About story: Being Seunghyun’s younger sister has always made you untouchable, especially to Jiyong, who has spent years turning his feelings into jokes, teasing, and shameless flirting. Living under one roof with Seunghyun, Jiyong, Youngbae, and Daesung has always been chaotic, loud, and strangely comforting, but after your boyfriend breaks your heart and makes you feel ashamed for not being ready to sleep with him, that familiar balance begins to shift. Jiyong becomes the one person who knows how to reach you without pushing. What starts as comfort slowly turns into something softer, deeper, and impossible to keep pretending is just friendship.
Pairing: Jiyong x Reader
Word Count: 5,923 | Oneshot
Content Note: Seunghyun’s younger sister!reader, protective older brother, non-famous AU, living together, friends to lovers, emotional hurt/comfort, breakup, fear of intimacy, healing after a toxic relationship, slow burn, mutual pining, first kiss, drunk confession, soft romance, emotional intimacy
A/N: [request]
[2nd person POV]
Being Seunghyun’s younger sister is something you have always considered, with a slight exaggeration and a bit of humor, a certain kind of family curse, or maybe a punishment that must be karma from your past lives. Seunghyun has a strong protective instinct when it comes to you, and there was a time when he refused to let you go out at night without telling him where you were going, who you were going with, who else would be there, what you would be doing, who he could call if he could not reach you, what time he should come pick you up… For a while, you found it truly annoying, but the longer you lived together, the more you understood that he was just as attached to you as you were to him, and that you really do need your big brother in your life. You are glad the two of you live together in your happy and peaceful little life.
Your peaceful life so far is disrupted by Seunghyun when one day he announces that the boys from his band are moving in with you for a temporary period. Except the two years you have now spent living with that herd of wild animals no longer feel very temporary, and you honestly do not mind, because Seunghyun has had less and less time to watch over you, which suits you just fine. It still suits you now, just like the fact that there is always something happening in the house, even if it means you have ended up with a lot more housework.
The first person who comes up with the serious suggestion that everyone should contribute equally to running the household is Daesung. The chore chart stays pinned to the fridge for roughly a week before it completely falls apart. It starts when Youngbae says one day that he cannot take the laundry out of the dryer because he is far too tired after a concert and will do it the next day. At that moment, Jiyong happily claps his hands and announces that if the laundry stays in the dryer, he cannot iron it, so he will do the ironing tomorrow, once Youngbae takes the laundry out of the dryer… That laundry would probably still be there today if you had not stepped in and canceled that entire chore schedule.
The boys try to help. Really, they do, even though sometimes you would rather tell them not to help at all, because they often slow you down more than anything, or start arguing, or get bored after a while and leave the assigned work unfinished anyway.
It is late in the evening, almost night, when the boys come back from the club where they performed. You are standing by the stove in a plain T-shirt and short shorts, your hair twisted into a messy bun, making ramen, because the boys always come back from concerts slightly drunk and very hungry, and they probably would not fall asleep unless they ate something.
“See?” Daesung says far too loudly when he storms into the kitchen and nods meaningfully at Seunghyun. “This,” he points in your direction. “This is the reason I am never moving out of here. Not the band, not our immortal friendship… your sister.”
“Say one more word about my sister and I will kill you,” Seunghyun mutters grumpily and sits down at the dining table. Youngbae sits down next to him with a laugh and pats his shoulder. “But he is right, hyung. She cooks, does laundry, basically keeps all of us clean and alive. I would say that with those qualities, she is perfect wife material.”
“Youngbae,” Seunghyun hisses and shoots Youngbae a warning look.
Meanwhile, Jiyong moves closer to you and peeks over your shoulder so closely that you can feel his breath on your neck as he curiously and hungrily looks into the pot of ramen. After a moment, he moves over to the others at the table and makes himself comfortable.
“I would marry her even without all those qualities you just listed, Youngbae,” he says calmly, running a hand through his hair and winking at Youngbae.
“Jiyong…” Seunghyun growls, gripping his chopsticks tighter than necessary.
