Hii!! My name is Alice, but you can call me Lily, Lili, Lice or whatever you want to lol. I'm from Brasil, I'm 19yo and I write since I'm 14yo 🙂 I started to write in wattpad in portuguese, then I started to use twitter and write there to and now I'm writing for tumblr. I hope you like it and, if you wanna a shot or long au, you can leave your request on my DM or on my profile page!!
Stay happy, stay healthy, stay safe. Love u all ❤️🩹
sy: you meet jobe again, only to realize some things become harder to deny with every encounter.
a/n: you guys begged for a part two so much that i couldn't just ignore it 😭 so... i had to write something. it's not really a sequel, not exactly anyway, but it's close enough, i think. also, i can say with absolute certainty that this only exists because of those videos of jude going through haunted houses, they haven't left my head ever since i saw them, hahaha. anywayyyy, i really hope you like it!! pls, pls come tell me all your thoughts when you're done because i need to know what you thought <3
sorry if there are any writing or translation mistakes
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You went because you couldn't stay out, that was the honest truth — not because haunted houses were your thing, not because you felt any particular pleasure in paying to be scared in a dark corridor by someone dressed as a clown, but because your friends had planned it and the group had confirmed and there was that specific feeling of FOMO that made it impossible to say no even when you knew you were going to regret it the moment the first scary door opened.
You regretted it at the third door.
But you went anyway, and you were in a good mood about it — or you were, until the moment you passed through the main entrance and saw a group on the other side of the waiting area, and in the middle of that group there was a face you knew well enough for your stomach to do that inconvenient thing.
Jobe.
Again. In that way that had become a pattern lately — mutual friends, shared spaces, the universe with that specific sense of humour of putting two people in the same place repeatedly as if testing something. You had thought about him since the last time. Had thought about what he had said with that calculated calm that was characteristically his, and had stayed with it more than you wanted to admit.
But there had been a decent pause between that time and this one, which made things slightly less complicated. Slightly.
He saw you at the same time you saw him, and the smile that appeared on his face was the kind he seemed to reserve specifically for you — that smile that said "you too," then with an amusement that was simultaneously irritating and difficult not to receive well. You nodded at him with the composure of someone completely in control of the situation, which was clearly the opposite of what was happening.
The groups mixed in the queue, as they inevitably do, and you kept a sufficient distance from him for the conversation to be protocol and not something else. It worked. You entered the first corridor with your two friends on one side and the rest of the group on the other and told yourself you were going to get through the night without incident.
The problem with haunted houses is that they're designed to separate people.
You discovered this in the fourth corridor, when something exploded from the ceiling with a noise that made your heart leave your chest, your friends screamed and ran forward, and when you recovered the ability to move they had already turned a corner you could no longer see. You called their names. Silence, aside from background sounds that were unequivocally designed to make anyone uncomfortable.
"Brilliant," you thought. "Excellent decision coming here."
You walked slowly through the corridor with your phone torch on because the ambient lighting was red and sufficient to see where to put your feet but not to distinguish whether what was in front of you was a wall or a costumed person. With every metre the feeling that something was about to happen increased with the precision of someone who knows it's only a matter of when.
The noise when it came was terrible — a loud metallic sound from somewhere very close, the kind that didn't give time to process before your body was already running. You ran. In no specific direction, just forward and then left and then you saw it: a small door in a side wall, almost invisible in the red light, slightly open.
You went in and closed it behind you.
The closet was small enough that your elbows touched both walls at the same time. Dark. You stood with your breathing accelerated in the relative silence of that space and waited for your heart to return to a rhythm that wasn't a medical emergency.
And then you realised you weren't alone.
The awareness came in the form of movement — something on the other side of the closet adjusting slightly, the silence changing to the kind that exists when more than one person is being silent at the same time. You went completely still.
"I'm going to die now," was the complete and coherent thought your brain produced. "Actually now."
You raised your phone slowly with the calm of someone who knows they might not like what they're about to see but needs to see it anyway, and the torch lit first someone's chest, then their chin, then their face.
Jobe was wearing an enormous smile.
Not the smile of being scared. The smile of someone who has just witnessed something they're going to tell people about for the next three weeks and who is enjoying every second of your terror in real time.
The sound that came out of your mouth was the most undignified thing you had produced in years — half word, half scream, completely without composure — and he laughed, from his chest, genuinely, the kind of laugh that has nothing cruel in it but that is completely at your expense.
