
“Still here?” you whispered.
“Mm-hm.” he hummed softly.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Making sure you’re okay first.”
Your chest warmed. This place right here, in the arms of the person you loved the most, was your home. Not a place but a person.
“I’m okay.”
“Good.”
Then he pulled you even closer, if that was even possible.
“Hoon…”
“Yes?”
“There’s literally no space between us.”
“Exactly.”
You laughed softly. “Clingy.”
“Only with you.”
His voice was barely above a whisper now, warm, slow, already half asleep.
You turned in his arms so you were facing him. He immediately adjusted, pulling you into his chest like he’d been waiting for you to do it all along.
One hand settled in your hair, the other rested firmly on your back. His thumb moved in slow, soothing circles through your hoodie.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much better.” you whispered.
He smiled, resting his forehead gently against yours as he slowly placed his lips onto yours.
For several minutes, he just held you like that, fingers slowly brushing through your hair, sleepy kisses and his hand occasionally rubbing your back whenever you shifted.
Every touch was steady and calm, like he was trying to remind you without words that you were safe here. That you didn’t have to carry everything alone.
Eventually, your eyes began to feel heavy and of course, he noticed immediately.
He always did.
His hand moved to your cheek, thumb brushing softly across your skin.
“Sleep, baby.”
You hummed softly. “Stay close.”
His expression softened. “Always.”
One last kiss landed on your forehead before he gently tucked your head beneath his chin.
And even as sleep slowly took over, he didn’t let go once.
With the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear and his warmth wrapped around you completely, you finally drifted off together.
- ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀⠀
ʟᴀʏ'ꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ ✦🧸 — lmk your thoughts in the comments!🫶🏻
— ౨ৎ In which you decide to shoot your shot with the cute lifeguard at the beach
C/w: one swear, reader is a confident gal 😛 ˗ˋ 1.5k wc ˊ˗
A/n: if i had a nickel everytime i wrote keonho as a swimmer…
"So how's your book so far?"
Skies are clear, the sun is shining, it's hot outside—the perfect beach day.
You lie on a plush towel facing the water, new book in hand, sunglasses on the top of your head. You find yourself splitting your attention between your friend tanning next to you and the gorgeous lifeguard walking along the beach.
It's hard not to notice the way his bright red sleeveless tank matches the flush on his cheeks or the tone of his arms as he jogs along the shoreline. And especially the way he brushes his wet hair out of his face—It's so…
Addicting.
"Hello, welcome to earth." Stella waves her polished hand in front of your face.
"Huh, what—yeah it's so good," you say mindlessly, your gaze being nowhere near the book.
"How far along are you?" she gives a knowing laugh.
You look down at the printed pages, walls of text stare at you. You blink a couple times, but the book still says chapter one—really? The heading spreads across the page, bold, obvious.
"We're making progress," you smile.
"Are you sure because you've been staring at that lifeguard for the past ten minutes."
"No, I have not!"
"Oh, but yes you have."
You look around for a moment, almost whipping the sunglasses off your head. It's getting harder to hide your smile that's about to burst.
"He's so cute don't you think?" you blurt.
"Go talk to him!"
"But how? He's working and a different girl walks up to him every three seconds."
She gives you that smile, the one she gives when she's plotting. She reaches into her beach bag, pulling out her car keys. She waves them in your face, the various keychains jingling against each other.
"You want to run me over? I mean I guess that would get his attention—"
"No! Sometimes I worry about you girl." She rolls her eyes playfully. "Just say you lost your keys—it’s valuable so he'll have to help!"
"I guess drowning for some CPR isn't ethical," you huff.
"Definitely not!" she says, tucking the keys into the back pocket of your jean shorts. "Just drop them in the sand after you're done talking to him—number secured!"
"See this is why I love you."
"Go get your baywatch moment," she giggles.
…
"Excuse me."
He's standing near the watch tower where some other lifeguards are, it's hard to miss that shade of red. He fidgets with the whistle around his neck as he scouts out for any potential dangers.
He looks better up close, they all do. What are they feeding these lifeguards?
His hair is slicked back—he's been running his hands through it a lot. You can't gauge where he's looking since his eyes are covered with sunglasses. He simply nods.
Great, one of those chill™ ones
"Hi, so I lost my keys—could you help me, please?"
"Sure, I'll go and grab the metal detector from the tower."
You're taken aback for a moment—was it really that easy? He doesn't waste any time, quickly jogging over to the watch tower to grab the device. He moves rather skillfully in the dunes of sand. Impressive.
"So where did you last see it?"
"Like over there." You point to the opposite end of the beach.
"You’ve been walking lots?"
"I just go where the wind takes me," you smile.
"Okay I'll scan over here and send a report to some of my coworkers—any specific keychain colours?"
So serious.
"There's like…a pink frilly thing on it." You try your best to visualize Stella's keys, not that it mattered. You remember the feeling of the keys in your pocket—you'll have to walk behind him.
He nods, calling out a code in his walkie talkie. Some feedback comes through, but you can't make out exactly what they're saying. Must be some sort of lifeguard jargon.
Before you begin the hunt for the 'keys' you look back at Stella, she gives you a tiny applause.
The beach is getting more crowded, there's as many people in the water as on the sand. The line up for ice cream is getting longer, you could use some—why is it so hot? Maybe you should have pretended to drown.
The lifeguard doesn't say much, focused as he scans along the sand. It's hard not to notice the feeling of people watching you as you pass by. Most definitely looking at him.
"So…" You look over to his name tag "Keonho!"
You think you said that a little too loud but no one noticed, well except him. He looks up at you, quiet, anticipating.
"Sorry, did I scare you? Anyway I was just wondering if you've been doing this for long?"
"Just the summers since I was fifteen," he shrugs, looking back down to the sand.
"Wow you must be super qualified—do you swim too, like competitively?"
"Yeah, I do," he stops for a moment, the metal detector picking something up. When he brushes over the sand it's just the lid of a bottle. He continues walking.
"Cool—I don't know much about swimming but yeah that's cool." Again, he doesn't respond. "Not much of a talker?"
"I'm just focused—sorry."
"No, it's fine! I can get chatty sometimes."
"That's good."
"Hm?"
"Like being able to carry a conversation—it's attractive."
"You think?"
You suddenly notice how hard it is to walk—could it be the sand or his words? Nope, definitely the sand.
"Yeah," he sways the metal detector side to side, covering more area. "Do you come to the beach often?"
"No, not really—my friend invited me out today. Should I come more often?"
"It's up to you but Mondays and Thursdays are the least busy."
"Good to know—any other beach tips I should know."
"I work all days except Friday and Sunday—summer practices."
"Good to know," you smile.
The metal detector picks up a few more items—bracelets, earrings, coins, a nail clipper. You're starting to feel a little bad with the whole misleading thing, especially when he seems so determined to find the keys.
The conversation slows down—you don't know what else to say. Besides, the beach is filled with sounds of splashing water and ongoing conversations.
You sneak a few glances at him which is only fair since he's been very obviously sneaking some glances at you. When your eyes meet, he's the first to look away.
"Did you know they give out free ice cream near closing?"
"Liar!"
"Then tell me why I've tried all the ice cream flavours here."
"Keonho, you can't blow your entire paycheck on ice cream," you laugh, so does he.
You tilt your face toward the sun, enjoying the brief silence between conversations.
"So uh, do you go to school around here?"
"That's not related to the keys, is it?" you tease.
He looks away. "Yeah you're right."
You smile. "No, but I do plan on spending more summers here."
"You should—like it's really nice here, the weather and stuff," he nods. "Is this where you lost the keys?"
You arrive at what you're guessing is the spot you pointed at twenty minutes ago. It's less crowded over here but louder with the jetskis past the orange buoys.
"Huh—oh yes, it's got to be somewhere around here." You want to cringe at your poor acting skills.
He scans the area more meticulously this time, that tiny bit of guilt in you begins to seep up. But you let him search for a moment, it's cute how motivated he is.
"Sorry if I've been…well awkward," he says.
"What? No, you haven't been, at all. I just coined you to be one of those nonchalant guys."
"I'm not like that at all—I just can't talk to girls," he lets out a nervous chuckle.
"But you have been…on the beach."
"You've been watching me?"
"You've been standing in front of my eyeline."
He laughs, "Well I don't have crushes on those girls." His cheeks look more flushed than before.
Showtime.
"Ah, really?" you smile, discreetly pulling the keys out of the pocket and dropping them on the sand behind you, creating a jingling sound. Stella and her keychains. "Oh what's that?"
"I saw all of that," he smiles.
You shrug. "In my defense it worked."
"What worked?"
"Getting your attention."
"Guess it did."
You stand there for a moment, a much needed breeze flows along the shoreline. The scents of the beach are becoming more evident: seawater, fries, sunscreen. He runs a hand through his hair, looking in your direction. Thank god for that breeze or you might have melted.
Oh fuck it.
"Could I maybe get your number?" You start. "Please."
"Sure, my work phone number is 911 and—"
"Dude," you laugh.
"Okay," he gives you a cheeky grin, reaching his hand out for your phone. You pull it out of your other jean pocket, no hesitation.
"You know, I can't believe you made me ask you. I did just get you out of your shift…well temporarily."
"Messing with a lifeguard is a violation," he jokes.
"No it is not!"
"But, I'll let you go because you're pretty."
The words seem to surprise even him.
"I mean—"
"Too late," you grin.
this post looks so much better in light mode omg AND ong my next post is the gossip girl au 🤗
written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊
✷ when your first experience with smoking goes disastrously wrong at a crowded house party, your boyfriend, nishimura riki, stays by your side through the panic !
🗯️ 内容 marijuana use, smoking, anxiety symptoms, nausea, a bit of crying on reader's end, established relationship, first-time smoking, greening out, skinship, one forehead kiss, emotional reassurance !
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : happy 1st of june, hoonguin nation ♡ this is kind of bad and rushed sawry . . also i was literally on wikihow’s how to enjoy a cigarette because i don't actually smoke so oops probably not that accurate but whatever >"< for my #1 plug!enha enjoyer, @bellaflippy 😎 thank you for da request mweheh
The bass was doing something foul to your chest cavity, and it wasn't the good kind of foul.
It pulsed through the floorboards of whatever house this was, you'd already forgotten the name of the girl who'd invited you, a friend of a friend of a friend, a thread so frayed it barely qualified as a connection. The lights were doing that thing where they strobed just slow enough to make you think the room was spinning when it absolutely was not.
Yet.
You were leaning against the kitchen counter, half-listening to someone talk about their semester abroad, nodding at intervals that you hoped approximated attentiveness, when Riki materialized beside you with that uncanny way he had of simply appearing in a space like he'd always been there. He smelled like cologne and cold air, having just come in from the balcony, and his hair was slightly windswept in a way that made him look like he'd been styled by the universe itself.
"You look like you're about to fall asleep standing up," he said, leaning his hip against the counter next to you.
"I'm awake," you said. "I'm very awake. I'm so awake that I'm bored of being awake."
He laughed, the laugh that crinkled his eyes and showed his teeth and made you feel like you'd won something you hadn't even known was a competition. "Okay, well, that's the problem then. You need something to do." He glanced around the kitchen, someone was mixing something in a green cup, two people were arguing about music by the blender, a girl was taking a selfie with the cookie jar on the counter for reasons unknown to science, and then he tilted his head toward the back door. "Come outside with me. It's quieter."
You followed him. You'd follow him anywhere, which was a thought you pushed down so fast it practically bruised.
The backyard was small and dark, lit only by the amber glow of a porch light and the cherry-end of a joint being passed between two guys sitting on the steps. Riki greeted them with a chin jerk, and they shuffled over to make room. He sat, and you sat beside him, close enough that your knee pressed against his thigh. The night air was cool against your arms, and you regretted not bringing a jacket, but the warmth radiating off his side was enough to take the edge off.
One of the guys, who just so happened to be your seatmate’s crush, who’s name started with either a Ju or a Jo, passed the joint to Riki, who took it between his fingers with a practiced ease that made your chest do a somersault for reasons unrelated to the smoke.
He drew, held, exhaled through his nose, and the smoke curled upward like it was trying to escape the atmosphere.
Then he glanced at you, the joint held loosely between his index and middle finger, and raised an eyebrow.
"You wanna try?"
Your mouth went dry. You'd never smoked before, not cigarettes, not anything. You'd been the kid who sat cross-legged on the floor during D.A.R.E. presentations and took the pamphlets home to your mom. You were so straight-edged you were practically a ruler.
And yet—
"I wouldn't even know how," you admitted, and you hated how small your voice sounded, how uncertain, like you were confessing to something shameful.
Riki's expression didn't change, no mockery, no surprise, just that steady, dark-eyed gaze that made you feel like the only person in a twenty-kilometer radius. "That's fine," he said simply. "I'll show you."
He turned toward you, and his free hand came up to cup the side of your face. Resting there, his palm warm against your jaw, his thumb grazing the hinge of it.
"Breathe in slow," he said, his voice low and close. "Don't hold it too long your first time. And don't cough into the joint—just aim past it." He brought the joint to your lips, and you parted them, and you inhaled.
It was like breathing in a campfire. The smoke hit the back of your throat like something alive and furious, and you immediately gagged, turning your head to the side to hack into your elbow while Riki's hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, anchoring you.
"Easy, easy," he murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against the nape of your neck. "You're okay. Just breathe. Through your nose."
You wheezed. Your eyes were watering. The two guys on the steps were laughing, but not meanly. It was the kind of laugh that said they'd been exactly where you were, once. You blinked hard, sniffling, and Riki was still holding the back of your neck like you were something precious and fragile that he was afraid might shatter.
"That was terrible," you rasped.
"Yup, the first hit usually is," he said, and his mouth was doing that thing where it was trying not to smile but failing miserably, the corner of it quirking up in a way that made you want to bite him. "You want to try again?"
You did.
You don't know why the fuck you did — stubbornness, maybe, or the desire to seem cool in front of him, or just the simple animal wanting of putting your lips where his fingers had been.
You leaned in, and he guided the joint to your mouth again, and this time you pulled the smoke in more gently, holding it for a few seconds before letting it drift out.
"Better," he approved, and the warmth in his voice was enough to make your chest tight.
You passed it back. He took another drag. You sat in the dark and the quiet and the smell of smoke and growing things, and you waited to feel something.
It took about fifteen minutes.
It didn't come on like a wave or a rush or any of the poetic things you'd read about.
It came on like a tide, slow, creeping, pulling the sand out from under your feet so gradually that by the time you realized you were standing in deeper water, the shore was already far away.
Your heartbeat was loud. Not fast, just loud, like it had moved from your chest to your ears to the inside of your skull and was now echoing around in there like a drum in an empty gymnasium. Your hands felt foreign. You stared at them, turned them over, watched the lamplight play across your knuckles, and thought distantly that they looked like someone else's hands, like props you'd been handed at the door.
"Hey."
Riki's voice cut through the fog. You looked up. He was watching you with an expression you couldn't parse, definitely not worried, but alert, the way he looked right before a chorus hit, like he was reading the shape of something before it arrived.
"Are you okay? Dizzy? Anything?"