“I’m just stating facts, calm down,” Jiyong replies calmly, raising his hands in surrender before leaning back against the chair and looking at you with satisfaction. You have to admit that you love provoking your brother and driving him absolutely insane, and Jiyong has always been the perfect partner in crime for that, because unlike the other boys, Jiyong enjoys provoking Seunghyun and pushing him to the edge of madness… just like you.
Jiyong is simply Jiyong. He flirts as naturally as other people breathe, and you have always taken his comments as part of the usual rhythm of the house. Jiyong is bold, quick, dangerously sharp, and far too satisfied every time he manages to get a reaction out of Seunghyun. He calls you kitten, goddess, future Mrs. Kwon, or also the only reason I am still staying in this damn house…
You have learned to answer him with the same boldness, laugh at his comments, ignore them, or lower your eyes when he looks at you longer than is appropriate. It has never been anything serious, and it never could be, because you are Seunghyun’s sister… and that means an invisible but very clear line.
Besides, you had a boyfriend… yes, had, past tense. Minjae had been in your life for almost eight months, which was long enough for the other boys to stop talking about him as “that guy”, but still not long enough for Seunghyun to stop murdering him with his eyes every time Minjae appeared at your front door.
Minjae fit into your pack… acceptably. He never fully became part of the perfectly synchronized organism the rest of you had created together, but the boys also did not have any truly serious objections to him. Daesung was nice to him, because Daesung was nice to everyone, with the exception of someone who might steal food from his plate. Youngbae was polite, calm, and diplomatic with Minjae, although you noticed he never spoke to him as easily as he did with the others. Seunghyun tolerated him in a way that was, considering his exaggerated protective obsession with you, bearable. And Jiyong? Jiyong kept his distance. When Minjae was in the house, Jiyong did not flirt with you at all. He did not say things that could sound different if they were heard by someone from outside who did not know you, and he did not tell Seunghyun that he would marry you one day anyway just to see and fully enjoy his reaction. He simply slipped into the role of your brother’s best friend, someone funny, a little bold, but safe. It surprised you. It was actually kind of sweet of Jiyong, and seeing him act mature and reasonable was nice.
With Minjae, it had been nice and safe at first. He took you out to dinner, texted you when he got home, brought you flowers, and when he saw you were tired, he pulled you into his arms. You never lied to him, and from the very beginning, you told him that you simply needed more time with certain things and that you were not ready to move your relationship forward as quickly as he might have expected. Closeness was not unpleasant to you, but as soon as it turned into something he automatically expected, you started to panic.
When Minjae wanted to move on to the “next step” and you stopped him, he told you he understood. The second time, he kissed your forehead and told you he would give you as much time as you needed. The third time you refused, he no longer smiled…
And then came those three text messages, the consequences of which you still feel now and still cannot deal with…
M: I’m tired of this… We’ve been together for almost eight months and you still act like I want to hurt you.
You stared at that message for so long that the letters began to blur in front of your eyes. Your thumb rested motionless on the edge of your phone, and below you, you could hear only the noise from the living room and muffled laughter, because the boys were having their traditional Wednesday movie night. Meanwhile, more messages kept appearing on your screen…
M: Do you understand how humiliating this is for me? I want a normal relationship, with everything that belongs to it, not just waiting all the time…
And then came the worst message…
M: Honestly? It’s kind of embarrassing and pathetic… It will be better if we end this.
You kept staring at that last message for so long that the individual letters and words began to blend together, losing their shape. Embarrassing, pathetic, it will be better if we end this… If someone who did not know you read those messages, they probably would not see your greatest fears summed up in a few perfectly aimed lines… You never answered those messages. Even if you had wanted to, you would not have known what to write, and it did not matter anymore anyway.
Laughter came from downstairs in the living room, almost as if someone were laughing at you… The boys kept watching the movie without knowing that you were upstairs in your room, experiencing your first heartbreaking breakup. You knew you could not go downstairs now and join their movie marathon. You needed time to accept it, to take in the fact that you had just been dumped for not wanting to rush things.