"You," you said, when vocabulary returned. "You killed me. My heart stopped."
"It didn't stop," he said, still smiling. "You're talking."
"Functionally stopped."
He had his phone in his hand too, the screen faintly illuminating the space between you, and the closet was too small for there to be any real distance — you were perhaps forty centimetres from him, which in the dark and the silence and with the adrenaline still in your system was a completely different distance than it would have been in any other context.
"What are you doing in here?" you asked, quietly because the corridor outside had sounds and you didn't want to discover what produced them.
"Same thing as you. I hid." He tilted his head slightly. "You ran before you even saw what the noise was."
"Any normal person would have run."
"I saw what it was. It was an actor hitting a pipe."
You looked at him for a second. "And you still ran?"
"The thing was loud," he said, with absolutely impeccable dignity.
You closed your eyes and breathed, and when you opened them he was looking at you with that expression you knew well enough to know had no clean name — a mix of amusement and something else that sat underneath the amusement and that he didn't entirely try to hide. There was in his face, lit by the faint screen of his phone, that look that was difficult to receive because it was more direct than situations like this should allow.
Outside, footsteps and a sound that could be someone or could be part of the attraction, and the two of them went instinctively quieter. He shifted slightly — an adjustment of position in the small space — and was closer to you than before, his shoulder near yours, and you had the very clear awareness that forty centimetres was easy to make into thirty.
"How long do you think we stay here?" you asked, in an even lower voice.
"Until we have the courage to leave," he said, equally low.
There was something in that which wasn't only about the corridor outside, and you knew that and he probably knew you knew, and the closet was too small to pretend there was only one reading available for the sentence. The adrenaline from the haunted house was still in your system, which didn't help — your heart was beating fast in ways not entirely attributable to the Halloween entertainment installation.
He was looking at you.
Not continuously, not with the calculated intensity of someone trying to create a moment — it was the kind of look that happened in the interval between one thing and another, when his attention returned to you before going somewhere else, and that pattern was harder to ignore than continuous looking.
"You said something last time," you said, because the silence was getting heavy in a way that had direction.
He went quiet for a second. "I did."
"I still think the sister in law thing stands."
"Sister in law," he repeated, with a tone that was simultaneously confirmation and something clearly in conflict with the confirmation. "That's what it was."
"That's what it continues to be," you said.
"You and my brother broke up tree years ago."
"That doesn't change the genealogy of the situation."
He looked at you with that expression, and there was on his face something that was patience and something that wasn't patience, the mix of someone arguing a point they know is complicated but believe anyway. The distance between you was exactly how much you couldn't say with precision now because you had lost the reference point.
"You don't want it to be simple," he said, not as an accusation — as an observation, in the direct way that was characteristically his.
"I want it to be correct."
"The two things can be the same."
You opened your mouth to respond and then something outside hit a wall two metres away and both of them moved at the same time — you backward and him forward somehow, and the result was that his hand went to your waist before either of them had made a conscious decision about it, steadying, and you had your hand on his chest on instinct.
The closet was silent.
Both of them were silent.
His hand on your waist was still — not pressing, just there, with that specific warmth that arrived through the fabric with an immediacy you hadn't asked for. You were looking up at him because the height made it necessary, and he was looking down at you, and there was in the space between your faces a moment that has weight before anything happens in it.
The hand on his chest felt his breathing.
He tilted his head slightly — millimetres, nothing that could be called a decision, more like gravity — and you went completely still with the awareness that you needed to say something before the moment arrived somewhere that didn't have a convenient way back.
"Jobe," you said.
Quietly. More quietly than anything else you'd said that night.
He stopped. Didn't pull back, but stopped, his eyes on yours with that total attention.
"He's still your brother," you said.
One second.
"He is," he said, and there was someone accepting something they don't want to accept but aren't going to argue against right now.
His hand left your waist slowly. You took your hand from his chest. The space between you went back to what a reasonable person would call space, and you breathed in a way you hoped seemed normal.
Outside, the corridor was silent.
"I think we can leave," you said.
"I think so," he agreed.
You left, and the corridor was indeed empty, and you found your friends two minutes later at the exit area with the energy of people who have survived something and want to tell the story. You smiled and listened and said the right things, and at no point did your heart return to its normal rhythm.
In the car back, alone with the window open and the city going past, you sat thinking that the problem wasn't that you didn't know what you wanted.
The problem was that you knew perfectly well.
And you also knew exactly why you couldn't have it.