"I think," you started, and then stopped, because your tongue felt like it was made of something that tongues should not be made of. Cotton, maybe. Sand. "I think I feel weird."
"Weird how?"
You tried to articulate it.
Your heart was too loud and your hands were too far away and the ground felt like it was tilting, slowly, like a ship in mild seas, not enough to knock you over but enough to make you want to grip something.
Also, you were hot, too hot, and your skin was prickling with it, and the edges of your vision were doing something soft and strange, like a photograph left in the sun.
"Everything's too much," you whispered, and then your eyes were stinging, and you were mortified to realize that you were about to cry, which was absurd, because nothing was wrong, nothing was actually wrong, your body was just doing something you didn't understand and you couldn't make it stop and you were scared, you were so scared, and you couldn't say any of that so instead you just sat there with your lips pressed together trying not to let the tears fall.
"Hey, hey, hey." Riki's voice went soft in a way you'd never heard before, not his teasing-you-relentlessly voice, but something underneath all of that, something quiet and sure and private.
He stubbed out the joint on the step without looking away from you, and then both of his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks, tilting your head up so you had to look at him.
"You're greening out," he said, and his tone was so calm it was almost funny. "It's okay. It happens. You're not going to be sick, you're just a little too damn high, no? It's going to feel really intense for a bit, like—really fucking intense. And then it's going to pass. I promise. I'm right here."
A tear slipped out, and he caught it with the pad of his thumb, swiping it away like it was nothing, like your tears were his responsibility and he was simply doing his job.
"I'm sorry," you choked. "I didn't mean to—I shouldn't have—"
"Stop." Gentle, but firm. His thumbs traced along your cheekbones, back and forth, back and forth, a rhythm like a lullaby. "You have nothing to apologize for. You tried something new and it was just too much for you, and that’s completely okay. That's not a crime or anything. Don’t worry.”
Your heart was still pounding, still too loud, but the panic was thinning now, like clouds parting, because his hands were on your face and his eyes were on yours and he was so steady, so impossibly steady, like he'd anchored himself to the ground just so you'd have something to hold onto.
"Breathe with me," he said.
"In—" He inhaled, slow and deliberate, and you copied him, pulling air in until your lungs were full. "—and out." He exhaled, and you exhaled, and the world tilted a little less. "Again. In—"
You breathed together. In and out, in and out, his hands steady on your face, his dark eyes holding yours the way a lighthouse holds a shoreline, slow and easy.
Your heartbeat slowed. The ground leveled. Your hands started to feel like yours again.
"There you go," he murmured. "Good. You're doing so good."
He didn't let go of your face. You didn't want him to. You leaned into his palms like a cat leaning into a touch, and he let you, shifting one hand to the back of your head, cradling it, his fingers sliding into your hair and scratching gently at your scalp in a way that sent shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with being high.
"I feel like some stupid ass idiot," you mumbled against his wrist.
"You feel like someone who's never done this before and did too much their first time," he corrected. "Which is what you are. And that's fine."
The two guys from the steps had gone back inside at some point, and the yard was quiet save for the muffled thump of bass through the walls and the singing of crickets in the dark.
Riki's arm slid around your shoulders, and he pulled you into his side, and you went willingly, collapsing against him like a puppet with its strings cut.
He was warm, solid, and he smelled like smoke and his cologne and something underneath that was just him, just warmth and boy, and you pressed your face into his shoulder and breathed.
"Still feeling weird?" he asked, his voice rumbling through his chest and into your cheek.
"A little." A pause. "Less."
His hand was on your arm now, fingertips tracing idle patterns — circles, spirals, shapes that might have been letters, along the inside of your forearm. The touch was feather-light, almost absent-minded, and it was doing something to your nervous system that you didn't have the vocabulary to describe.
Every place he touched felt like a small sun, warm and bright and alive, and the anxiety that had been clawing at the edges of your mind melted away under the gentle insistence of his fingers on your skin.
"Tell me what you're feeling," he said.
"Floaty," you said. "And warm. And like..." You hesitated. "Like I want you to keep doing that forever."
His hand stilled for just a second, and then resumed its wandering, tracing up your arm to your shoulder, across the back of your neck, down your spine.
"Of course, I can do that," he said, and his voice was rough in a way you hadn't heard before, rough and soft at the same time, like sandpaper wrapped in silk.
You shifted against him, tilting your head up, and he looked down at you, and the porch light caught his features at an angle that made him look like a painting, all shadows and angles and that impossible jawline that probably had its own fanclub.
His eyes were warm and he was looking at you like you were something worth looking at, and the high was still humming through your veins but it was different now, not scary but soft, like floating in warm water, and everything felt gauzy and golden.
His hand came up to your face again.
Not cupping — just the backs of his fingers, trailing along your cheekbone, down the bridge of your nose, across the bow of your upper lip. Touching you like he was memorizing the architecture of your face, like he was reading you in braille, like you were a text he wanted to study until he knew every word by heart.
"You're okay now?" he asked again.
"I'm okay," you said, and meant it.
He smiled. It was small, just the faintest upturn at the corner of his mouth, but it reached his eyes, crinkling them, and it was so tender it almost hurt to look at.
Then he leaned down, and his lips pressed gently against your forehead, warm, dry, lingering, and he held there for a long moment, long enough for you to feel the shape of his mouth against your skin, long enough for the kiss to mean something, long enough for you to catalog it and file it away in the part of your brain where you kept the things you'd think about at 3 a.m. when you couldn't sleep.
When he pulled back, his forehead was almost touching yours, and his breath was warm on your face. He smelled like smoke and mint and something sweet underneath, and his fingers were still tracing slow circles on the back of your hand.
"Next time," he said quietly, "I'll make sure you take less. And I'll stay right next to you the whole time."
"Next time?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.
He squeezed your hand. "You think I'm letting you do this with anyone else?"
The words landed somewhere between your ribs and refused to budge.
You stared at him, and he stared at you, and the crickets sang, and the bass thumped, and the world was still a little tilted and a little too bright and a little too much, but you were warm, you were safe, Riki was holding your hand, and he had kissed your forehead and he had said "next time" like it was a promise, like it was a given, like of course there would be a next time, because he wasn't going anywhere.
You rested your head against his shoulder again, and his arm tightened around you.
"You're still a little out of it," he observed, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"Mm," you agreed. "But in a good way now."
"In a good way," he confirmed. And then, quieter, almost to himself, like he wasn't sure you could hear him but maybe hoping you could: "Good. That's good. That's exactly how you should feel."
A breeze rolled through the yard, cool against your bare arms, and you shivered. Without a word, Riki shifted, tugging the hem of his jacket out from where he'd been sitting on it, and draped it over your shoulders.
It was warm from his body heat and it smelled like him, and you pulled it tighter around yourself and pressed your nose to the collar and breathed, and he watched you do it with an expression that you couldn't see but could feel, warm and careful and something else.
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
syn: now how was James going to cope if he never knew why you left him in the first place?
playlist: let down by radiohead / i bet on losing dogs by mitski / never let go by lngshot
iro's notes: req by @lilithsfatality delanie bby i luv this req sm im sorry i was so slow w it i js cldnt get myself to like anything i wrote
You open the door, pushing a box in front of you. “Okay, I think that's all of it.” James stands in front of you. Hood over his head. Sunglasses on. You look at him for a second before clearing your throat, “So, uh—let me know if I missed anything.”
He doesn't look up.
His eyes are locked in on the floor. He doesn't bend down to pick up the box. He doesn't say hi to you. All he does is stare at the floor. His hands clenched into a fist, “What did I do?”
You grip the door, “Don't make it harder than it already is,” you mutter, starting to close the door.
James grabs the door before you can close it. “At least tell me what I did wrong?” he asks, finally looking up at you. His eyes are bloodshot red. Dark circles sit beneath them—he clearly hasn't been sleeping.
“It’s been a whole week, get over it. Please.” You say forcing the door close.
You broke up with James. You don't know why you did it.
Lies.
The truth sits ugly in your chest, refusing to be swallowed. You know exactly why you broke up with him. You loved him—no, you love him. Maybe that was the problem. Love is supposed to be selfless, right? You’re supposed to help each other grow, right? So why did it feel like you were holding him back? He’s an idol. He has a job, a life and dreams to achieve.
Love is supposed to be selfless—full of sacrifices and putting someone else's happiness before your own. That's what James always does. When he loves, he loves heavily. He'd always been like that. Even during his trainee years, and back when he was in Trainee A. Irrespective of his schedule he always made time for you. And you saw it, you always did. The way his shoulders would slump down. The way exhaustion lingered beneath his eyes. The way he showed up even when you told him not to. Even when you said it's okay. Even when you scolded him and told him sternly to get rest. He always simply said—”I’ll rest better with you.”
Somewhere along the way, his schedule only got worse when he debuted in Cortis. Days packed with music production, dance practices, music video shoots, and whatnot.
And yet, he always showed up.
It started off normal. He’d show up around 8 p.m. looking sort of energetic. But it went downhill. It always does. He started showing up at random hours. In the early hours of the morning. Once he came over at 3 a.m.
You remember waking up with a familiar grip on your waist—James.
“James?” Your voice low and groggy.
He hummed into the crook of your neck.
You slid closer to him, ‘When did you come over?”
His voice came out muffled, “Around 3, I don’t really remember.”
“Why didn’t you stay at the dorm? Why travel so much to come here?”
He only gripped you tighter, “Wanted to.”
One thing about James is that he always shows up. He showed up for your fifth anniversary after a sixteen-hour work day. He spent the entire dinner trying to convince you he wasn't exhausted. He failed miserably. Halfway through a story, he'd forgotten what he was talking about. His eyes kept drifting shut whenever there was a pause in the conversation. At one point, he reached for his drink and completely missed it.
And still, when you told him he should've stayed home and rested, he only laughed. "It's our anniversary." Like that explained everything.
You knew his schedule was packed, but you never really realised how bad it had gotten. With the second album on the way, you should’ve received the memo. When someone talks to James, they have his full attention. So you knew it was bad when he had to check work messages during dinner with your parents.
You tried to ask him about it. Tried to tell him it was okay if he didn't always show up. He wouldn't listen.
The members were always supportive of both of you. They even joked about you both being their parents. So you understood it was bad when, right before the GREENGREEN release party, Martin called you. Telling you to make sure James stayed at the dorm that night. Traveling back and forth was exhausting for him. Martin sounded worried, genuinely worried.
And somehow, that was your cue to leave him.
Sounds fucking ridiculous, you know that too.
Everyone could see what loving you was costing him. Apart from him.
The days following the breakup were brutal. You would see James everywhere. Especially with the new album out. The billboards were everywhere. They even won. 10 times at that. You wanted to tell James how proud you were of him.
But you couldn't.
Reaching out would only make things harder for him. At least, that's what you tell yourself.
“James?”
“Hello? James?”
A kick to his chair finally breaks his trance, “Dude, what is it with you?” Martin asks, scoffing in annoyance.
James doesn't look up at him. He just buries his face in his palms. “Fuck,” he murmurs.
Everybody knows about it. Of course they do, they’re his friends. “It’s about her again?”
“Her”
That’s the term James has been hearing ever since the new album dropped. Everyone practically treated your name like a curse. It pissed him off. It pissed him off more than he’d want to admit. “Fuck Martin, just say Yn.” He sneered.
“Right, sorry.” Martin rolled his chair back towards his side of the desk. “Is it about Yn?”
“Let’s just get back to this track.” He inhaled deeply. “Please,” he whispered.
James couldn't explain how he felt without sounding like an idiot. Nobody would understand how his days felt. How his days felt so empty. Knowing you’re not there to spam him with weird reels or tiktoks at weird hours. Knowing you weren't there to ask if he'd eaten. Knowing you weren't there to spam him with blurry selfies and pictures of things that reminded you of him.
He still woke up, still got ready, performed and all that. Everything looked normal. But it didn't feel normal. He was drowning in something, but he didn't know why. He wasn’t able to sleep at night knowing he did something to hurt you enough to break up with him.
How could it be something a conversation couldn't fix?
Everything felt hollow, shallow. Even though the album climbed up charts, even though the album won multiple awards. He didn't feel happy. It felt too mundane. It's not mundane—it shouldn’t be. He should be over the moon. This is all he’s dreamt of ever since he was 15.
Where were you when he needed you the most? He didn't know what to do without you by his side. It was almost as if the days he'd spent without you were utterly meaningless. You slid into his life so easily—like the missing piece of a puzzle. Without you, everything was incomplete. You were the finishing touch on a painting he'd spent years working on. Without you, he felt empty.
James tried everything. He tried to be angry at first. Keyword: tried. He even tried blocking you. He couldn't. His fingers would freeze halfway through.
Every good thing that happened made him reach for his phone.
So did the bad things.
He was so used to texting you after every minor inconvenience. With you gone, who was he supposed to talk to? He remembered vividly how he'd text you at exactly 2 a.m. Back when James was just Zhao Yufan trying to court you. You both used to talk till the morning. You both would walk to school together with the same drowsiness in your eyes. The reason? Two lovesick fools trying to salvage the few hours of privacy they got at night.
James’ initial attempts at being angry failed. He knew he had to move on. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. But how was he supposed to keep you out of sight when you were everywhere? James opened his phone? A picture of you two. He opens his wallet to pay for something? A polaroid of you. He opens his laptop to produce music? A picture of you again. Fuck that, he even found a polaroid of you both in his pocket.
He almost thought you found a way to haunt him for his mistakes. Mistakes he isn't aware of because you wouldn't tell him. Maybe it was the universe mocking him. Maybe it was truly that evident. Maybe he’s just stupid.
“James?” Martin whispered, leaning closer to him.
He turns his head slightly to look at Martin. Martin exhales loudly, “Dude, you’re not doing okay.” He spins in his chair. “Go talk to her. Get closure.”
Seonghyeon chimes in, “Yeah, it’s kinda stupid how she didn’t tell you why.”
“It makes no sense.” Keonho adds on.
“Just go.” Juhoon says with finality.
James could only look around the room. “She said she’s fine,” He mutters. “She probably doesn’t care.” He leans back in his chair, looking straight at the ceiling. His eyes look soulless.
“Doesn’t matter, you’re fucking yourself up. You weren’t even happy after winning an award. That says enough.” Juhoon said, annoyance laced in his words.
Keonho gets up from the couch, grabbing James' hands. He pulled him up. “Go. Now. Stop being a loser, we can’t have you like this.” He spins James around. “I’m sure you can get her back.” He said, finally pushing James to the door.
You’re scrolling through your phone. Scrolling through Cortis’ instagram, to be precise. And to be even more precise, you were stalking Martin's account—it was the safest place to get updates. Martin barely used the account apart from posting silly stories. These silly stories were your holy grail this month.
You knew Cortis was in the studio today. You knew they were all busy. You threw your phone on the couch, getting up to grab something to drink. Before you could pull the handle of your refrigerator, your door was met with loud thuds. Three loud thuds echo through the hallway.
You knew who it was. You didn't even have to check. But nonetheless, you walk to the door. All you want is a glimpse of James, you get on your tippy-toes to peep through the peephole.