Over the next few days, you try to function normally again. You do not cry in the middle of the kitchen, only in your room, and you do not actually tell the boys that Minjae broke up with you, even though you know you will not be able to avoid it forever, not once they start asking when he will come over again because he has not been at your house in a while… You think you are pretending well enough in front of the boys, but the truth is that during the evenings you spend locked away in your room while they sit in the living room, they talk mostly about you and what is going on with you. Except none of them has any clue what is happening, even though each of them tries to pull information out of you…
“Kitten,” Jiyong leans against the counter beside you one day while you are standing there chopping vegetables. “If you keep frowning and staying quiet like this all day, I might change my mind and tell Seunghyun I am never going to marry you.”
Under normal circumstances, you would have laughed at his words, rolled your eyes, or at least thrown something at him, but this time you only force a small smile without looking at him and keep chopping the onion in silence.
“Is everything okay?” Jiyong asks when a longer silence settles between you.
“Yeah…”
“Really? Because—”
“Jiyong,” you interrupt him when you finally lift your gaze to him. “Everything is fine, really. Let me finish chopping the vegetables.”
“Okay…” Jiyong adds after a moment of silence, as if he is waiting for you to change your mind and confide in him about how embarrassing and pathetic you are, before he leaves for his room.
Paradoxically, the more you try to act normal, the more worried the others become about you, even though they never say it out loud. You begin distancing yourself from the boys more and more. You do not wait for them in the kitchen with dinner, you do not eat with them, and you spend most of your time locked inside your room. One evening, Seunghyun sends you a message while you are lying on your bed in your room and the others are sitting in the living room, watching some movie.
S: Why aren’t you downstairs with us? We’re watching your favorite, Pulp Fiction.
Y/N: I’m sleepy. I’ll watch with you next time.
S: Did you break up?
You stare at the message, which has absolutely nothing to do with your previous conversation, and realize there is no point in lying anymore. It occurs to you that Seunghyun and probably the others too must have known that Minjae broke up with you from the moment he stopped coming over.
You start typing a reply to Seunghyun, but after a moment, you delete your words again. You repeat this about three times, because you really do not know how to answer such a simple question. In the end, you open your conversation with Minjae, which reopens the gates to your humiliation, take screenshots of his messages, and send them to Seunghyun before you can think better of it…
For a moment, you just stare at the sent screenshots and hold your breath. You want to write something else, but instead, you hear footsteps on the stairs. Fast, heavy, and far too familiar. You sit up on the edge of your bed just as the door to your room opens without a knock and Seunghyun storms inside. He stands in the doorway like a god of revenge, wearing that hard expression of his, the one that always means that on the outside he might seem calm, but inside him, an explosion of anger is taking place.
“I’m going to kill that bastard! Why didn’t you tell me?” he bursts out before closing the door behind him. Tears fill your eyes and those words return to you again… embarrassing… pathetic.
Seunghyun doesn’t hesitate for even a second when he sees your chin begin to tremble. It takes him only a few quick steps to cross the room, sit beside you on the bed, and wrap his arms around you. “The only embarrassing, pathetic, and miserable one here is him… He didn’t deserve you,” Seunghyun mutters as you lean against his shoulder and finally let your emotions go, no longer holding back your tears.
After that, Seunghyun says nothing. He simply pulls you closer, and you let him. You rest your forehead against his shoulder and he holds you firmly and quietly with both arms, just like he’s always known how to do. Neither of you says anything, and neither of you needs to. This is how you used to sit as children when things were bad, and this is still how it works now.
“Is everything okay?” You lift your tearful, reddened eyes from Seunghyun’s shoulder, and only now do you notice Jiyong standing in the doorway, watching the two of you with a certain kind of concern.
“Yeah,” you say immediately when you see Seunghyun inhale to answer, because you definitely don’t want the other boys to know… at least not why Minjae broke up with you…
Jiyong doesn’t answer. He only looks at you for a moment longer before nodding and leaving your doorway, probably heading back to the others in the living room.