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taglist: @random34674 @muse666s @hourlyoongiwp
u guys asked for a part 2, so here it is 😭 idk if it's what u were expecting, but i might make a part 3 when i have the time. i only tagged u guys bc of that <3
não sabia que chegaria nesse ponto, mas quero pegar uma mulher casada.
antes eu já achava ela uma princesa, só que desde que a zendaya casou parece que o molho dela TRIPLICOU e eu queria muito me enfiar naquele relacionamento porque ela tá tão linda meu deus do céu
I'm Brazilian and English is not my first language. To be honest, I'm still not fluent in English, so I apologize for any errors.
one of the reasons I created this account is to improve my English while having fun doing what I love most: writing, talking about football and sharing my passion for hot players.
I plan on writing for all players and writing all types of imagine, but please have patience, as I'm new to this whole thing haha.
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୨ৎ feel free to make your orders :)
୨ৎ divas brasileiras, sintam-se a vontade para fazerem seus pedidos em português💓
mix of wholesome and suggestive-but-still-classy moments.
Morning routines are quiet but warm, he's not the type to do big romantic gestures at 7 am, but he will make your coffee exactly the way you like it without asking
Morning voice Jihoon is also dangerously soft — deep, husky, still a little rough from sleep. He’ll grumble about you waking him, but his hand will find your thigh under the covers without even thinking about it
gentle forehead kisses before he leaves for work (you always pretend to be asleep just for those kisses)
pretends he doesn't like matching couple pyjamas, but still wears them because you look too happy when he does, secretly thinks you're both cute though
as much as people would think that he doesn't enjoy showing affection, he saves it for his special person (aka. you)
acts like he doesn't enjoy it sometimes though just to tease you, especially when you bite his shoulder just because you want to, he would let out a small protest but lets you do it anyway
The type to fix things around the house without telling you, then get all shy when you notice but he's lowkey happy that you did
Keeps a drawer in his studio desk with random little things you’ve mentioned liking — snacks, stationery, fluffy blankets, a candle with a scent you once said reminded you of home, so when you stayed with him through long nights in the studio you wouldn't feel uncomfortable
Studio naps — sometimes you come in to check on him and he’s half-asleep in his chair, and instead of going home, he just pulls you into his lap, murmuring “Just stay here for a bit…” (You don’t get much work done after that.)
protective, not in a controlling way, but if he notices that you’re cold, tired, or uncomfortable, he will quietly solve it without making a scene
but if someone does anything slightly disrespectful he would confront them, his voice would be calm, but the steel in it was unmistakable as he stepped closer. “You don’t talk to my wife like that. Ever.”
Jihoon’s quiet possessiveness comes out in subtle ways — a hand resting low on your back at gatherings, leaning in close to speak in your ear so only you can hear him, or brushing his lips against your shoulder when no one’s watching
Likes to whisper your name in that low, deliberate tone when he’s trying to get your attention — whether you’re across the room at a party or two feet away in bed
but sometimes he does act cute when he's feeling extra clingy and you love hearing his little giggles and funny stories or just how his day was and vice versa
Rarely posts on social media, but when he does, there’s always some little detail that’s obviously about you (a mug you own, the corner of your sweater in frame, your favourite flowers in the background)
He says “I love you” more through actions than words — filling up your car’s gas tank, fixing your favourite pen, leaving his jacket draped over your chair
but when he tells you he loves you, his voice would always be steady, eyes locked on yours like he’d been holding the words in for years, “I love you. You’re my wife, and I’ll spend every day making sure you know it.”
Cooking together is one of his favourite couple things. He’s not flashy in the kitchen, but he makes perfect, comforting meals and lets you taste-test everything
Back hugs are also a must when you're cooking. At first it’s just affectionate, but then his head dips to your neck, his lips linger… and you’re definitely not finishing that recipe on time
lowkey loves risky situations, like having you sit on the edge of his desk legs brushing his knees as he pulled you in closer, voice low enough that it rumbled against your skin. “You know someone could walk in any second, right?”
His lips would find your jaw, slowly and delicately, “Guess that just means you’ll have to be quiet.”