And then you see him. His eyes are still red. He’s been crying. He’s constantly fidgeting with his fingers.
“Yn I know you're standing there.” He said
You freeze for a second, opening your door now. “James?” You let out shakily.
He looks at you, “Do you still love me?” He pauses, “Do you?”
“James, go back to the studio. Stop making it this complicated.”
He chokes on a sob, “If you think it’s complicated, that means you still care. I can’t go back. I can’t not love you, I don’t even know what went wrong, Yn.”
You should tell him to leave, you should slam the door on his face. You’re holding him back. You drain him. He’s exhausted because he goes above and beyond for you. “Please leave.”
“No.” he says sternly, now entering your apartment without letting you protest.
He grabs your hand and leads you to the couch. He pushes you down, making you sit on the couch as he gets on his knees. His face now buried in your lap. His voice comes out muffled, “Please. Baby please tell me what I did wrong.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Nothing.”
James goes still, he looks up at you. “Nothing?” he repeats.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
“Then why?” His voice cracks on the single word. You can feel his fingers tightening around yours. “Yn, look at me.” You don't, because the second your eyes meet his. You don’t know what’ll happen. “Look at me.”
Slowly, you do. His eyes are red. His lashes are wet. He looks exhausted. “You don't just throw away five years and tell me nothing happened.”
The tears burn behind your eyes. “James—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “A month ago you were telling me I was the love of your life.” His laugh comes out broken. “Four weeks ago we were arguing over what movie to watch.” Another sarcastic chuckle. “Three weeks ago, you broke up with me.” His voice is shaky. “So tell me what happened.”
You stare at him. At the eyebags. At the way his hands won't stop shaking. At how tired he looks. And that only further proves your point. “You're exhausted.”
James blinks. “What?”
“You never sleep.” The words start tumbling out before you can stop them. “You show up after sixteen-hour work days.”
“Yn—”
“You come over at three in the morning.”
“Yn.”
“You're constantly working.”
You wipe your tears. “Martin literally called me and told me to make sure you stayed at the dorm because travelling back and forth was exhausting you.”
James freezes.
“You remember our anniversary?” You laugh bitterly. “You could barely keep your eyes open.”
“Baby—”
“Stop calling me that.” Your voice breaks. “Do you know how horrible it feels watching someone you love run themselves into the ground?”
James stares.
“You have albums to make. Stages to perform on. Fans waiting for you.” You look away. “And all I do is take more from you.”
“Yn.”
“You don't understand.” The tears are falling freely now. “You always show up.” You feel your heart twists. “Even when you're exhausted. Even when you're sick. Even when I tell you not to.” You laugh shakily. “You'd choose me every single time.”
James' head tilts. And suddenly he understands, not completely but almost enough. Not completely. “That's why you left?” You don't answer. “You left because you thought I loved you too much?”
A sob escapes your throat. “You were so tired, James.” The confession leaves you in pieces. “You looked so tired.”
Silence engulfed the room for a second.
“You idiot.” Your head snaps up. James is crying now too.“You absolute idiot.”
“James—”
“You think that's what I wanted?” His voice shakes. “You think I was showing up because I had to?”
“James—”
“I showed up because I wanted to.”
He grabs your hands, grounding you right by his side. Desperately , afraid you’ll pull back. “Because every good thing that happened made me want to tell you first.” Another tear slips down his cheek. “Every bad thing too. I don't know how to do this without you. Do you know what this feels like?” His grip tightens on your wrists now. “I'd wake up and reach for my phone.” He takes a deep breath. “Nothing. I'd finish a schedule. Nothing. We won awards.” His voice breaks completely. “And all I could think was that you would've been happy.”
You start sobbing harder. “James...”
He wipes the tears on your face. “Pease, don’t let me go. Days feel so incomplete without you here, I swear I go insane.” His forehead rests against your hands.
“Please. I don't care if you're scared, I don't care if we fight, I don't care if things get messy. Fuck, I don’t care if the whole world finds out about this.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Just don't run away from me. I'm not tired because of you.” He shakes his head. “I'm tired because my job is tiring.” A weak laugh escapes his lips. “But you?” His thumb brushes across your knuckles. “You're the only reason I’m surviving,”
You break completely, tears flow down uncontrollably now. And before you know it, you're crying into his shoulder while he holds you like he's terrified you'll disappear again.
“I love you,” he whispers.
Over and over, and over again. Like he's making up for every day he didn't get to say it. “I love you.” A kiss to your forehead. “I love you.” another on the corner of your mouth, “I love you.” His voice cracks. “Don’t ever do that.”
“I’m sorry,” you say amidst your sobs. “I’m sorry.” The apology sounds pathetic the second it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry—I should've talked to you. I should've communicated.” Your voice cracks. “Instead I—I just...” The words refuse to come out. You broke up with him. You hurt him. You spent weeks pretending it was for the best. And now that he's here, kneeling in front of you, holding onto you like you'll disappear again, none of it makes sense anymore.
A sob escapes your throat. “I was scared.” Before you can say anything else, James pulls you into his arms. His arms wrap around you. “It's okay,” he whispers.
His own voice isn't steady either. “It's okay.”
“No, it's not.”
“Baby.”
“It's not,” you repeat through tears. “I hurt you.”
James lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah.” The honesty and exhaustion in his voice makes you cry harder. “Yeah, you did.” His grip tightens. “But I'm sorry too.”
You pull back slightly. “What?”
James wipes his eyes. “I should've realised sooner.”
“Realised what?”
“That you were worried.” His gaze drops. “I kept thinking if I showed up, it'd be enough.” A weak smile appears on his face. “I didn't realise you were watching me fall asleep halfway through dinner.”
A chuckle escaped your lips. “We're really stupid, huh?”
“Extremely.”
“Very embarrassing.” Another laugh slips out between your tears. And for the first time in what feels like ages, James hears it. Your laugh.
pairing: jay (park jongseong) × reader (you)
genre: neighbors-to-lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, tension
word count: 10.3k+
warnings: breakup angst, mentions of virginity/insecurity from past relationship, slow burn, smut,cussing, biting/marking, fingering, begging, unprotected sex (a big NO-NO)
You drag the last cardboard box into your new apartment, arms burning, eyes stinging from the mix of dust and unshed tears. The place is small, quiet, and on the third floor of a surprisingly nice complex in a calm Seoul neighborhood — far enough from your old life that you won’t accidentally run into him.
Him. Your ex-boyfriend of two years.
The one who held your hand, called you “baby,” cuddled you every night… but never once wanted to have sex with you.
You’d convinced yourself it was romantic. That he was waiting for the “right moment.” That he respected you too much.
Until last week, when he sat you down with tears in his eyes and whispered, “I think I’m gay. I’ve been trying so hard not to be, but… I can’t keep lying to you or myself.”
The world had tilted. All those nights you lay awake wondering what was wrong with you — your body, your touch, your desirability — suddenly made brutal sense. You weren’t enough because you were never going to be what he needed. And the worst part? He still loved you. Just not like that.
So here you are. Fresh start. New apartment. Virgin at twenty-three with a broken heart and a mountain of self-doubt.
You wipe your face with the back of your sleeve and start unpacking the bare minimum: a few clothes, your laptop, and the cheap instant coffee you bought on the way. The storm outside is already picking up, thunder rumbling low in the distance. Perfect weather for your mood.
The hallway lights flicker as you step out to throw away the empty boxes. That’s when you see him for the first time.
Across the hall, door slightly ajar, stands a guy in all black — black hoodie, black jeans, black boots. Sharp jawline, dark hair falling over his eyes, a silver chain glinting at his neck. He’s leaning against the doorframe like he owns the building, scrolling on his phone with one hand while the other holds a motorcycle helmet.
You’ve heard the rumors from the landlord already: Park Jongseong. Only son of some big-shot businessman. Spoiled. Keeps to himself. Rides a matte-black motorcycle that roars like thunder at odd hours. Never smiles. Girls in the building call him “ice prince” behind his back — half scared, half intrigued.
He glances up when your box scrapes against the floor. His eyes — dark, intense — flick over you once. No greeting. No nod. Just a flat, unreadable stare before he turns back to his phone and shuts his door with a soft click.
Rude. Whatever. You don’t need neighbors right now anyway.
Back inside, you collapse onto the bare mattress (bed frame still in pieces on the floor) and let the tears finally come. Ugly, heaving sobs that shake your shoulders as rain starts hammering the windows. You replay every moment you felt undesirable, every time he pulled away when things got heated, every “I love you” that now feels like a lie wrapped in kindness.
Your power flickers again. Once. Twice.
Then everything goes dark.
Great. Just great.
You sit there in the sudden silence, phone flashlight on, listening to the storm rage outside. No candles. No snacks. Just you, your heartbreak, and the sound of rain.
A knock on your door makes you jump.
You hesitate, heart racing. It’s late. You don’t know anyone here.
Another knock — firmer this time.
You creep to the door and peek through the peephole.
It’s him. The motorcycle guy. Jay.
He’s holding a small paper bag in one hand and two white candles in the other. His hair is slightly damp from the rain, and he looks… annoyed? Or maybe just bored.
You open the door a crack, keeping the chain on.
“…Yes?”
He doesn’t smile. His voice is low, a little rough, like he doesn’t use it often. “Power’s out on this floor. Landlord’s useless in storms.” He lifts the bag slightly. “Instant ramen. And candles. Figured the new girl might not have anything yet.”
You blink, stunned. This is the same guy who ignored you ten minutes ago?
“I— uh… thank you. You didn’t have to.”
He shrugs, one shoulder rising lazily. “Didn’t want to listen to someone crying through the walls all night.” His eyes flick to your obviously red, puffy face for half a second before looking away. “Take it or don’t. I’m not standing here forever.”
The bluntness stings a little, but there’s something almost… soft under it. Like he’s pretending to be colder than he is.
You slide the chain off and take the bag and candles with shaky hands. Your fingers brush his for a split second — warm skin, calloused from who knows what.
“…I’m Y/N,” you mumble.
“Jay.” He pauses, then adds, almost reluctantly, “Welcome to the building. Try not to flood the hallway with your tears. Pipes are old.”
Before you can respond, he turns and walks back to his door, disappearing inside without another word.
You stand there holding the ramen and candles, the storm still howling outside.
For the first time all day, the smallest, tiniest huff of laughter escapes you.
What a weird, rude, strangely kind neighbor.
You close your door, light one candle, and boil water on your portable stove (thank god you bought it). As you slurp the cheap ramen by candlelight, you can’t stop thinking about those dark eyes and the way his voice dipped when he told you not to cry all night.
Maybe this new start won’t be completely lonely after all.
But you’re not ready to think about boys. Not yet. Not when your heart still feels like it’s been shredded.
Still… across the hall, the “scary” motorcycle guy just showed up with food and light when no one else did.
You blow out the candle later that night and fall asleep to the sound of rain, the faint rumble of thunder, and the distant memory of a black helmet and quiet kindness.
The storm has left everything damp and gray. Sunlight filters weakly through your thin curtains, and your body feels heavy from crying yourself to sleep. You wake up with swollen eyes and a dull ache in your chest that reminds you exactly why you’re here.
Two years. Wasted on someone who could never want you the way you wanted him. The virginity you guarded so carefully now feels like a joke — a punchline you didn’t see coming. Every time you close your eyes, you hear his gentle “I’m sorry” and feel the sting of not being enough for a man who turned out to want someone else entirely.
You drag yourself out of bed, splash cold water on your face, and decide the best distraction is coffee and fresh air. The power is back on, thank god, but the apartment still feels too empty. You throw on an oversized hoodie and leggings, grab your keys, and step into the hallway.
The moment you lock your door, you hear the low rumble of an engine from the parking lot below. You glance over the railing just in time to see him — Jay — swinging a leg over his matte-black motorcycle. He’s dressed in all black again: fitted black shirt that shows the faint outline of tattoos peeking from his sleeves, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, dark hair still messy from sleep. He looks expensive. Spoiled. Untouchable.
He doesn’t notice you at first. You watch as he revs the engine once, the sound cutting through the quiet morning like a warning. Then he pauses, helmet in hand, and his gaze lifts — straight to where you’re standing.
Your eyes meet for a second too long. You feel exposed, like he can see the leftover redness around your eyes or the way your shoulders are still slumped from yesterday’s breakdown. Heat rushes to your face. You turn quickly and head down the stairs, pretending you were never staring.
By the time you reach the ground floor, he’s already pulling out of the lot, the motorcycle’s roar fading into the distance. Good. You don’t need another awkward encounter with the rich boy who probably thinks you’re a mess.
You walk to the small café two blocks away, order an iced americano, and sit by the window with your laptop, trying to distract yourself with job listings. But your mind keeps drifting. To the candles. To the instant ramen. To the way Jay’s voice had softened just a fraction when he told you not to cry through the walls.
He’s probably laughing about it with his rich friends right now. “Some pathetic new girl moved in and I had to play hero with ramen.”
You shake the thought away and focus on your screen. You need a job. You need normalcy. You do not need to think about the quiet, sharp-jawed guy across the hall who rides a motorcycle like he’s in a drama and hands out candles like it’s nothing.
Hours later, when you return to the building with grocery bags, the sky is starting to darken again with leftover clouds. Your arms are aching from the weight of rice, ramen, and cleaning supplies. As you struggle to balance everything while fishing for your keycard, you hear footsteps behind you.
“Need help?”
The voice is low and familiar. You nearly drop the bags.
Jay stands there, helmet tucked under one arm, keys in hand. Up close in daylight he looks even more intimidating — sharp eyes, perfect bone structure, a faint scar near his eyebrow that makes him look like trouble. But his expression isn’t cold today. It’s… neutral. Maybe even a little concerned.
You hesitate. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
He doesn’t move. “You look like you’re about to lose the battle with those bags.”
Before you can protest, he takes two of the heavier ones from your arms with effortless ease. His fingers brush yours again — same warm, calloused touch as last night. You swallow hard and mumble a quiet “thank you” as he follows you up the stairs.
The silence between you is thick. Your heart is beating too fast for no reason. This is the guy everyone warns about — spoiled son of a powerful father, probably never worked a day in his life, always in black like he’s auditioning for a villain role. Yet here he is, carrying your groceries like it’s normal.
At your door, you set the bags down and fumble with the key. He waits patiently, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The black shirt stretches across his chest in a way that makes it hard not to notice how well-built he is under all that brooding exterior.
“You okay?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter than you expect.
You freeze, key halfway in the lock. “What?”
“Yesterday. You looked like you’d been crying for hours.” His eyes flick to your face, then away. “Didn’t mean to make it sound rude last night. Just… didn’t know what else to say.”
Your throat tightens. The breakup flashes through your mind again — the confession, the pity in your ex’s eyes, the way he never touched you like he wanted you. Virgin. Undesirable. Not enough for a straight man, apparently.
“I’m… dealing with some stuff,” you manage, voice small. “Bad breakup. New place. New everything.”
Jay nods once, slowly. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t offer fake sympathy or tell you it’ll be okay. He just stands there, presence steady.