“Don’t tell the boys, please…”
“They’re already asking what’s going on with you,” Seunghyun answers. “None of us liked that bastard anyway.”
You can’t help laughing, and finally, you feel at least a little bit of relief that you no longer have to keep all that pain trapped inside you, at least not in front of Seunghyun…
[3rd person POV]
A few days later, only Y/N, Seunghyun, and Jiyong stay home. Y/N disappears into her room right after dinner, while Seunghyun and Jiyong move into the living room with cans of beer.
“What’s going on with her?” Jiyong asks, because he watched Y/N throughout the entire dinner, and only a blind person wouldn’t notice that something was wrong with her. Besides, the fact that he’d seen her crying in Seunghyun’s arms was definitely not just because it had started raining outside…
“She’s tired,” Seunghyun sighs and opens his can of beer.
“Don’t treat me like an idiot…”
“They broke up… well, he broke up with her… over text,” Seunghyun places his can of beer on the coffee table in front of him and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “This is what he wrote to her… because she didn’t want to sleep with him…” he mutters as he finds the screenshots in his gallery and hands the phone to Jiyong.
Jiyong reads the screenshots with a frown, and it takes him a long time before he looks back at Seunghyun and gives him the phone back. “He’s even more pathetic than I thought… Did you talk to her?”
Seunghyun leans back against the couch, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes. “You know I’m not good at this… I’ve always only offered her a hug and a shoulder to cry on, but words have never been my strong suit,” he exhales before opening his eyes again and finding Jiyong’s gaze. “I’d like you to go to her…”
Jiyong nods along, but freezes at Seunghyun’s last sentence and looks at him with confusion. “What?”
“Jiyong, you’re the only one in this house who can really listen and not just say the words that are supposed to be said, but the words that actually help, so that… so that Y/N can be Y/N again and forget that bastard once and for all.”
“Are you serious?”
“I am,” Seunghyun nods. “You may sometimes be an unbelievable idiot who enjoys testing my nerves and my patience, but you’re my best friend and I trust you completely… You’ve always been able to help me more than anyone else.”
“Seunghyun…”
“She needs someone now. Someone she trusts, someone she knows, and someone I trust not to hurt her… Talk to her… please.”
[2nd person POV]
You spend most of the day in your room, except for the times when you’re cooking, doing laundry, or cleaning. Today is no exception. You’re sitting on your bed with your knees pulled to your chest, your back against the wall, and your phone lying face down beside you. The whole house is almost unpleasantly quiet, tense in that way… as if everyone knows something happened and no one knows how to start talking about it. And this is exactly what you hate. You hate that over the past few days you’ve been moving through the house like a shadow. You hate that the boys fall silent every time you enter the living room. You hate that Youngbae is nicer to you than usual, that Daesung keeps trying to make you laugh with the worst jokes in the world, and that Seunghyun pretends he isn’t watching you, even though he’s actually watching you even more than usual. And the biggest change, the one you can barely stand, is that Jiyong has stopped “flirting” with you.
At first, you thought that when Jiyong stopped calling you kitten or future Mrs. Kwon, things that always drove Seunghyun absolutely insane, it would make it easier for you to breathe… The truth is that his carefulness around you hurts more than his usual boldness. Why? Because the fact that he’s careful means he knows. It means Seunghyun definitely told him as his best friend… And that is a secondary kind of humiliation.
When a knock sounds at your bedroom door, you lift your head so sharply that your neck hurts.
“Yeah?”
The door opens slightly and Jiyong peeks inside. “Can I?”
“Sure,” you shrug.
Jiyong walks in and closes the door behind him. He stands there for a moment before making his way over to you and sitting on the far end of your bed. He places a package of rice cakes on your nightstand. “The store on the corner had the last pack of your favorite rice cakes, the ones with red bean paste.”
“Seunghyun told you, didn’t he?” you ask without looking at the package or thanking him for it.