Or during an afterparty, just around the corner from the crowded hall. The music and voices so close you could feel the bass in your chest. Jihoon would have you pinned lightly to the wall with a smirk on his face, "If someone turns the corner right now…”
His mouth trailing down to your neck, nibbling softly, “They’ll know you’re mine.”
back to soft jihoon
Sometimes, when you’re working late at your desk, he’ll quietly appear with a blanket and your favourite snack, setting them down without saying a word — just a soft pat to your head before walking away
He has an unfair talent for distracting you when you’re trying to focus — a casual brush of his fingers along your neck, a kiss to your temple that lingers just long enough to make you lose your train of thought
Jihoon secretly loves when you fall asleep against him during movie nights. He’ll pretend to keep watching, but really, he’s memorising the way you breathe against his chest
Even if he comes home late, he’ll always peek into the bedroom to kiss you goodnight, whispering, “Go back to sleep, love,” before slipping in beside you
When he’s in an especially good mood, he’ll pull you into a slow sway in the kitchen with no music playing — just the sound of his low hum against your ear
He has a habit of holding your hand under the table in public, thumb brushing lazily against your knuckles, like a secret that’s just for the two of you.
And as much as he likes to keep it lowkey, if you kiss him on the lips first or just anywhere on his body, he would melt
At the end of the day, no matter how busy, tired, or distracted he is, Jihoon always finds his way back to you — pulling you close, pressing a kiss to your hair, and murmuring like it’s the simplest truth in the world:
“They Know You’re a Good Person” || Lee Jihoon x You
Jihoon x Reader | Soft Reveal
Request are open!^^
It wasn’t planned — not exactly.
You and Jihoon had always kept things quiet. Not secret, not hidden. Just… yours.
No anonymous Instagram posts. No blurred-out selfies. No matching bracelets with obvious hashtags.
Just tiny things like
Jihoon’s hoodie in your laundry basket
Your playlist cued up in his studio
A post-it on his desk that said “Don’t forget to eat — I love you.”
You never asked him to lie.
He never asked you to shrink.
But the line between “ours” and “theirs” was delicate — and he’d never wanted to risk pulling you into the chaos.
At least… not until the interview.
It was nothing major. A variety show. Lighthearted questions. A game of “Describe your ideal type in three words.”
Seungkwan went first: “Funny. Independent. Considerate.”
Jeonghan: “Cool. Smells good. Good at games.”
Then they got to Jihoon.
And he paused. Smirked a little.
Then, in that calm, matter-of-fact tone of his, he said:
“Understands me. Laughs at my jokes. And makes me proud.”
The room went quiet for a second — not awkward, just surprised.
Then Mingyu let out a very suspicious cough. “Oh… interesting.”
Soonyoung raised a brow. “That sounds familiar…”
Jihoon didn’t blink. “It should.”
And just like that, it was out there.
He didn’t say your name. Didn’t even confirm anything. But the fans?
They’re smarter than people give them credit for.
Clips of that moment made the rounds online. Paired with older moments — little smiles, offhand comments about someone who “grounds” him, that time he said he’s dating someone “who keeps him humble… and fed.”
Speculation started.
Then guessing.
Then something softer.
Because the more fans pieced together — the less they were mad. And the more they just… got it.
You weren’t flashy. You weren’t fame-hungry. You didn’t leak things, hint at things, try to ride the attention.
You just loved Jihoon.
And it showed.
You, on the other hand?
You were terrified.
“I didn’t want people looking at me like that,” you admitted one night, curled up on the studio couch as Jihoon fiddled with the EQ knobs, pretending not to watch you too closely.
“I didn’t ask for attention. I’m just… me.”
He glanced at you. Quiet. Thoughtful.
Then set his headphones down, walked over, and crouched in front of you.
“You know what’s funny?” he said. “That’s the part they love the most.”
You frowned. “What?”
“That you’re not trying. That you’re not some curated version of a person. You don’t show off. You don’t speak for me. You just let me be myself — and that makes you more real than anything.”
You didn’t answer right away.
So he took your hand gently and added, “They know you’re a good person.”
You blinked. “How?”
“Because I am,” he said. “And I’d never fall for someone who isn’t.”
That shut you up for a moment.
And Jihoon — ever the introvert, ever the understated one — leaned forward and kissed your forehead before settling beside you on the couch.
“They’ll adjust,” he murmured. “And I’ll never let them turn you into something you’re not. I promise.”
He didn’t suddenly start gushing about you in public.
But he didn’t hide you anymore, either.
In a fan call, someone asked what made him happiest lately.
He said, “Waking up to the same message every morning. Even if it’s just ‘eat something.’”
On Weverse, a fan asked what kind of people he respected most.
He wrote back:
“The ones who work hard without asking for applause.”