“Storm knocked out more than power last night,” he says after a beat. “If it happens again, knock on my door. I have a generator in the basement unit my dad insisted on installing. Spoiled brat perks, I guess.”
There’s a hint of self-deprecating humor in his tone — the first crack in the ice-prince armor.
You let out a soft, surprised laugh despite yourself. “Thanks. Really. For the ramen too. It was… kind of you.”
He shrugs, pushing off the wall. “Don’t mention it. I hate eating alone when the building feels empty.” He pauses at his own door, hand on the knob, and glances back at you. “Name’s Jay, by the way. In case you forgot.”
“I remember,” you say softly.
For the tiniest moment, the corner of his mouth twitches — not quite a smile, but close. Then he disappears into his apartment with a quiet click of the door.
You stand there holding your groceries, heart doing something stupid and fluttery that you immediately shut down. No. You are not ready. Your body still feels like a betrayal, your confidence in pieces. The last thing you need is to develop a crush on the mysterious rich neighbor who rides a motorcycle and pretends he doesn’t care.
But as you unpack the ramen (the same brand he brought you), you can’t help replaying the way his voice softened when he asked if you were okay.
Maybe the “scary” guy isn’t as untouchable as he looks.
And maybe, just maybe, you’re not as invisible as you feel.
A few days pass in a blur of unpacking, late-night crying sessions you try to keep quiet, and forcing yourself to apply for jobs even when your confidence feels shattered. Every time you catch your reflection, the same thoughts loop: He never wanted me because I’m not what he needed. What if no one ever does? Being a virgin at your age suddenly feels like a neon sign screaming “broken” or “undesirable.” You push it down, but it lingers like a bruise.
The building is quiet most days, but you’ve started noticing patterns. Jay’s motorcycle usually leaves early and returns late. He keeps odd hours. You tell yourself you’re not watching for him — you’re just… adjusting to new sounds.
Tonight, you’re coming back from a late convenience store run, arms full of ramyeon and snacks to survive another lonely evening. The hallway lights are dim as you step off the elevator. That’s when you hear it: soft laughter. Female laughter. High, flirty, and way too close.
Your steps slow.
Jay’s door is cracked open. Inside, you catch glimpses of movement — two girls, both stunning in that effortless way. One with long wavy hair and a tight dress, the other in designer jeans and a crop top, holding a bottle of soju. They’re leaning against his kitchen counter like they belong there, giggling at something he said.
Jay stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his black t-shirt, hair slightly tousled like he just got off the bike. He’s not smiling, but there’s a relaxed tilt to his shoulders you haven’t seen before. One of the girls reaches out and playfully tugs at the silver chain around his neck, saying something you can’t quite hear. The other laughs louder and presses closer, her hand brushing his arm.
Something ugly twists in your stomach. Not jealousy — you barely know him. Just… a sharp reminder that while you’re still raw and untouched and questioning everything about yourself, some people live easy lives full of attention. Rich, spoiled, motorcycle-riding Jay probably has girls like that showing up whenever he wants. Of course he does. He’s gorgeous, mysterious, and clearly loaded.
You try to slip past quietly, but one of your plastic bags rustles loudly.
All three heads turn.
Jay’s dark eyes lock on you immediately. The easy vibe from a second ago vanishes — his jaw tightens, expression shifting back to that unreadable mask. The two girls glance at you, one raising a perfectly shaped brow like she’s sizing up competition.
You feel your face burn. “Sorry,” you mumble, hurrying toward your door. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re the new neighbor, right?” the girl with the wavy hair calls out, voice sugary sweet but with an edge. “Jay-oppa mentioned someone moved in. You settling in okay?”
Oppa. The word stings more than it should.
“Yeah. Fine,” you say without turning around, fumbling with your key. Your hands are shaking a little. All you can think about is how desirable those girls look — confident, experienced, the kind of women men actually want to touch.
The girl pouts dramatically. “What? I’m being nice!”
You finally get your door open and practically dive inside, but not before catching Jay’s gaze one more time. There’s something in it — annoyance at the girls? Or maybe just… concern? You can’t tell. The door clicks shut behind you and you lean against it, heart pounding stupidly.
A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock.
You already know who it is.
When you open the door a crack, Jay is standing there alone. The girls are gone — you hear their heels clicking down the stairs and the faint sound of the elevator. He’s holding a small takeout container of what smells like warm tteokbokki.
“Those weren’t… anything,” he says bluntly, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks almost uncomfortable, like explaining himself is new territory. “Just some old friends from my dad’s business circle. They showed up uninvited. Happens sometimes when they know I’m back in Seoul.”
You raise an eyebrow, trying to play it cool even though your insides feel twisted. “You don’t have to explain. It’s your place. Your… friends.”
He studies you for a long moment, eyes flicking over your tired face, the oversized hoodie you’re hiding in, the way you’re clutching the door like a shield. “You looked upset.”
“I wasn’t,” you lie quickly. Too quickly.
Jay doesn’t buy it. He sighs, the sound heavy, and holds out the tteokbokki. “Here. They brought too much. I don’t like wasting food.”
You hesitate, then take it. Your fingers brush his again — that same warm spark. This time you notice how his hand lingers just a second longer than necessary.
“Thanks,” you whisper.
He nods once, then glances back at his now-empty apartment. “They’re loud. Annoying. Not really my type.” The words come out flat, like he’s stating a fact rather than reassuring you. But there’s a softness underneath, the same one that showed up with the candles and ramen.
You swallow hard, the insecurity from your breakup rising again. Not his type? What even is his type? Definitely not the crying virgin next door who can’t even unpack without falling apart.
Before you can spiral further, Jay adds quietly, “If noise bothers you later… knock. I’ll tell them to leave next time.”
Your chest tightens. He’s being kind again. The “scary” spoiled brat who never smiles is standing in the hallway offering you food and quiet like it’s nothing.
“I will,” you say softly. “Goodnight, Jay.”
“Night, Y/N.”
He waits until you close your door before going back to his own.
Inside, you sit on the floor with the warm tteokbokki, the spicy scent filling your small apartment. Across the hall, you hear faint music start — something low and calm, not the kind of playlist you’d expect from a guy with girls like that hanging off him.
You eat slowly, replaying the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you. The way he shut down the girl’s teasing. The way he didn’t want you to think those girls meant something.
It’s stupid. Dangerous, even. You’re still healing from a breakup that left your self-worth in pieces. You’re not ready to feel butterflies over a rich boy with a motorcycle and a secret soft side.
But as you finish the food he gave you, you can’t deny the small, warm spark in your chest.
Maybe the ice prince isn’t as cold as everyone thinks.
And maybe you’re starting to wonder what it would feel like if he looked at you the way those girls wanted him to.
The days after the hallway incident with those girls stretch into a strange kind of routine. You keep to yourself — job applications during the day, quiet evenings spent replaying your breakup like a bad movie you can't turn off. The insecurity sits heavy in your chest: two years of waiting, of feeling like something was wrong with your body, your touch, your everything. Your ex never once looked at you with real hunger. And now? You're still untouched, still wondering if anyone ever will.
You tell yourself Jay is just a neighbor. Nothing more. The tteokbokki he gave you was a one-off kindness. The way his eyes lingered that night meant nothing.
But the building feels smaller every time you hear his motorcycle.
Tonight, it's past midnight when the low, familiar rumble cuts through the quiet. You’re lying on your mattress (still no proper bed frame), scrolling mindlessly on your phone, when the engine growls into the parking lot below. You shouldn’t look. You really shouldn’t.
Yet you find yourself at the window, peeking through the blinds.
Jay kills the engine and swings off the bike with that effortless grace that makes your stomach flip despite yourself. He’s in all black again — leather jacket open over a fitted shirt, hair wind-swept and slightly damp from the night air. He looks tired. The usual sharp mask is cracked just enough that you catch him running a hand through his hair and letting out a long breath, like the weight of whatever “spoiled brat” life he leads is pressing down tonight.
He glances up toward the building — toward your floor — and you duck back quickly, heart hammering. Stupid. He can’t see you.
A few minutes later, footsteps echo in the hallway. Then… a soft knock on your door.
You freeze. It’s way too late for this.
Another knock, patient but firm.
You pad over in your oversized sleep shirt and shorts, cracking the door just enough to see him. Jay stands there, helmet tucked under one arm, a small plastic bag from the 24-hour convenience store in his other hand. Up close, he smells faintly of night air, leather, and something warm like coffee.
“Did I wake you?” His voice is lower than usual, a little rough from the ride.
You shake your head. “Couldn’t sleep anyway.”
He studies you for a beat — eyes flicking over your tired face, the way you’re hugging the door like armor. “Same.” He lifts the bag slightly. “Bought too much coffee and those honey butter chips. Figured if you were up… maybe you’d want some. Or not. No pressure.”
It’s such a small offer, but it feels bigger in the quiet hallway. No girls this time. No cocky attitude. Just Jay, looking almost unsure for once, like handing out late-night snacks isn’t something the “ice prince” does often.
You hesitate, then step aside and let him in. The apartment is still half-unpacked — boxes in corners, your mattress on the floor with a single blanket. Embarrassment heats your cheeks, but Jay doesn’t comment. He just sets the bag on your tiny kitchen counter and pulls out two cans of warm canned coffee and the chips.
You both end up sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, sharing the snacks in comfortable silence at first. The coffee is sweet and comforting. The chips crunch loudly between you.
After a while, he speaks. “Those girls the other night… they’re connected to my dad’s company stuff. Events, networking. They think showing up with soju makes them memorable.” He pauses, cracking open his can. “I don’t bring people here usually. Too loud. Too much.”
You nod, picking at a chip. The memory of their flirty laughter still stings a little, reminding you how confident and experienced they seemed. Everything you’re not. “As I said, Jay. You don’t have to explain. It’s your life.”
“Yeah, but…” He glances sideways at you. “You looked like it bothered you then. Didn’t want you thinking I’m some asshole who has random girls over every night.”
The admission hangs there. Your heart does that stupid flutter again. You swallow hard, the breakup feelings rising uninvited. “It’s not that. I’m just… dealing with my own mess. Bad breakup. Really bad. Makes everything feel… complicated.”
Jay doesn’t push for details. He just listens, dark eyes steady on the floor. “People suck at communicating what they really want sometimes,” he says quietly. There’s a weight to his words, like he’s speaking from experience too. “Doesn’t mean it’s on you.”
You let out a shaky laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Feels like it is. When someone you trusted for years finally admits they were never… attracted. Not really. Not in the way that matters.” The virginity part stays locked inside — too raw, too embarrassing to say out loud to the hot neighbor who probably has experience in spades.
Jay’s jaw tightens slightly. He sets his coffee down and turns toward you more fully. “Then he was an idiot. Simple as that.”
The bluntness surprises a real, soft laugh out of you. For a moment, the tension eases. Jay’s mouth twitches again — that almost-smile you’re starting to crave seeing.
The conversation drifts lighter after that. He tells you a little about the motorcycle — how his dad bought it as some over-the-top gift when he turned twenty, thinking it would make him “act like a proper heir.” Jay rides it because it clears his head, not because he’s trying to look cool. You share surface-level stuff: the job hunt, how the apartment still feels too empty.
When the snacks are gone, he stands to leave, stretching slightly. His shirt rides up just enough to show a sliver of toned skin and the edge of what looks like a small tattoo on his hip. You look away fast, cheeks warming.
At the door, he pauses. “If the power goes out again or you can’t sleep… you can knock. I’m usually up late anyway. No noise. Just… me and maybe some ramen.”
You nod, throat tight. “Thanks, Jay. Really.”
He lingers a second longer than necessary, eyes meeting yours in the dim hallway light. Something unspoken passes between you — curiosity, warmth, the slow crackle of tension that neither of you is ready to name.
Then he’s gone, door clicking shut across the hall.
You lie back on your mattress, the faint scent of his leather jacket still lingering in the air. The motorcycle guy isn’t just scary or spoiled. He’s thoughtful in the quiet ways that matter. And for the first time since the breakup, the ache in your chest feels a tiny bit lighter.
But you’re not ready. Not for the butterflies. Not for wondering what it would feel like if those calloused hands touched you the way no one ever has.
Still… the sound of his engine at midnight doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.
It’s been almost two weeks since you moved in, and the ache from the breakup has settled into a dull, constant hum rather than sharp stabbing pain. You still catch yourself spiraling some nights.
You try to focus on small wins: a couple of job interviews lined up, the apartment slowly looking less like a disaster zone. Jay has become a quiet fixture in your days. Small nods in the hallway. The occasional late-night knock with snacks or coffee when he hears your light still on. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to make the building feel less empty.
Tonight, the sky opens up without warning. Rain slams against the windows in sheets, thunder cracking loud enough to rattle the old pipes. You’re halfway through folding laundry when the power flickers once, twice, then dies completely. The building plunges into darkness except for the faint emergency lights in the hallway.
You sigh, grabbing your phone flashlight. The last time this happened, Jay showed up with candles and ramen. This time, you’re determined not to be the pathetic new girl again. But as minutes tick by and the storm only gets worse, the silence starts pressing in. Your mind wanders back to your ex’s gentle rejection, the way he never once looked at you with heat in his eyes.
A soft knock echoes through your dark apartment.
You already know who it is before you open the door.
Jay stands in the hallway, lit only by the dim emergency bulb. He’s holding a couple of candles and a small portable lantern, hair slightly damp like he just came in from checking something outside. Black hoodie, black sweatpants — the usual uniform that somehow looks expensive and effortless on him.
“Power’s out again,” he says, voice low. “Whole floor this time. Landlord texted — might be a few hours.”
You nod, trying not to stare at the way the lantern light casts shadows across his sharp jaw. “Yeah… figured.”
He shifts his weight, almost hesitant. “My place has the generator. It’s not fancy, but it’s warm and there’s light. You can wait it out there if you want. Or I can just leave the lantern.”
The offer hangs between you. Part of you wants to say no — to keep the careful distance you’ve been maintaining so you don’t catch feelings for the rich boy with the motorcycle. But the thought of sitting alone in the dark with your breakup thoughts feels worse.
“…Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”
He leads you across the hall. His apartment is surprisingly neat for someone labeled a spoiled brat: minimalist furniture, a large window overlooking the city, a sleek kitchen that looks barely used. The generator hums softly in the background, keeping a couple of lamps and the fridge running. It smells faintly like his cologne — woodsy and clean.
You sit on the edge of his couch while he sets the lantern down and lights the candles for extra warmth. He disappears into the kitchen for a minute and returns with two mugs of instant hot chocolate (the fancy kind with real chocolate chunks, of course).
“Perks of having a dad who overcompensates with deliveries,” he mutters, handing you one. There’s that self-deprecating tone again, like he’s embarrassed by the wealth.
You take the mug, fingers brushing his. The contact sends a small spark up your arm that you immediately ignore. “It’s good. Thanks.”
Silence settles, comfortable but charged. Rain lashes the windows. Thunder rolls. You sip the hot chocolate and glance around — no photos of family, no flashy decorations. Just a couple of books on motorcycles and business, and a guitar leaning in the corner you hadn’t noticed before.