“He told me you broke up…”
“And what else?” you ask without taking your eyes off him. Jiyong’s silence and the way his eyes drop to the floor make you cover your face with your hands and let out a tired breath. “God, this is so embarrassing and so humiliating… I didn’t want anyone in this house to know. I feel like an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. Not being ready to move a relationship forward isn’t a failure,” he says with a completely calm but firm voice. “And needing time isn’t a flaw. If your head or your body stopped you, then it was because you had doubts, and that isn’t something you should be ashamed of or feel embarrassed about… And if he thinks you were trying to humiliate him with that, then he doesn’t deserve to stand outside your front door, let alone beside you…”
“Seunghyun sent you here, didn’t he?” you say with a frown, because you know your brother and his best friend far too well. “You both pity me.”
“I don’t pity you. Yes, I’m sorry that bastard hurt you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting alone here for so long and pulling away from us, but I don’t pity you. I just… you should know that we care about you… I care about you.”
Suddenly, you don’t know what to say, and you just look at Jiyong. His words are a kind of relief. He’s always known how to speak. He’d probably make the ideal speaker, and you have to admit now that you can breathe a little easier. Maybe it really isn’t only your fault.
“I didn’t come here to corner you, and I don’t want you to immediately come back downstairs and pretend everything is fine. I just want you to know that what Minjae wrote to you isn’t true, because if you closed your doors to him, then there had to be a reason for it. One day, someone will be lucky enough to stand by your side, and you’ll open those doors to him… and even if it takes you longer, that chosen person should wait and support you, not try to break those doors down and blame you for it…”
“What if I never open those doors?”
Jiyong inhales and smiles a little. “Then he’ll sit down beside them, talk to you, let you breathe… bring you your favorite rice cake…” he adds and reaches for the package on your nightstand, opens it, and hands it to you.
You can’t help it, and for the first time in a long while, you really laugh. You take the open package of rice cakes and eat one of your favorite ones. Then you hold the package back out to Jiyong. “Do you want one?”
Jiyong looks at the package in your hand and then at you with that typical smirk of his. “You’re offering me your favorite snack? That’s almost like asking me to marry you.”
“Kwon Jiyong…” you say in a lightly warning tone, but you’re still smiling.
“Yes, future Mrs. Kwon?”
You finally laugh fully and honestly, and you throw the rice cake wrapper at Jiyong while he throws a pillow at you. Maybe it’s not actually a bad thing that Seunghyun told Jiyong…
***
You never really make a big deal out of birthdays in your house. No grand celebrations full of balloons, heartfelt speeches, and the need to stand in the middle of the living room with a crown on your head while listening to everyone tell you how special and yours this day is. Usually, you simply get the birthday person a small cake, go out together for lunch or dinner, and the world keeps turning.
This year, however, on your birthday, everyone acts far too normal and calm. No happy birthday, no comment or hint that it’s your birthday, no cake, nothing at all. You don’t care, of course. Well… it hurts a little, if you’re being completely honest.
When you come downstairs to the living room that evening in your sweatpants and an old T-shirt, resigned to the fact that you’re simply going to watch a movie like you do every Wednesday, you notice that the living room is dark. The boys are crowded around the coffee table, and in the middle of it sits a cake with candles.
“Happy birthday!” they call out almost in unison as soon as you stop in the living room doorway. You stand there for a moment longer and have to laugh, because you’d seriously believed that not even one of them would say happy birthday to you at least once today. Honestly, it moves you and makes you happy, and you realize that you really do need these madmen for your happy life.
You sit together around the coffee table and blow out the candles. You don’t tell anyone your wish, because wishes spoken out loud don’t come true. You don’t wish for anything huge, only to feel like yourself again, to be yourself, for these loud boys to stay exactly the same, for you to find someone who will love you just the way you are, and for Minjae’s words to stop hurting completely one day…
Later, when the house quiets down and the boys scatter to their rooms, too tired to stay up any longer, you sit on your bed in the long T-shirt you wear to sleep and replay the whole evening in your head with a happy feeling. Honestly, it’s one of the best evenings you’ve had in a while. Your daydreaming is interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Yeah?” you say, and the door opens slightly as Jiyong peeks inside.