And then added: “I live with one.”
The fans caught on.
And this time… they cheered for you.
Not because they knew your name. Not because they saw your face.
Looked at the camera like he had a secret he wasn’t afraid to protect anymore.
And maybe, just maybe —
The fans realized that loving someone like you… made him better.
So no, it wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t a headline.
It wasn’t some dramatic reveal.
But it was real.
And gentle.
And lasting.
And when Jihoon looked at you backstage after another exhausting performance, flushed and happy and tired down to his bones, he pulled you close and whispered, almost shy:
“I think I’m proudest of myself for choosing you.”
context: your boyfriend was supposed to return after their japan tour, and the two of you had a lot planned - regular dates, late night movies, fancy dinners, aka all the things you two have missed out while he was overseas. unfortunately, all those plans have to wait as you get a call at 7am, with them informing you that they've been kidnapped to italy, of all places.
pairing(s): 96z, idol!seventeen x f!reader
genre: fluff + happiness
warnings: some light cursing, but nothing too serious <3 it's all pure fluff + lowercase is intentional. not exactly proof read, though...
author's notes: happy new year, everyone! i hope you have a wonderful 2026 <3 jeonghan is returning this year, dxs debut, more svt content... JEONGHAN RETURN TO GOING SEVENTEEN (top 1 reason why im going to make it out alive... tl dr - JEONGHAN MILITARY DISCHARGE HANNIE IS ALMOST HOME
nana tour w/ svt | 95z | 96z | 97z | maknaez
m. list
m. junhui
to be completely honest, you didn't hear anything about any trip to italy until they were at the airport and you saw the news on social media. at first, you didn't believe it. you don't believe half the things related to your boyfriend's schedules are unless he tells you in advance.
unfortunately for jun himself, with the excitement of italy, the exhaustion of the tour, and the initial surprise of the entire trip in the first place... he totally forgot to send you a message.
you only got confirmation that those social media posts were true because of the group chat that you were added to a little bit after you started to date jun.
cheol had announced that the team (except for him) would be going to italy... all expenses and activities paid for by na pd and his team.
okay.
so that wasn't the plan.
the original plan was that jun and minghao would be going on this reality show with some other actors to rome - nothing to do with seventeen and na pd.
tl;dr, you texted your boyfriend immediately.
y.nnie: YOU'RE GOING TO ITALY NOW???/
junnie <3: OH SHIT
two seconds later, you got a call from your boyfriend. he had no makeup, no fancy outfits, and no bags in sight. to be honest, you've never seen jun look so completely natural outside of the comfort of your apartment until now.
at least during their dance practices, jun had put some effort into what he would be wearing and how he looked. but this? he was just... him. it kind of made you miss him even more than your usual calls.
"you're at the airport," you said.
he nodded.
"where are you going?"
"...italy."
"with the rest of the guys?"
"yes."
....
"...was this company approved??" you had to ask. not that you really care if it was company approved, but you're seriously confused if this was the same thing as what jun talked about last week - the trip to rome and all that stuff with minghao.
"so, that is now this, and this is now that with the rest of the members," jun laughed, fixing the collar of his black shirt.
"that is now this, this is now- what?"
jun couldn't help but be amused at your confused expression. he went through his entire morning in as much detail as he could, which wasn't a lot, because he could swear he was still asleep during 90% of it.
"and now we're in incheon, waiting for our layover." he concluded.
you held up your fingers and listed the events in order, "so, you got lied to by the company to get your visa, got kidnapped after drinking with the members, didn't even shower or brush your teeth before getting up to leave for italy... and you have about 30 minutes before i lose contact with you for a week?!"
"not lose contact!" he quickly corrected. "it's only going to be about 8 hours."
you waved him off, "yeah, yeah, same thing. but were you going to tell me?"
"i mean, i thought i texted you before we left japan!"
"clearly you didn't!"
k. soonyoung
you weren't his first concern.
actually no, wait. correction: you are his first concern - just not his first concern at the moment.
"you want me to what?!" you shout over the phone.
"head over to my parents place and take care of latte while i'm gone!" soonyoung exclaimed while he struggled to put on his running shoes.
"okay, i got that, but go back to the part where you're going to italy!" you exclaimed, running your hands through your very messed up hair. after all, it was nearing 7am... and you were sure that your boyfriend was still drunk.
"i just put on my shoes on the wrong foot." he declared.