Jay sits on the armchair across from you, elbows on his knees, watching the storm. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he says suddenly. Not accusing. Just observant. “Still thinking about that breakup?”
You swallow, the warm mug grounding you. “Yeah. It’s stupid. It’s been weeks, but… it messes with your head. When someone you loved tells you they were never really attracted to you. Makes you question everything about yourself.”
Jay’s eyes flick to yours, dark and steady. He doesn’t offer empty platitudes. Instead, he says, “Sounds like he had his own shit to figure out and dragged you through it. Doesn’t make you any less… you.”
The words land softly, but they hit deep. Your cheeks warm. You look down at your mug. “Easy to say when you have girls showing up at your door looking like models.”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Those girls don’t see me. They see the last name and the bike and the money. Half the time I feel like a walking trust fund.” He pauses, then adds quieter, “You’re the first person in this building who looked at me like I was just… a guy. Even when I was being an ass with the ramen that first night.”
Your heart stutters. The air feels thicker suddenly. You set the mug down, nerves buzzing. “I should probably head back soon. The power might come back.”
Jay stands at the same time you do. “Wait.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking unusually unsure for the cool, untouchable neighbor. “The rain’s not letting up, and it’s dark as hell out there. I can give you a ride tomorrow morning if you have anywhere to be. On the bike. It’s faster than waiting for the bus in this weather.”
Your eyes widen. A motorcycle ride? With him? The idea sends a mix of fear and unexpected thrill through you. “I… I’ve never been on one before.”
He gives the smallest, softest almost-smile you’ve seen yet — the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to make your stomach flip. “I’ll go slow. Promise. Helmet’s extra. You’ll be safe.”
You hesitate, insecurity whispering that you’re not the kind of girl who rides motorcycles with hot neighbors. But the way he’s looking at you — patient, gentle under the sharp exterior — makes the yes slip out before you can overthink.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Tomorrow morning.”
He walks you back to your door, lantern in hand, waiting until you’re safely inside. As you close the door, you lean against it, pulse racing.
A motorcycle ride with Jay. The spoiled rich boy who’s slowly showing you his soft center. The one who makes late-night snacks feel like dates and listens without judgment.
You’re not ready for anything more. Not when your body still feels like a question mark and your heart is still healing.
But for the first time, the idea of getting closer doesn’t feel terrifying.
It feels like the start of something warm in the middle of the storm.
The next morning arrives gray and damp, but the rain has eased into a light drizzle. You stand in front of your mirror longer than usual, staring at your reflection in simple jeans, a cozy sweater, and your hair tied back loosely. Your heart is doing ridiculous things — fluttering, then sinking, then fluttering again.
It’s just a ride to the bus stop. Nothing more.
Still, the memory of Jay’s quiet “I’ll go slow. Promise.” keeps replaying. No one has ever offered you something so simple yet so intimate. Your ex never did anything like this. He was safe, gentle, careful… and ultimately not attracted to you at all. That truth still stings every time you think about being touched, about someone wanting you in that raw, physical way. You’re still a virgin carrying that quiet shame, and the idea of pressing close to Jay on a motorcycle feels both terrifying and electric.
A knock on your door pulls you out of the spiral.
Jay is waiting in the hallway, two helmets in hand — one sleek black for him, a smaller one with a clear visor for you. He’s in his usual black: fitted shirt under a leather jacket that looks soft from wear, dark jeans, boots. His hair is slightly messy, and there’s a faint scent of rain and clean cologne clinging to him.
“Ready?” he asks, voice low and steady. His eyes scan your face like he can sense your nerves. “If you changed your mind, it’s fine. I can just walk you down.”
You shake your head, swallowing hard. “No… let’s do it.”
He leads you downstairs to the parking lot where the matte-black motorcycle waits like a sleeping beast. Jay swings a leg over first, settling in with natural ease, then holds out a hand to help you on. His palm is warm and calloused — the same touch that’s lingered in your mind since the candle night.
“Hold onto my waist or shoulders,” he says quietly, handing you the helmet. “Lean with me on turns, but not too much. I’ve got you.”
Your cheeks burn as you climb on behind him. The seat is narrower than you expected. There’s no space that doesn’t put you close. You hesitate for a second, then slide your arms around his waist, hands resting lightly over the leather jacket. Even through the layers, you feel the firmness of his body, the steady warmth radiating from him. Your heart slams against your ribs.
Jay starts the engine. The low rumble vibrates through both of you. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you manage, voice muffled by the helmet.
He takes off slowly, just like he promised. The motorcycle glides out of the lot and onto the wet street. Wind rushes past, cool and fresh, carrying the scent of rain on pavement. At first you’re stiff, gripping his jacket like a lifeline. But as the ride smooths out and Jay keeps his speed gentle, something shifts.
You start to relax. Your chest presses lightly against his back with every small movement. The world blurs by — blurred buildings, wet trees, the occasional car. For the first time in weeks, your mind quiets. There’s only the roar of the engine, the steady beat of Jay’s breathing you can somehow feel, and the solid presence of him in front of you.
He doesn’t speed up or show off. He drives like he’s protecting something fragile. When he leans into a gentle turn, you instinctively follow, arms tightening around his waist without thinking. The contact sends a warm spark through your whole body — not just fear, but something softer. Something that feels dangerously like the start of liking.
At a red light, he tilts his head slightly toward you. “Still okay back there?”
Your voice comes out softer than intended. “Yeah… it’s nice.”
The corner of his mouth lifts under his helmet — you can’t see it, but you swear you feel the shift in his posture, like he’s pleased.
The ride ends too soon. He pulls up smoothly in front of the café where you have your morning interview prep planned. You slide off the bike on shaky legs, handing him the helmet. Your hands brush again, lingering a beat longer than necessary.
Jay kills the engine and looks at you, dark eyes searching your face. The drizzle has left tiny droplets on his hair and lashes. “How was it?”
“Better than the bus,” you admit, a small smile breaking through. “Thank you. Really. I… I liked it.”
Something flickers in his gaze — warm, almost surprised. He rubs the back of his neck, the same shy gesture you’ve seen when he brings snacks. “Anytime. Just knock if you need a ride. Or if the power goes out again. Or… just if you want company.”
The words hang there, simple but heavy with unspoken meaning. Your stomach flips. This is the spoiled rich boy everyone warns about? The one who never smiles? Yet here he is, offering rides and quiet company like it’s the most natural thing.
You nod, biting your lip. “I will.”
He doesn’t drive off right away. He waits until you’re safely inside the café, watching through the window as you find a seat. Only then does the motorcycle rumble back to life and fade into the distance.
All through your interview prep, you can’t stop thinking about it: the warmth of his back against your chest, the way his body felt solid and safe under your hands, the gentle way he drove just for you. The quiet way he listened to your breakup pain without judgment. The way he makes the “scary” label feel like a lie.
By the time you head home that evening, the liking has started. It’s small, fragile, and terrifying — butterflies mixed with the old fear that you’re not enough, that your inexperience will scare him away if he ever gets close.
But when you step into the hallway later and hear his door open at the same time as yours, when your eyes meet and he gives that tiny almost-smile again, you know it’s already too late to stop it.
You’re starting to like Park Jongseong. The motorcycle neighbor. The quiet rich boy with the soft center. The one who makes storms feel warmer.
And for the first time since the breakup, that thought doesn’t make you want to run. It makes you want to stay.
The liking has turned into something you can no longer ignore.
It’s been a few days since the motorcycle ride, and every small interaction with Jay now carries extra weight. A nod in the hallway feels loaded. The way he sometimes leaves a coffee outside your door when he knows you have an early interview feels like care. You catch yourself replaying the feeling of your arms around his waist, the solid heat of his back, the low rumble of his voice asking if you were okay. The butterflies are getting louder, but so is the old fear: What if he finds out I’m still a virgin because my ex never wanted me that way? What if I’m not enough again?
You’re trying to take it slow. One ride at a time. One late-night snack at a time.
Then the text comes from the building’s group chat (the one the landlord forced everyone into).
Mrs. Kim (3rd floor, end unit):
“Small housewarming + birthday party at my place tonight! 8 PM. Bring drinks or snacks if you want~ Everyone on this floor is invited! No excuses 😊”
Mrs. Kim is the friendly middle-aged lady who always chats with everyone — the mutual neighbor who knows everyone’s business. She’s harmless, loud, and loves bringing people together. You’ve only spoken to her twice, but she already calls you “sweetie.”
You stare at the message, chewing your lip. A party means people. Noise. Alcohol. And most likely… Jay.
Part of you wants to hide in your apartment with ramen and a drama. The other part — the one that’s been quietly liking the boy across the hall — wonders what Jay looks like in a party setting. Whether he’ll be the cold ice prince or show that secret soft side again.
At 8:15 PM you finally decide to go. You wear something simple but cute: a soft black sweater that slips off one shoulder, jeans, and light makeup to hide the lingering tiredness in your eyes. You bring a cheap bottle of soju and some chips as your contribution.
Mrs. Kim’s apartment is already buzzing when you arrive. Music plays at a decent volume — old K-pop mixed with trot. There are about fifteen people crammed into her living room: a few other neighbors, some of her friends from the neighborhood, and a couple of younger faces you don’t recognize. The lights are warm, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, and the coffee table is covered in food and drinks.
Mrs. Kim spots you immediately and pulls you into a hug. “Y/N sweetie! You came! Come, come — meet everyone!”
She introduces you around. You smile politely, making small talk, but your eyes keep drifting to the door.
Then Jay walks in.
He’s in all black, of course — black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the faint lines of tattoos on his forearms, black pants that fit too well. His hair is styled back slightly, silver chain glinting at his neck. He looks expensive and effortlessly handsome, the kind of guy who makes the room feel smaller just by entering.
But he doesn’t look comfortable. His shoulders are tense, jaw set in that familiar unreadable mask. He greets Mrs. Kim with a respectful bow and a quiet “Happy birthday, auntie,” then scans the room. When his eyes land on you, something shifts — the tension eases just a fraction. He gives you the smallest nod, that almost-smile tugging at his lips.
Your heart stutters.
The party moves on. People chat, drink, play silly games. You stick mostly to the corner with a cup of watered-down soju, watching from afar. Jay stays on the opposite side, politely turning down shots from some of the older men who seem to know his father. A couple of girls from the building (not the same ones from before) try to talk to him — laughing a little too loud, touching his arm. He remains civil but distant, excusing himself after a few minutes each time.
You’re on your second cup when Mrs. Kim claps her hands. “Okay okay! Truth or dare time for the young people! Come on, don’t be boring!”
A small circle forms on the floor. Somehow you get pulled in. Somehow Jay ends up sitting directly across from you.
The game starts light — silly questions, funny dares. When it’s your turn, someone asks, “Y/N, what’s one thing you’re scared of right now?”
You hesitate, the soju making your tongue looser than usual. Your eyes flick to Jay for a split second before you answer softly, “Getting close to someone again… and realizing I’m not what they want.”
The circle goes “aww” sympathetically. Jay’s gaze stays locked on you, dark and unreadable, but his fingers tighten slightly around his cup.
Later, it’s Jay’s turn. One of the girls dares him: “Kiss the person you think is the prettiest in this room.”
The group whoops. Jay doesn’t even glance at the giggling girls. He just looks straight at you, calm and serious.
“I pass,” he says flatly.
Groans and teasing erupt. The girl pouts. “Why? Too shy?”
“Because some things shouldn’t be a dare,” he replies quietly, eyes still on you. “They should mean something.”
Your breath catches. Heat floods your face. The liking surges — warm, undeniable, terrifying. He’s not playing the game. He’s not showing off. He’s just… Jay. The one who brings candles in storms and drives slow on his motorcycle so you feel safe.
The game continues, but the air between you two has changed. Every time your eyes meet across the circle, the tension crackles. When the party starts winding down around 11 PM, Mrs. Kim is tipsy and hugging everyone goodbye.
You slip out into the hallway first, the cool air a relief after the warm, noisy room. You’re almost at your door when you hear footsteps behind you.
Jay.
He stops a respectful distance away, hands in his pockets. The hallway light casts soft shadows on his face. “You okay?” he asks, voice low. “You got quiet after that question.”
You turn to face him, leaning against your door. The soju has given you just enough courage. “Yeah. Just… thinking. About what I said.”
He steps a little closer. “For what it’s worth… whoever made you feel like you’re not enough was wrong.” His eyes are intense but gentle. “You are.”
The words land straight in your chest. Your heart races. This is the start of liking turning into something deeper — the moment where you realize you don’t just like the idea of him. You like him. The quiet sweetness hidden under the motorcycle and black clothes. The way he sees you when no one else does.
“I… thank you,” you whisper. “You’re not what people say you are, you know. The spoiled brat who never smiles.”
A real, small smile breaks across his face this time — crooked, boyish, devastating. “Maybe I just didn’t have a reason to smile before.”
The hallway feels too small. The space between you charged with everything unsaid. You want to step closer. You want to tell him about the virginity, the insecurity, the way your body still feels uncertain. But it’s too soon. Too raw.
Instead, you say softly, “Goodnight, Jay.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
He waits until you’re safely inside before going to his own door.
You lean against the wood, pressing a hand to your racing heart.
The liking has officially started. And it’s growing faster than you’re ready for.
Across the hall, the boy with the motorcycle is probably doing the same thing — wondering how the quiet new neighbor managed to crack through his walls so easily.
After Mrs. Kim’s party, the air between you and Jay feels different — heavier with possibility, softer with stolen glances and lingering goodnights in the hallway. You still haven’t told him the full truth about your breakup, about still being a virgin because your ex could never desire you the way a man should. That fear sits like a stone in your chest every time the butterflies get too loud. But Jay makes the fear quieter. His small smiles, the way he waits for you to feel safe, the motorcycle rides that have become more frequent… they’re slowly stitching pieces of you back together.
Then the new invitation comes.
This time it’s not from sweet Mrs. Kim.
It’s from Sunghoon — one of Jay’s close friends who lives two floors up. You’ve seen him around the building a couple of times: tall, sharp-featured, always with a quiet smirk. Apparently he and Jay went to the same elite high school and their families run in the same circles. Sunghoon is throwing a small “just because” gathering at his place tonight — mostly guys, a few girls, good music, and drinks. Jay mentioned it casually when he dropped you off from a morning ride yesterday.
“You should come,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll be chill. Sunghoon’s not as loud as he looks. And… I’d like you there.”
How could you say no?
You arrive at 9 PM, nerves buzzing. Sunghoon’s apartment is bigger and more modern than yours or Jay’s — sleek furniture, huge TV playing music videos, bottles of soju and beer neatly arranged on the kitchen island. There are about twelve people total: mostly guys Jay’s age, laughing and playing games on the couch, and a couple of girls who seem to be friends with the group.
Jay is already there when you walk in.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter in black (always black), sleeves rolled up, silver chain catching the low lights. The moment he sees you, his entire posture relaxes. That tiny, crooked smile appears — the one that’s becoming your favorite thing in the world.
“You came,” he says quietly, pushing off the counter to meet you halfway. His hand brushes your arm lightly, guiding you toward the group. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
Sunghoon spots you first and grins, raising a soju bottle in greeting. “Ah, the famous new neighbor! Jay’s been talking about you. Welcome — make yourself at home.”
The guys are friendly in a loud, chaotic way. They pull you into their circle easily, asking light questions about where you moved from and what you do. Jay stays close the whole time, never crowding but always within reach. When someone offers you a strong drink, he quietly swaps it for a milder one without saying anything.
But the real shift happens an hour in.
The group starts playing a drinking game — “Never Have I Ever.” The questions start innocent, then get bolder.
Sunghoon, tipsy and smirking, leans forward. “Never have I ever… been in love with someone who didn’t want me back the same way.”
A couple of the guys drink. You hesitate, then slowly lift your cup and take a sip. The memory of your ex hits again — the gentle rejection, the years of wondering why he never touched you, why you still feel untouched and uncertain about your own body.
Jay’s eyes find yours immediately. He doesn’t drink. Instead, he watches you with that steady, protective gaze that makes your heart ache in the best way.
Later, when the game moves to truth, Sunghoon points at Jay. “Your turn, man. Truth: what’s something you’ve been wanting to do lately but haven’t had the guts for?”
The room goes quiet, everyone waiting. Jay rubs the back of his neck, the same shy habit you’ve grown to love. His dark eyes flick to you, then back to the group.
“I’ve been wanting to tell the girl who lives across the hall that I like her,” he says, voice low but clear. “That she makes this stupid building feel less empty. That I like how she looks at me like I’m just Jay… not the rich kid with the bike and the dad’s money.”
The room erupts in cheers and teasing whistles. Sunghoon claps Jay on the back, laughing. But Jay only looks at you — calm, serious, a little vulnerable under the sharp jaw and tattoos.
Your face burns. The liking explodes into something warmer, scarier, sweeter. You feel exposed and seen at the same time.
When the party starts thinning out around midnight, Jay walks you down to your floor. The hallway is quiet again, just the two of you under the soft lights. He stops in front of your door, hands in his pockets, looking at you like he’s been holding back for weeks.
“I meant what I said up there,” he says softly.
You look up at him confused.
He clears his throat, holding you hand before he speaks up,“I like you, Y/N. A lot. I know you’re still healing from that breakup. I know you’re scared. I’m not rushing anything. But… I want to be the guy who makes you feel wanted. The right way.”
Tears prick your eyes. The weight of your virginity, the insecurity that your ex never desired you — it all feels a little lighter with Jay standing here, offering patience instead of pressure.
You step closer, heart pounding. “I like you too, Jay. I’ve been starting to for a while now. The motorcycle rides… the late-night snacks… the way you’re sweet when no one’s watching. It scares me a little, but I like it.”
He lets out a relieved breath, the corner of his mouth lifting into that beautiful almost-smile that’s now fully a smile when it’s just for you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, neither of you moves. Then Jay gently reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch is feather-light, full of care. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.
You don’t.
The kiss is soft — tentative at first, then warmer as you both relax into it. His lips are gentle, tasting faintly of soju and the honey butter chips he always shares with you. One hand cups your cheek, the other stays respectfully at your waist. There’s no rush, no demand. Just Jay kissing you like you’re something precious he’s been waiting to hold.
When you pull back, breathless and smiling, he rests his forehead against yours.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers. “Whenever you’re ready… for anything… we’ll go slow. Like the motorcycle. Okay?”
You nod, tears of relief mixing with happiness. “Okay.”
He kisses your forehead, then steps back with that soft, boyish grin. “Goodnight, neighbor.”
“Goodnight, Jay.”
As you close your door, you lean against it, heart full and light at the same time. The boy with the motorcycle — the one everyone called a spoiled brat who never smiles — has become the sweetest part of your new beginning.
Across the hall, you hear his door click shut, and for the first time since moving in, the building doesn’t feel lonely.
It feels like home.
It’s been five days since the kiss in the hallway.
Five days of shy smiles when you pass each other in the morning, five days of Jay leaving coffee at your door before he rides off, five days of late-night texts that make your stomach flip. The liking has bloomed into something warmer, but you still haven’t told him everything. The lunch conversation at work keeps replaying in your head like a bad loop.
Today was especially rough.
During the team lunch, the same group of coworkers started the conversation again — louder this time. “Seriously, staying a virgin past twenty is just sad at this point,” one girl laughed. “It’s like you’re holding onto some fairy-tale idea. Just rip the band-aid off.” Everyone nodded and joked about it. You forced a laugh and changed the subject, but the words stuck like thorns. By the time you got home, the frustration and shame had built into a heavy knot in your chest.
You’re barely out of your work clothes (now in an oversized hoodie and shorts) when there’s a familiar knock on your door — three soft taps.
Jay.
You open it and he’s standing there in his usual black hoodie and jeans, motorcycle helmet still in one hand, hair slightly messy from the ride. The moment he sees your face, his expression shifts from soft to concerned.
“Hey… you okay? You look like something’s wrong.”
You step aside to let him in. He sets the helmet down and follows you to the small couch area. The rain is starting again outside — light but steady, the same sound that always seems to pull you two closer.
You sit down, knees pulled to your chest. Jay sits beside you, close but not crowding, waiting patiently like he always does.
“I need to tell you something,” you say quietly, voice already shaky. “About my breakup… and about me.”
He nods, dark eyes steady on yours. “I’m listening.”
You take a deep breath and let it all spill out.
“My ex and I were together for two years. He was sweet — held my hand, cuddled me, said he loved me. But he never wanted to have sex with me. Not once. I spent so long thinking there was something wrong with my body, that I wasn’t attractive enough, that I was doing everything wrong. Turns out he’s gay. He was trying to force himself to be straight for me, for his family… for everything. So I’m still a virgin. And today at lunch, everyone was talking about how stupid and pathetic it is to still be a virgin at my age. They were laughing about it like it’s something to be embarrassed about. It made me feel… broken. Frustrated. Like I’m the only one who’s still waiting and it’s my fault.”
Tears slip down your cheeks by the time you finish. You wipe them away angrily. “I like you, Jay. A lot. The kiss the other night… it felt right. But this frustration has been building and I don’t know how to deal with it anymore. I want to feel wanted. I want to feel normal. I want… you. But I’m scared I’ll disappoint you or that it’ll hurt or that I won’t know what to do.”
The silence after your confession is gentle. Jay doesn’t interrupt. He just reaches out and takes your hand, thumb stroking slowly over your knuckles.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low and steady, full of quiet anger at your ex and softness for you.
“There is nothing — nothing — wrong with you. Your ex hurt you because he couldn’t be honest with himself. That’s on him, not on your body or your worth.” He squeezes your hand. “Being a virgin doesn’t make you pathetic or stupid. It just means you haven’t found someone who deserves you yet. And if that someone is me… I’m honored. Not disappointed.”
He shifts closer, cupping your face with both hands so you have to look at him. “I want you too. So much. But only when you’re ready. We can stop anytime. I’ll go slow. I’ll talk you through it. You tell me what feels good and what doesn’t. Okay?”
You nod, the knot in your chest loosening. “I’m ready now. I trust you.”
Jay kisses you then — slow and deep, pouring reassurance into every brush of his lips. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you gently into his lap so you’re straddling him. The kiss grows hotter, tongues meeting, breaths quickening. You can already feel him hardening beneath you through his jeans.
He breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against your mouth, “Bed?”
You nod.
He lifts you easily and carries you to the mattress on the floor, laying you down like you’re something fragile and precious. Clothes come off slowly, piece by piece. He kisses every new inch of skin he reveals — your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. When he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks gently, you arch with a soft moan.
“Jay…” you breathe.
He hums in response, hand sliding between your legs. His fingers find you already wet and he groans quietly. “So wet for me already. Good girl.”
He circles your clit with slow, perfect pressure, then slips one finger inside you, then two, scissoring gently to stretch you. You’re gasping, hips rocking against his hand as pleasure builds fast and hot. He watches your face the entire time, whispering praises — “So tight… so beautiful… taking my fingers so well.”
Your first orgasm hits you hard, thighs trembling around his wrist as you cry out his name.
Jay kisses you through it, then pulls back to roll on a condom. He settles between your thighs, cock heavy and flushed against your entrance.
“Eyes on me,” he says softly. “Breathe. If it hurts too much, tell me and I stop.”
You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist.
He pushes in slowly — inch by careful inch. There’s a sharp burn at first, a stretching fullness that makes you wince and grip his shoulders. Jay freezes immediately, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good, baby. Just relax for me.”
When the pain eases into a dull ache, you nod again. Jay starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that turn discomfort into sparks of pleasure. The friction is intense, overwhelming in the best way. He angles his thrusts to hit that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes.
“Fuck… you feel incredible,” he groans, voice rough. One hand slips between you to rub your clit in tight circles. “Come for me again. I want to feel you.”
The second orgasm crashes over you harder than the first. Your walls clench around him, pulling a deep moan from Jay’s throat. He follows right after, hips stuttering as he comes with your name on his lips.
He stays inside you for a moment, breathing hard, then carefully pulls out and disposes of the condom. Immediately he pulls you into his arms, wrapping you up against his chest. His hand strokes your back in soothing circles while he presses soft kisses to your hair, your temple, your shoulder.
“You okay?” he whispers. “Any pain?”
“A little sore… but good. Really good.” You smile against his skin, the frustration from lunch completely gone. In its place is warmth, safety, and the feeling of finally being wanted — exactly as you are.
Jay chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”
Outside, the rain continues. Inside, Jay holds you close, the boy with the motorcycle no longer across the hall but right here, skin against skin, heart against heart.
The start of something real.
@heesvnqie | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work
synopsis: yang jungwon was your ideal person. whenever the world and everyone in it seemed too fast for you, he would always be there to keep you grounded. his calm, his words, his heart were always just a phone call away for you, his best friend
genre: jungwon x gn!reader, f2l, fluff, comfort fic, angst
tw/cw: cursing, mental health, anxiety, overthinking, not proofreadkissing, makeout, sweet jungwon moments
wc: 2,253 words
a/n: was this a self-indulgent fic? yes, it was. sue me.. it was intense today for some reason so the comfort fic was necessary ♡(｡- ω -) jungwon is my ideal comfort person (plus the not much prepared vid was so sweet). i hope everyone knows that it's okay to breathe and slow down -> please don't copy or translate ~^^
the human brain is a complex organ. it is the command center of the body, regulating everything from vital body processes, such as breathing and your heart rate, all the way to intricate functions, like your thoughts, memories, emotions, and sensory processing. if you were to rank it out of all the organs in your body, it would rank first place together with the heart, for it was a vital organ. a vital organ that just could not seem to shut up.
you glanced over at the clock hanging on your wall and groaned at the time. 10:47 pm. your eyes flickered back over at your laptop, refreshing the page only to find that nothing has changed. multiple tabs remain untouched. the list in your notes app is still unticked. the blank word document reflected off of your blue-light glasses, that were proving to be of no help since your eyes still hurt. slowed emotional music continued to play at 50% volume, only reminding you of the empty feeling spreading through your chest. fucking hell.
it had been over four hours since you last did something productive, stuck in this endless loop of writing, deleting, pulling at your hair, scrolling through social media, and hating yourself because somehow everyone was doing something useful except for you. it was utter torture. why couldn’t you be like them? why did you have to be stumped over every little thing?
hands over your face, you let out a frustrated yell. “fuck why can’t i just get this?” you were tired. the world and everyone in it felt like they were moving too fast for you, constantly progressing and advancing through life while you were still here, catching your breath, barely seeing a shadow of their figure. you felt yourself slump against the cold wall, fist pounding against your chest, struggling to breathe as weak winces left your dry lips.
useless. four hours and not a single thing has changed. how pathetic. are you even trying at this point? just give up. everyone is doing so much better than–
“stop,” he uttered, his soft hand grasped your wrist, gently pulling it away from you and down to rest on the floor. “i don’t like you hurting yourself, it hurts me too. it makes me upset, you don’t want me to be upset, do you?” he tilted your chin up and there you met his eye. your knight in shining armor, your best friend, yang jungwon. his hold around your wrist loosened, moving to cradle your cheek, thumb carefully wiping away the teardrop that you failed to notice were falling. “why the long face, pretty?”
he flashed you a smile, one so soft and inviting. a whine left you lips as you lunged forward to wrap your arms around his neck, him reciprocating with his around your waist moving your head to rest in the crook of his neck. his embrace felt so warm, like a safe haven that would welcome you after a long day. “where were you?” you cried, tears soaking into the tan hoodie he was wearing.
“at my own house, angel. i only came by to deliver you some side dishes that your mom made for you… it’s a good thing i came by, huh?” you silently nodded, eyes shut with broken whimpers leaving every once in a while. he felt your grip tighten as he adjusted you, pulling you closer into his lap with a sigh. “let it out, i’m here now.” and let it out you did.
he didn’t say anything as you cried in his arms, not a single peep. all he did was hold you tight against his chest, like a promise that he was there to protect you from all the bad things that would hurt you. slowly but surely you felt your tears dry, breath ease, and body relax like magic. you must’ve been crying for at least an hour, but as you lift your head from his shoulder you only find him smiling at you. dimples framing his mochi-like cheeks, eyes sparkling but eyebrows just the slightest bit furrowed to show his worry for you. there you felt it, your heart turn with a thump and thoughts quicken. “feel better?” he asked, snapping you out of your gaze. his voice was a whisper, considerate so as to not startle you while you calmed down.
“mhm, much. thanks, wonie.” he mindlessly nodded, attention shifting to stroke your head, playing with the ends of your hair. the room remained quiet with him distracted, playing with your hair, and you, distracted with him.
there was something about yang jungwon. something strange yet so special. you always knew he was the kind of person that many easily gravitated towards with his joyful demeanor that would light up rooms, his lovable look that made him seem so cute, the way he could suddenly switch from sweet to serious when the situation called for it, and how heart remained kind despite how cruel the world was. a fool to some, but a heart of gold to you.
your eyes are meticulous with how they take in each one of his features once again, as if the first time wasn’t enough. his supple skin that shone the lightest bit golden under the warm lights, hair slightly curling in on itself showing that natural curl he’s had since before, boba eyes that hold every bit of emotion he expressed on his face, the tips of his mouth sinking into his cheeks as his smile melts while looking at you, cheeks flushed with a rosy pink when he realized that you were looking at him, and teeth shyly poking out to nibble on his lower lip turning it a bright red. so pretty. you nervously reached up to pull his lip from his teeth, frowning as you caress the swollen flesh.
“don’t do that. you told me not to hurt myself, i don’t want you to do that either.” his lips quipped into a cheeky grin, childishly giggling at the furrow between your brows. you sighed, heart heavy in your chest from all the running emotions. “i missed you.” you started, shyly admitting the thoughts in your head, playing with the strings of his hoodies as you continued. “it was really scary without you here a while ago. i was doing nothing, nothing productive, and yet it felt like i was doing everything. there was so much going on in my head and it was so loud and endless and i just wanted it to stop. but it didn’t. it just kept on going and going–”
“hey, hey, look at me.” your sight was blurry with tears. you hated how weak you were like this. “you’re safe now, okay? nothing can harm you, not even those thoughts of yours.”