"oh my god..." you couldn't believe what you were hearing. so far, all that you've registered was that your boyfriend was drunk out of his mind, is currently getting kidnapped by one of their favourite producers, and had asked you to take care of his beloved dog... which to be honest, is very fair. you love his dog just as much as you love him, which is saying a lot by itself.
before you could say anything else, he let out a gasp. "Y/NNIE!"
"huh?!"
"i need you to call my mom and tell her that i can't make it to dinner later!"
"what?!"
"can you call my mom and tell her i can't go to dinner with her, jihoon's mom, and shua-hyung's mom?" he requested of you.
you raised your eyebrow, "you want me to call your mom and tell her that you, her son, has to cancel your dinner plans?"
"she's kind of scary, y/nnie." he muttered.
"and what makes you think i'll do it?!"
he had one of the silliest (and drunkest) grins on his face as he said, "because she definitely definitely definitely likes you more than me~"
"at this point, you should just ask me to fill in your spot instead..."
his eyes lit up at the suggestion, "now that's not a terrible idea, love! actually, that's probably better than cancelling altogether. our moms were looking forward to going to the restaurant, and it'll save us trying to get another reservation. it took us two months to get the reservation by itself, y/n!"
"no, wait, im not having a dinner with your mom, jihoon's mom, or joshua's mom without the rest of you. are you crazy?"
"but it's at a nice restaurant in seoul! it'll also get you closer with the rest of the family, too." he insisted.
"soonyoung, i'm barely close with the other guys. i don't think i should automatically jump to having dinner with their parents??"
"who cares?"
"I CARE???"
for your information, you were out of your house later that evening to attend dinner with your boyfriend's mom and your boyfriend's friends' mom's.
yeah, he won that one.
j. wonwoo
"hey, hyung, did you tell y/n that you aren't going back to seoul today? she just asked me if she can come over and play games at our place," mingyu looked over to his friend (and roommate) while they were waiting for their plane to rome.
wonwoo choked on the water he was drinking, quickly pulling up your contact to call you before they have to leave.
mingyu let out a chuckle, "you've got some explaining to do, hyung~"
crap. you texted him twenty minutes ago asking when he'd be back so that you could come over and hang out. after all, you two haven't seen each other in months at this point because of the tour.
"hey!" your voice was surprisingly energetic for 9am - completely unsuspecting that he wasn't going to return anytime soon. "morning, wonu~"
he couldn't help the obvious blush that was on his face at the sound of your voice. even after months of dating, your voice still gives him butterflies.
recalling that he still had to explain his whereabouts and what he was doing, he found his voice. "good morning, darling."
"can you tell mingyu to stop leaving me on seen? it's getting annoying," you immediately requested. "like, i know he doesn't really care if i'm over or not, but it'll be nice if he could stop leaving me on seen! he told you, right? i'll bring snacks and we'll catch up on everything that we've missed, and if mingyu's going to have a problem with that, we can go out to eat for dinner. i can book something right now."
"so, that's kind of a problem, y/nnie," wonwoo awkwardly started. "we're in seoul right now and-"
"you guys arrived?!"
"so, not really," he corrected. "our game nights and catch up talks are going to have to wait two more weeks."
"eh?"
"do you remember when i told you how we got the chance to appear on na pd's youth over flowers? and how i had you binge watch it on one of our earlier dates?"
"around the same month when we first started dating - yeah, it rings a bell," you nodded.
"so... we're going to do that. now. we're at the airport, waiting for our plane to rome."
...
you remained silent.
"y/nnie?"
...
"hello?" he called.
"so," you finally said something. "that's freakin crazy,."
he broke out in a laugh, "yeah... i know."
"youth over flowers - seventeen edition... holy shit, that's expensive as hell."
"that's what you're worried about?!"
you shrugged, "to be honest, i'm more surprised that they were able to fool everyone."
"not even our manager or hyelim-sseam knew."
"the fuck??"
"ceo-nim didn't know either."
you scoffed, shaking your head in complete disbelief. "crap, they really fooled everyone, huh?"
"they really did..." wonwoo smiled. "i'm sorry you have to wait even longer."
"pfft, wonu, it's nothing. you know that."
with wonwoo's job as an idol and all the travelling they do, you were completely used to it, but to wonwoo, during the long travels or if any unexpected schedules came up, he would feel so immensely guilty on just... leaving you alone. while he doesn't feel self conscious about it, it still eats at him when he asks you for... very specific requests.