“everyone is moving forward, wonie. and i feel stuck here. it’s like quicksand the way that, no matter how hard i try to get out, i just end up sinking deeper… it was suffocating. i couldn’t breathe!”
“yn,” he grabbed your hand and pressed it against his chest, right where his heart was. thump thump thump. it was steady, loud against your palm. thump thump thump. was his heart always this fast? “the only thing you’re sinking into are those negative thoughts of yours. angel, it’s okay to rest. you don’t always have to push yourself when you’re tired. i can promise you that even if you take a break, you’re not falling behind. everyone moves at a different pace, they have good days and they have bad ones, it’s normal.” his other hand raised and lowered in the air, face obnoxiously guiding you to breathe in and out with every motion. “it’s natural to want to do your best, but that shouldn’t come at the cost of your health and mental well-being.”
“then what am i supposed to do? you and i both know that this won’t be the last time it happens!”
“then call me! text me. i don’t care. i just want to be there for you at times like these. i like you enough to want you and protect you even when you’re spiraling. just tell me and i’ll be there to hold your hand, wipe your tears, hug you tight, make you listen to how hard my heart beats because of you. if you want to sit in silence, then i’ll be quiet. if you want to be distracted, then i’ll talk forever. if you’re sporting a frown, then i’ll pull funny faces after comforting you just to make you laugh.” he rambled, eyes digging into yours as he spilled his feelings for you. “don’t shut yourself in when i’m more than willing to help you.”
you froze, watching as his chest went up and down, breathless from his rant. his cheeks flushed a deeper red and mouth turned to a frown from how painful his heart hurt. so many words but all you could focus on was, “jungwon, you like me?”
his eyes widened, fingers squeezing your hip as he replied a breathless “yes. for a while now. a year or so, maybe longer.” wow. jungwon liked you. your best friend liked you. no more was your head stressing over pace, future, nothingness. now it could only repeat his confession, yelling at you to reply to the one trust.
just confess already! don’t go telling yourself that you don’t like him, when we all know that you like this man. for fucks sake, he’s the only one who could calm you down with a hug. that’s romance. kiss!
before you could stress any further, you closed the distance between you two. it hits you instantly. fireworks. a feeling that you didn’t expect to happen, burying it deep in your heart to not ruin your friendship. but those feelings only developed, coming up to make butterflies flutter in your stomach. you feel him stiffen and you pull away slowly. “i-i’m sorry, i just– you said you liked me and i realized i liked you too. and i just really wanted to kiss you then,” your words got slower and quieter as your sentence dragged on. maybe that was too sudden. he just confessed and everything.
as if sensing your mind start to stress, he held your cheek and pulled you into him once again. “payback,” he muttered against your lips, a smirk forming before his thumb brushed the skin by your ear. his words made you scoff into the kiss, lips soon melting into his as if this was where you two were meant to be all along. jungwon tilted his head, creating a new angle that allowed him to deepen the kiss with his hand lowering to cradle the back of your neck. his tongue moved to lick your bottom lip, begging for entrance only to be met with a little shake of your head. he huffed in annoyance, teeth suddenly biting your lip catching you by surprise with a gasp.
he easily slipped his tongue in, holding you tighter against him when he felt your grip on his hoodie start to falter. “focus, pretty.” your tongue bumped against his as you tried to copy his actions, breath quickening and the heat between you two growing hotter. it was intoxicating. he tasted like sugar, probably from the gummies he ate on his way over, the ones he always keeps on him as a little treat. with every kiss, bite, and breath swapped between the two of you, it only further confirmed your feelings for one another. an intense kiss, fueled not from the heat of the moment but from all the feelings that you two kept hidden thinking it was never reciprocated. it was getting harder to breathe again and as his grip moved to thighs, pulling you impossibly closer, did you become aware of how pressed up you were against him. it was dizzying how addicting his kiss felt.
“jungwon, hah... need to breathe,” you sighed, trying to pull away simply to find him leaning further in your direction to keep your lips connected. he successfully managed to attach his kiss swollen lips against yours, both of you laughing with silly smiles on your faces. “you’re so annoying. keep kissing me and my head’s gonna be stressed out again with thoughts of you this time.”
“oh no, what horror. don’t worry, pretty. if it ever gets too loud,” he tenderly guided your hand back to his chest, resting on his heart. just like before, thump thump thump thump. his heart loud against your palm, ringing in your ears with its vibrations. thump thump thump thump. “just remember my heartbeat, the way it strums a melody, fast but beautiful all because of you.” jungwon was obsessed, finding himself completely lost in you and the way you tasted. he felt his heart continue to thump in a frenzy, beyond elated at the feeling of you softly laughing against his lips, a giddy grin on your face. “or you could just kiss me. either works.” he joked, teeth fully on display when you pulled back with a bubbling laugh.
“hmm, i might just have to take you up on that offer.”
“i look forward to it!” and with his fingers guiding your chin back to his lips for the third maybe fourth time today, all you could think of was how grateful you were to have jungwon by your side to ease both your brain and heart, with his words and kisses.
Sypnosis: you have serious insomnia, remedies didn’t help but surprisingly your best friend helped?
Warnings: insomnia, tooth rotting fluff, lowkey bestfriends to lover?
Playlist🎧: always- Daniel Caesar
Moonlight- Chase Atlantic
I’m so in love with you- the kid laroi
Soft spot- keshi
Come back home- Sofia Carson
📍a/n: been very consistent lately😛😛 thank you for the likes on previous postsss, hope you enjoyyyyy
—————————————————————————
The glowing green numbers on your alarm clock read 3:14 AM.
You stared blankly at the ceiling, your eyes burning but your brain stubbornly refusing to shut down, thoughts are loud in your head. This was your third night of running on less than two hours of sleep. You had tried everything: lavender pillow sprays, warm milk, blackout curtains, white noise playlists, and even the aggressive 4-7-8 breathing technique. Nothing worked. Your insomnia was a stubborn monster, and it was winning.
Your phone buzzed against your nightstand, the sudden vibration making you flinch.
Riki: You're awake, aren't you?
You blinked at the screen. Riki knew your sleep schedule, better than anyone.
You: Is it that obvious?
Riki: I can see your green active dot from here. Open your window.
Confused, you pushed yourself out of bed, your limbs feeling heavy as lead, and padded over to the window. Pushing the glass open, you looked down into the quiet alleyway separating your apartment buildings. Riki stood there, wearing an oversized hoodie, holding up a massive fleece blanket in one hand and a bag of takeout in the other.
"Movie night," he called up in a loud whisper, a lopsided grin on his face. "Get down here, or I'm breaking in."
Ten minutes later, you were wrapped in a cocoon of blankets on Riki’s living room sofa. The only light in the room came from the television screen, which was currently displaying a streaming menu.
"I'm telling you, Riki, it’s a waste of time," you sighed, leaning your head back against the cushions. "My brain is literally broken. I tried that weird muscle relaxation thing tonight and all it did was make me hyper-aware of my own toes."
Riki chuckled, sitting down next to you and handing you a carton of warm food. "We aren't trying to force you to sleep. We're just distracting you from trying to sleep. Big difference."
He scrolled through the movies and picked a long, slow-paced sci-fi film you’d both seen a franchise of before. As the opening credits began to roll, Riki shifted, extending his arm along the back of the couch.
"Come here," he murmured.
You didn't even hesitate. You slid closer, letting him pull you against his side. You rested your head right in the crook of his shoulder, the familiar scent of his laundry detergent and the floral cologne wrapping around you like a safety net.
For the first twenty minutes, you tried to focus on the movie. But Riki’s presence was incredibly grounding. He didn't fidget, and his breathing was a steady, rhythmic rise and fall beneath your cheek. Slowly, casually, his free hand began to gently trace patterns on your arm, his fingers moving in soft, repetitive motions over the fleece blanket.
It was the first time all week that the frantic, buzzing noise in your head started to quiet down.
Your eyelids grew heavy. You blinked, trying to force them open, but Riki noticed. He shifted slightly, wrapping his arm more securely around your waist and pulling you fully against his chest, tucking you under his chin
"Don't fight it," he whispered, his voice deep and soothing in the dark room. "Just close your eyes. I've got you."
The warmth radiating from him was better than any heated blanket. The gentle, slow stroke of his hand on your shoulder was more soothing than any white noise playlist. For the first time in days, you felt completely safe enough to let go.
Your breathing slowed, matching his steady rhythm. As your eyes slipped shut for the final time, the last thing you felt was Riki resting his cheek softly against the top of your head, holding you tight against the rest of the world.
The next thing you knew, a soft beam of morning sunlight was filtering through the gaps in the blinds, warming your face.
You blinked your eyes open, feeling a strange, unfamiliar sensation: you were actually well-rested. The heavy, gritty feeling behind your eyes was completely gone, replaced by a cozy warmth.
As you slowly came to your senses, you realized you weren't in your own bed. You were still on Riki’s couch. Even more shocking? You had actually slept. For hours.
A soft rumble vibrated against your cheek, and reality rushed back all at once. You were still tucked firmly against Riki's chest. One of his large hands was still resting protectively on your waist, and his chin was nestled into your hair. He was still fast asleep, his breathing slow and even.
You shifted slightly, trying not to wake him, but the movement caused him to stir. His grip on your waist tightened automatically, pulling you a fraction closer before his eyelashes fluttered open.
He blinked against the morning light, his eyes cloudy with sleep. When he looked down and saw you staring up at him, a sleepy, lopsided smile spread across his face. His voice was incredibly deep and gravelly from sleep.
"Morning."
"Riki," you breathed, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "I slept."
He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your shoulder. "Yeah. You did. Like a rock, actually. You didn't even move."
"How... how long?"
Riki glanced over your head at the clock on the wall. "About seven hours."
Your jaw practically dropped. Seven hours of uninterrupted, deep sleep. You had spent weeks spending hundreds of dollars on remedies, teas, and apps, and all it took was a movie night with your best friend.
"You stayed like this the whole time?" you asked, suddenly aware of how stiff his shoulder must be. "Why didn't you wake me up or move me to the bed? Your arm must be completely numb."
Riki finally let his hand slide from your waist, stretching his arms over his head with a groan as his joints popped. But his smile never faded.
"It was a little numb around hour four," he admitted, a teasing glint in his eyes. "But every time I tried to shift, you'd make this little frowning sound and lean closer. There was no way I was risking waking you up after how stressed you've been."
A warm flush crept up your cheeks. "I'm sorry. I must have been a terrible couch partner."
"Are you kidding?" Riki leaned back against the cushions, looking at you with a softness that made your heart skip a beat. "I'd take a numb arm any day if it means you finally get some rest. You've been carrying so much exhaustion, it was nice to see you actually look peaceful."
You looked at him, truly looked at him—the messy morning hair, the kind eyes, and the genuine care etched into his face. The realization hit you with a sudden, quiet clarity: it hadn't been the movie, the blanket, or the room that finally cured your insomnia. It was him. His presence was the only thing that made your mind feel safe enough to completely let its guard down.
"Thank you, Riki," you said softly, the words carrying a weight that went far beyond just a simple thanks for a movie night.
He seemed to understand the shift in the air. He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering for just a second against your cheekbone.
"Anytime," he murmured, his smile turning incredibly gentle. "Seriously. Next time your brain won't shut up, you don't even have to text. Just come over. My shoulder is always available."
IN WHICH your boyfriend is way too affectionate && always late to practice! ┊ kiiikiiireader kissing fluff skinship softkeonho sliceoflife
♫⋆.˚ now playing bed chem sabrina carpenter
early morning sunlight shone through the curtains and casted a warm glow on the vanilla lotion scented room. quiet music played from the record player in the corner, still spinning since you forgot to turn it off the night before.
the room was messy enough to make haum scoff if she saw . . . clothes had been discarded on the desk chair, uggs were kicked off near the bed, makeup was scattered all over the vanity beside half full iced coffees and tangled jewelry.
the plan was to deep clean after kilikiii's dance practice last night, but your very loving boyfriend had other ideas. keonho had begged you to let him come over. he had promised to let you clean and said he just wanted to watch . . . whatever allowed him to be close to you.
that promise was ultimately broken as you two did a whole lot more talking and kissing than cleaning!
keonho was now sprawled on top of you — he was shirtless and wearing gray sweatpants with one of his long legs tangled between yours. his arms were wrapped tightly around your bare stomach where the shirt of his you had stolen had ridden up. his cheek was warm against your skin.
"baby," you hummed, brushing a hand through his disheveled hair.
keonho groaned in response and snuggled further into you. stubborn was definitely a good word to describe your boyfriend, especially in the morning.
"c'mon, you should go before jiyu wakes up."
that got him to sit halfway up onto his side while keeping one hand lightly placed on your waist. his face was slightly puffy and his hair stuck out in every direction possible like always after he'd gotten a good night's sleep.
"this bed head is really doing something for me," you snorted, scrunching your nose in amusement.
he playfully licked his bottom lip and ran a hand through his hair.
"you like it, angel?" his voice was low and raspy.
keonho leaned in and pressed a kiss to your giggling lips, then one to your nose, and another to your cheek.
"martin texted you," you said. "please don't get in trouble again, keonho. you remember how annoyed he was last time you were late?"
he huffed out a breath while rolling his eyes and laid back down over you. "martin doesn't understand what it's like to have a beautiful and caring girlfriend."
"i love you, but you can't stay in my bed all day." you traced hearts into the bare skin of his shoulder.
୨ৎ Summary : After an unexpectedly early day off, all you want is a quiet evening with your husband. Unfortunately, Jungwon gets stuck working overtime and comes home after a company dinner. Jungwon comes home drunk for the first time since your marriage. You expect a sleepy husband and maybe a mild headache. Instead, you get a giggly, clingy menace Jungwon.
୨ৎ Pairing : husband! Jungwon x wife! reader
୨ৎ Wordcount : 3.5K
୨ৎ Warning : drunk! Jungwon, drunk! sex (just jungwon), unprotected sex (ZON'T ZO IT), Jungwon is giggle mess during sex, playful!Jungwon
Your work finished early today.
At exactly five thirty in the afternoon, your manager casually announced that everyone could head home because the remaining tasks had been postponed until tomorrow. For a few seconds, the entire office had gone silent in disbelief before people immediately started packing their bags like prisoners being granted unexpected freedom.
Lately, your schedule has been exhausting. Most nights, you did not get home until almost nine. By the time you showered, ate dinner, and properly relaxed, it was already close to midnight. The only thing keeping you sane throughout the week had been Jungwon dramatically complaining every single evening about how much he missed you.
You smiled just thinking about him. Your husband never handled your overtime gracefully. When you are deep in your work, Jungwon will send you a bunch of messages telling you to go home and spend time cuddling with him. Little did he know, you were almost tempted to do that.
Thank God you still hold yourself together.
The moment you stepped out of the office building, you immediately pulled your phone from your bag and typed quickly.
‘Baby, I finished early today ♡’
You smiled while pressing send. You could already imagine it. Maybe watching a movie curled against Jungwon’s chest while he complained dramatically about the plot, or falling asleep early together without either of you being too exhausted to speak. The thought alone made warmth spread softly through your chest.
The reply came almost immediately. And somehow, within one second, your excitement completely collapsed.
‘Baby, I might over time today :(‘
For a moment, you simply stared at the screen in disbelief. Of course the universe would do this to you. The timing honestly felt personal. Another message followed instantly after.
‘The manager suddenly added another meeting.’
You typed again while walking toward the station.
‘What time will you finish?’
This time the reply took longer. Long enough for your shoulders to slowly sink.
‘Maybe around 9.’
You physically frowned at your screen. Immediately another message appeared.
‘I’m sorry baby.’
And then another.
‘I really wanted to go home early today too.’
The guilt in that message softened your disappointment almost instantly. Because Jungwon genuinely loved spending time with you. Sometimes you thought he loved it too much. Even after marriage, even after living together for years, he still acted ridiculously attached to you. If anything, marrying you seemed to have worsened the situation entirely.
Then your phone buzzed again.
‘Are you disappointed?’
Your fingers paused above the screen for a second. Then you typed honestly.
‘A little.’
Three dots appeared immediately.
‘Come yell at my manager.’
You laughed softly.
‘I’m not going to yell at your manager Jungwon.’
Then you typed.
‘See you at home, love you ♡.
.
.
.
.
The front door clicked open around 9 pm. You could hear keys rattle and jangle in the ceramic bowl by the entrance. You know your husband is home. The footsteps were lighter, quicker, and then you heard a low, bubbling giggle that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
You looked up from the counter where you were slicing vegetables. Jungwon stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed a dusty rose, eyes half lidded and shimmering with a mischief you didn’t recognize. His tie was loosened, the top button undone, and his hair, which was usually perfectly styled, was now a tufted mess.
He pads into the kitchen where you’re making him his dinner, and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing his cheek against your shoulder blade.
“Hi?” you said carefully.
“Hi, baby.”
The way he said it made you narrow your eyes immediately.
“Baby,” he said, the word stretching into a sing song whine. “You smell so good.” Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His warm breath brushed repeatedly against your skin, enough to send a small shiver down your spine before you could stop it.
He suddenly turned his face again, pressing another lingering kiss beneath your ear before resting his forehead against your shoulder with a small sigh. The affection behind it felt so sincere that your expression softened automatically.
“You must have had a rough day,” you murmured gently, reaching back to smooth your fingers through his hair.
The second your hand touched him, Jungwon practically melted. You felt it immediately in the way his body relaxed against yours.
“Mmm,” he mumbled quietly. “Missed you.”
You stir for another minute, and he stays there, swaying slightly against you. Jungwon was extremely clingy today, that’s what you thought. Well, to be fair, this isn’t unusual. Jungwon was infact affectionate, but there’s something in the way his fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, the way he presses closer and giggles a little when you shift and bump him with your hip.
At first, you thought Jungwon was simply in a good mood.
Honestly, it was not unusual for him to come home affectionate after work. Your husband naturally carried bright energy wherever he went. Even on exhausting days, Jungwon still found ways to make you laugh.
You noticed it first when you bent down to grab bowls from the lower cabinet and Jungwon immediately bent down with you. Not to help, but to stare at you.
“Why are you crouching?”
“I’m accompanying you.”
“You’re watching me take bowls?”
“Mhm.”
“You know I can do this alone, right?”
Jungwon smiled at you instead of answering.
Then, minutes later, you noticed he had followed you into three separate rooms for absolutely no reason. Laundry room, kitchen, and bedroom. Every single time you turned around, there he was somehow already behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway with a soft smile on his face like following you around the apartment was the most entertaining activity imaginable.
And suddenly, finally, something clicked into place. Your eyes narrowed immediately.
“Wait.”
Jungwon blinked innocently from where he sat at the kitchen counter.
“What?”
You slowly placed the knife down. Then you turned toward him fully.
“Jungwon.”
“Mm?”
“Are you drunk?”
For exactly two seconds, your husband stared at you silently. Then his entire face lit up. He delighted.
“Oh,” he laughed softly, shoulders shaking slightly. “Was I obvious?”
Without warning, Jungwon stood from the chair and walked directly toward you.
“You really drank a lot tonight, huh?” you asked gently, smoothing your fingers through his hair. Jungwon relaxed further into your touch.
“Not that much.”
“How much is ‘not that much’?”
There was a long pause. Yup, that explains a lot. Whenever his office is doing this kind of activity, it usually involves alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Jungwon was not a weak drinker, but he’s not a heavy drinker either, you know, he’s going to get tipsy in the second bottle of soju. When tipsy, Jungwon still looks pretty normal to you. But his face, ears and neck will redden. But to see him completely gone? Well, that’s new to you.
He leaned in, you expected his usual slow pace, his soft lips, gentle tongue, the kind that made you melt over minutes. Instead, he devoured you. It start soft, his lips brush yours. You could taste faintly of alcohol from his mouth, your chest tighten. You cup his jaw, thumb stroking his cheekbone, and he leans into your touch like a cat.
Then the kiss changes. He press harder. His tongue slides along the seam of your lips, demanding entry, and when you part them, he takes. His mouth moves against yours with a hunger that makes you gasp, and he swallow the sound, teet grazing your lower lip, tongue sweeping inside to taste every corner of your mouth.
You broke away, breathless. “Jung—”
You’ve kissed Jungwon a thousand times. Slow kisses in the morning before work, tender kisses when he’s being sweet, firm passionate kisses when he wants you, when his hands slide down your back and grip your hips with purpose, you know the way he kisses. This is not that.
His lips are relentless, he bites your lower lip, pulling it slightly before soothing with his tongue. He kisses the corner of your mouth, down your jaw and across your throat. His teeth graze your pulse point, make you shiver, a whimper escaping your lips that you didn’t mean to make.
“Shh,” he whispered, lips trailing down your jaw. “Let me show you how much I missed you. Let me show you.”
He pulled you toward the bedroom, his steps steadier now despite the alcohol, and you found yourself following, heart thudding against your ribs. The bedroom door swung open, and he didn't bother with lights. The dim glow from the hallway spilled in, casting long shadows across the bed. He turned you gently, pressing your back against the doorframe for just a moment, his mouth devoured yours. Then he guided you backward until your knees hit the mattress.
He didn't rush to undress you. Instead, he knelt on the bed, hovering over you, and took his time. His lips traced down your neck, over your collarbone, pausing to suck a bruise just above your breast. He laughed softly when you arched into him.
His hand find the hem of your shirt and took it off. The fabric slides up your soft stomach, over your ribs, then Jungwon unclaps your bra and gives the swell of your breast a wet kiss. He follows its path with his mouth, when he reaches your nipple, he sucks it like he genuinely thirsty. You could heard how hard he sucking because the sounds is wet, downright vulgar. Your back arches. Your fingers tangle in his hair.
His tongue circled the peak, then he sucked hard. His other hand found your breast, kneading and pinching, and all the while he hummed with satisfaction. When he moved to the other side, giving it the same attention, you felt your hips buck involuntarily, searching for friction. He noticed.
"Someone's eager," he teased, pulling back with a wet pop. His grin was lopsided, boyish, utterly infuriating.
He kissed his way down your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth scraping over your hipbone. He slide down your pants while pressed your thigh down to keep you still. He tugged them off along with your panties in one smooth motion, then sat back again staring at you spread open before him.
"Fuck," he breathed.
He leaned down, and his first lick was broad, flat, from your entrance up to your clit. You jolted, hands flying to his hair, but he didn't stop. He licked again, slower this time, savoring, then wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. Heared how high and desperate you are, Jungwon giggled against you, the vibration sending sparks through your nerves. He alternated between sucking and flicking his tongue, one finger sliding insede, then two, then he curling it to hit that spot that made your vision blur.
He added a third finger, sliding in alongside the others, and the stretch made you gasp. He didn't stop sucking, his tongue flicking in short, rapid strokes over your clit while his fingers pumped in and out, curling on every withdrawal. You could feel your orgasm coiling, tightening low in your belly, and he knew it too because he looked up at you through his lashes, that drunk, glittering gaze locked on your face.
“Give it to me, baby,”
You shattered with a scream, your back arching off the mattress as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your walls clenched around his fingers, and he groaned, lapping at you through the convulsions, not letting up until you were trembling and oversensitive.
Only then did he pull back, his chin slick, his grin wide and drunk. He crawled up your body, leaving wet kisses across your stomach, your breasts, your throat, until his lips met yours. You tasted yourself on his tongue. Jungwon giggled against your mouth.
He laughed softly, breath warm against your cheek. “You look so gone.”
You want to punch him if you’re not so done because he just gave you the most earth shattering lip service. You could only give him that fuck out face.
He peeled his clothes; apparently, his clothes were too much for him. You could see his cock already leaking and messy with the red tip and continuous precum. That’s look delicious, you really want to run your tongue around it and make him whimpering mess. But, you’re too limp for that.
Jungwon spreads your legs, he positions himself between them and the way his weight settles against you give you so much comfort. You could feel the tip of his cock nudging your clit, teasng it before he pushed it all the way down your cunt.
Usually, Jungwon would slip his cock slowly, because he aware he’s too big for you. But, you learned that drunk Jungwon basically has 0 patience for that and went to straight to the main course. He lets out a shuddering breath. He bottomed out and paused, letting you feel the fullness. The sensation was intense, you could feel a deep stretch that made your back arch, a gasp escaping your lips as his girth pressed against the sensitive walls of your vagina.
His hips slammed into yours, the bed frame knocking against the wall, and his giggles mixed with your cries. He hits a spot inside you that makes you see white.
He chuckles, “Right there?”
He slams into that spot again, your nails dig into his shoulders.
He smirking, “Then I’lll take that as a yes.”
His rhythm becomes punishing. He pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, deep and relentless. Each impact pushes a desperate sound of you. You could barely form words, your hands clawed at the sheets, his back, anything to anchor yourself as he fucked you into the matress. The pressure built inside you, coiling tight, threatening to snap.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he rewarded you with another giggle. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fucked you.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, voice sweet like honey.
You were losing yourself. The room blurred at the edges, sensation overwhelming. He bent down to capture your mouth again, kissing you sloppily, tongue tangling with yours while his hips never slowed.
His hands roamed your body, one cupping your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple, the other sliding down to rub circles on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure that made your breath hitch.
The pleasure built, a low tide rising in your pelvis. You could feel Jungwon’s own arousal swelling, his cock throbbing inside you, a hot, rigid length that seemed to pulse with each beat of his heart. When you finally climaxed, it was a wave that started deep in your core and radiated outward, your inner muscles clenching around him as you cried out his name, your body trembling. He followed moments later, his release hot and thick, filling you with a warm surge that left you both panting
After a few minutes, Jungwon shift your legs, pushes them up, folds your knees toward your chest, pressing his weight into you. The new angle was brutal. Your legs were pushed so far back that your knees nearly touched your ears, leaving you completely open and vulnerable. He lined up again and drove inside with a single, punishing thrust.
He was so deep you could feel him in your throat. Your vision went white as he bottomed out, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl and your entire body clench. He didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He began to move his hips, pistoning fast and hard, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the room.
The squelch sounds is filled the room. His cum trickle down and soaked the sheets. White rings formed where your body joined.
His face hovered above yours, eyes dark and glassy, lips split in a delighted grin.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he said, voice wavering with exertion and liquor and joy. “I could fuck you forever. Would you like that?”
He grinds his hips, a slow, deep circle that makes you cry out.
“Tell me how it feels baby,”
“Good—so good—”
“Yeah?” he speed up, his hips slapping against your thighs, “You like when I fuck you like this?”
“Yes—”
He angled his hips, grinding deep on every stroke, and the pressure built inside you like a tidal wave. Your legs trembled, your breath came in ragged gasps, and Jungwon watched it all with that same intoxicated fascination.
“Are you going to cum?” he asked, almost innocently. You only nodded, your eyes almost rolled back and you feel so light right now.
Your inner muscles clenched around him, your body trembling as you cried out, your orgasm washing over you in a hot, bright wave. He groaned, head falling forward, and his rhythm stuttered as he rode you through it.
He kept going, thrusts turning sloppy as he chased his own release. The oversensitivity had you whimpering, but he only giggled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Almost there, almost there, just a little more–”
Jungwon’s own climax followed, his thrusts becoming erratic and urgent as he spilled deep inside you, his release filling you with a thick, warm flood that seemed to linger . He came with a shudder, buried so deep that you felt the pulse of him inside you, warm and thick. His hips keep twitching through the aftershocks.
The weight of him pressed down on you, his body warm and slick with sweat as he collapsed against you, breath ragged and uneven. His cock pulsed inside you in fading aftershocks, and you felt every twitch, every residual throb as your walls still fluttered around him, reluctant to let go.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds in the room were your mingled breathing and the distant hum of the city outside, muffled by the bedroom walls. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, his hair damp and ticklish against your skin, and you could feel the erratic beat of his heart hammering against your ribs.
Then came the giggle.
that drunken, unadulterated giggle that had you smiling despite the ache settling into your thighs. He lifted his head, and his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, his grin lopsided and utterly satisfied.
"Hi," he said, his voice hoarse and dreamy.
You laughed softly, your hand finding its way to his hair, fingers threading through the damp strands. "Hi."
He nuzzled into your palm like a contented cat, pressing a kiss to your wrist before lifting his head again. His gaze wandered down your body, tracing the marks he'd left, the faint red crescents on your hips from his grip, the love bites blooming along your collarbone, the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin in the dim light. He looked almost reverent.
"I really fucked you up, huh?" he mumbled, and there was no guilt in his voice, just plain awe, mixed with that lingering tipsy playfulness.
"You really did," you agreed, your voice rough from screaming.
He grinned, then slowly, carefully, pulled out of you. The sensation made you hiss, oversensitive and achingly empty, and you felt the warm trickle of his release begin to seep from you. He noticed too, his gaze dropping to where your bodies had been joined, and his grin softened into something more tender.
Your folds is soaked and painted with his cum. The milky fluids still trickle down from your entrance. Jungwon darted his tongue and lick it off. Cleaned your folds. He whined and savoring your taste.
Jungwon's grin lingered for a moment before gradually softening. The playful satisfaction that had been shining in his eyes faded into something warmer, something impossibly gentle as he looked down at you.
Your chest rose and fell unevenly while you lay beneath him, still trying to catch your breath. Every muscle in your body felt pleasantly heavy, leaving you with little desire to move from the comfortable warmth surrounding you.
His fingers brushed carefully along your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Jungwon simply smiled. The expression that followed was so openly adoring that your heart squeezed. No matter how much he teased you, moments like this always reminded you how deeply Jungwon loved you.
Carefully, he gathered you into his arms, pulling you against his chest until your head rested comfortably beneath his chin.
"Comfortable?"
"Very."
"You sound sleepy."
"I am sleepy."
Neither of you spoke for a while after that. The room remained quiet. Filled only with the occasional brush of fingertips and the steady rhythm of breathing. Eventually, Jungwon tilted his head down and pressed one last kiss against your forehead. The warmth of his body molded to yours, the gentle weight of his arm anchoring you to the bed.