"waiting longer also means i'm going to need you to log into my accounts and do my logins... for all my games."
"yeah, yeah, i got you."
and like the person of his dreams that you are, you are always quick to make sure his requests are met, even if it's something as simple as logging into his favourite games and collecting the right rewards.
l. jihoon
"you're going to ROME and i'm hearing this from SOONYOUNG?!" you shouted over the phone when your boyfriend finally picked up.
you've been trying to get ahold of him for 30 minutes now, and every single time, it went straight to voice mail - which was strange by itself because out of everyone, jihoon made sure that your calls would never go straight to voice mail when trying to reach him. he would either call you back immediately, or pick up after the second ring, which only made it even worse when you were trying to get ahold of him since soonyoung told you that they're going to italy.
jihoon pulled the phone closer to his ear after putting it away at your shout. "okay, wait, soonyoung told you?"
you scoffed, "of course he did! you want to know what he sent me?" you texted him a screenshot of the messages that the friend had sent you - which included a shit ton of spamming, capitalized screaming, and a bunch of photos of their team. "i thought he was drunk at first!"
"i mean, he is. still is," jihoon reasoned.
"yes, but then seungcheol told the group chat, and then i get a call from your mom asking if i wanted to come to dinner instead of you!" you exclaimed, pacing around in your bedroom.
"my mom asked you to come to dinner in my place?" he repeated. "wait a minute. that's the dinner i was supposed to go with shua and soonyoung's moms, too."
"soonyoung told his mom that he isn't going to dinner because you guys are getting kidnapped, and then your mom told me that she asked if i could go instead of their sons."
"i mean... you've known them for years at this point. you're basically their daughter," jihoon remarked with a chuckle.
"okay, yeah, sure. we've been dating for five years, i know, but that's besides the point! i'll update you on you if i go, though."
"you're probably going to go. you love hanging out with our parents."
"i mean, have you seen the fights that had broken out whenever i hang out with you and the members?"
"why else do you think i don't hang out with them unless it's for our monthly meetings?"
you scoffed, shaking your head. he's got a point there. "when you come back, i better hear from the rest of them that you've been going out instead of rotting in the hotel room... or wherever you're going to be. it's your first time in italy, and europe itself, jihoon. enjoy it."
he chuckled, "now you're starting to sound like my mom."
"jihoon, you barely know the outside of your own apartment. you appear on the top of the trending lists when you get spotted outside. i think reminding you that there is more to the world than the walls of your studio and apartment," you said, finally taking a seat by the end of your bed. "now, after this entire fiasco, i'm going to take a nap."
"it's 9am."
"yeah. nap time." you insisted. "and who knows, jihoon? maybe being in a new environment, you'll get a bunch of inspiration for your next song."
"being with you causes my inspiration 90% of the time now, anyways."
your face turned red - putting your down beside you while you screamed into your pillow. after the scream, you sat up, coughed, and picked up your phone again. "hi."
It had been months since Changkyun became a steady fixture in your lives—movie nights on the couch, messy pancake mornings, dinosaur battles in the living room. Your son adored him, but he’d never actually said the word dad again. Not directly, not when it mattered.
Until tonight.
You found your little boy curled up in bed, face buried in his pillow, shoulders shaking with soft sobs. The bad dream had rattled him more than usual. His tiny fists clung to the blanket when you tried to soothe him, his voice breaking as he choked out, “I—I want my dad…”
You froze, heart squeezing. For the briefest second you almost asked who he meant—then you realized. He meant Changkyun.
Changkyun, who had been halfway down the hall after hearing the crying, stopped in the doorway. His breath caught audibly, eyes wide, as though the word had struck him in the chest.
Your son lifted his tear-streaked face, still hiccupping, and whispered again, “Can I have my dad?”
You didn’t have to say a word. You just stepped aside.
Changkyun crossed the room in seconds, kneeling by the bed. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, voice trembling but gentle as he brushed damp hair off your son’s forehead. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Your son launched into his arms, clinging so tight around his neck that Changkyun had to blink back tears. He held him close, rocking gently, whispering soothing words you could barely hear.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’re safe. Dad’s right here.”
The little boy’s cries slowly quieted, breaths evening out as he fell asleep tucked against Changkyun’s chest. Changkyun stayed still, cradling him, eyes glistening. When he finally looked up at you, his expression was undone—raw, overwhelmed, and so full of love it nearly broke you.
Later, after your son was tucked back under the covers, Changkyun whispered, almost reverent, “He called me Dad…”
You cupped his face, smiling through your own tears. “Because that’s who you are to him.”
Changkyun pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “Then I’ll never let either of you down.”
And in that quiet, in the soft glow of the nightlight, it felt like your little family had just clicked into place—for good.
❪ 従う ❫ comfort established rs changkyun x f!reader 836 cw ノ exhausted kyun, kissing, a little suggestive notes, not proofread 〃 ♡ ⸝⸝⸝ guys big shock i successfully wrote for another monstie other than kihyun!!!!!! may this be the start to an even masterlist for them <3 i love my man changkyun he makes me dizzy when i think about him too long / 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
The mattress is soft under Changkyun's body. His muscles relax completely, shedding the stress and tension from the day. The soft pillows seem to swallow it whole. He closes his eyes and just breathes. It's comfortable, warm, relaxing… but something is missing.
The bed dips with your weight as you shuffle on your knees until you're close enough to hook one leg over Changkyun's hips. He doesn't even open his eyes, and if you didn't know him better you would believe he's asleep. But you know him, almost too well. He'd never sleep with his arms completely relaxed at his sides. He's always curled up like a little cat, as if he needs to consolidate warmth or has something to hide. Other times he cocoons around you, only able to fall into slumber when you're in his arms.
So, you sit, thighs on either side of his waist, hands itching to run up his chest, but you hold back. Check-in's always come first, cuddling after. You settle for his hand instead, your fingers grabbing hold of his and lifting. His whole arm follows, then flops down when you release it, like a dead weight. You muffle your laughter and watch his lips twitch.
"Long day, hm?"
You clasp both his hands, thumbs tracing over his knuckles. He only lightly squeezes back. It's enough of an answer for you. You lead his hands to your waist, and this time, when you let go, he stays there.
Satisfied, you lean forward, testing when he'll break and open his eyes to look at you. Your hair brushes against his neck, and when you let one of your hands fall to cup his cheek, you feel him nuzzle just slightly into the touch.
"Look at me, baby," you plead gently, thumbing over his cheek in a touch so gentle it could only be reserved for him. He hums, a little raspy and discontented. You feel him squeeze your hips.
"Come on, baby. I'll recharge you," you promise. He frowns a little, but listens. When he opens his eyes, his eyelids still droop half closed, as if the tiredness weighs down so heavy that it becomes physically impossible to open them all the way.
"There you are." You smile, hoping he'll be able to soak up at least a fraction of your energy.
"Recharge me," he whispers. His eyes have an imploring shine to them, like you're the only person in the world that can make him feel alive right now.
You start with his lips—soft and slow and unrushed. He kisses back enough to let you know he wants this, but without the energy to lead it. You trail to his cheek and then up further, each kiss placed with determination but gentleness. You hear his breath soften, but more telling is his grip on your waist. It tightens just slightly with every couple of kisses.
When you circle back down, lips mapping out a path to his neck, his breath hitches. The kisses here feel more suggestive than the previous soft devotion. It becomes complete with your wandering hands, feeling out the definition on his arms, chest, stomach, all while his neck gets the most of your attention.
He gasps quietly when you kiss a particularly sensitive spot beneath his jaw. You smile against his skin, tempted to tease him more. But you promised to make him feel recharged—not test his limits of restraint—so you pull away after.
You notice the shift in his expression. The tiredness has lifted, and his eyes now hold a fondness that was previously concealed. You lean towards him again, nuzzle your nose gently against his and revel in the soft laugh that escapes him. You meet his gaze, eyes twinkling with a mix of adoration and endearment.
"I haven't told you, but…" he starts, but trails off halfway. You raise an eyebrow. "I really like you."
You snort. He has to keep his grip on your waist firm to prevent you from falling off his lap. Your laugh racks through your entire body. You're amused not because the confession is anything to laugh at, but because Changkyun has been your boyfriend for four years. It's certainly not the first time he's told you this. In fact, you can't count how many times he's told you he likes you, and it’s even harder to tally up his many I love you's.
"You've told me that a lot of times, Kyun," you say with a smile.
"Not today, I haven't," he counters seriously before his expression softens again.
He pulls you down for another kiss, and this one falls more equally between you two. There's fervor dripping from his lips, and you savour it like it's the first time he's ever kissed you like this. It's not, nor will it be the last. Your relationship is built on a surety that no matter how high or low the days are, you'll always come back to each other; for comfort, for company, for love.
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