“Can I? I have one more gift for you,” Jiyong says as he enters your room, closes the door behind him, and walks toward you at a slow pace. “I didn’t want to give it to you in front of the others, because they’d probably start interrogating me right away…” he says as he hands you a small, tasteful black box.
You smile a little and take the box from him. When you open it, your breath catches for a moment. Inside is a thin silver chain with a small key-shaped pendant. You gently run your index finger over the shape of the key and understand the meaning of this gift. That evening, when Jiyong came to your room, brought you rice cakes, and talked about the imaginary doors through which you let others come close to you… and how it’s only up to you who you open them for, because it’s your choice.
“I wanted you not to forget that you’re the one who decides who gets to come closer to you, and you don’t have to explain that to anyone. When you let someone close to you, it should be because you want it too, not because the other person is running out of patience or because you’re afraid they might stop loving you because of it…”
You lift your eyes to him. His expression is serious, but not harsh. When you stay silent, Jiyong continues.
“You never have to do something just because someone else wants it… not even if you love them more than anything in the world, not even if you’re afraid they’ll leave you… Because if they leave because you listened to yourself, then they’re definitely not the right person…”
For a few seconds, you only stay silent, because you’re not completely sure what you want to say, and you’re afraid your voice would shake uncontrollably if you tried to speak. Eventually, you get up from the bed and hand Jiyong the necklace. “Will you put it on for me?”
Jiyong freezes for a moment as if he hesitates, then smiles slightly and nods several times in agreement. You turn your back to him and push your hair away from your neck. You can hear only your own breathing, and you can feel only Jiyong’s fingers as they touch your neck through the chain, the skin at the nape of your neck. Once he fastens the necklace, he places his hands on your shoulders and slowly turns you back around to face him.
“It suits you,” he says simply as he looks at the necklace with the key pendant resting against your throat. In that moment, you take a small step forward and hug him, because nothing else feels right. Jiyong freezes for a moment, then hugs you back. He places his palms between your shoulder blades and gently strokes you. His arms feel safe, safer than Minjae’s ever did.
“Thank you… thank you for everything, really,” you mumble into his shirt.
“You’re welcome,” Jiyong says when he pulls away from you after a while so he can look at you. “Just please don’t tell your brother I was in your room at night… he’d probably kill me.”
You laugh and nod your head. “I won’t tell him anything… Goodnight, Jiyong.”
“Goodnight, Y/N,” Jiyong replies before leaving for his room.
***
You can’t say exactly when your friendship somehow shifts. There isn’t one specific moment you could look back on and say, “this is where it started”. It simply… happens.
You start spending more time with Jiyong. It isn’t intentional, but suddenly you keep ending up in the same rooms at the same time, and then the two of you stay together even after the others leave. You talk more… about everything, about nothing, about movies, about music, about things that annoy you… Seunghyun, of course, sees it and notices it, but he says nothing, which is unusual for him, but you take it to mean that if it bothered him, he’d definitely say something.
Then comes the kiss. You’re simply sitting a little too close to each other on the couch one day, laughing at some stupid video Jiyong is showing you on his phone. When Jiyong lifts his eyes to you, you’re the one who begins moving closer to him, shortening the distance between you. But Jiyong is the one who places his hand on the back of your neck and kisses you. It’s a spontaneous kiss, rushed and a little clumsy, and it ends before it really begins. An uncomfortable silence settles between you, and Jiyong inhales, probably about to apologize. “Sorry, I…”
“Kiss me again,” you interrupt him, and this time you pull him into the kiss yourself.
Somewhere from that point on, the real turning point seems to happen. Jiyong starts touching you even in front of the others. They aren’t bold touches, they simply become more visible to everyone else. At first, you’re worried about Seunghyun’s reaction, especially his, because Jiyong is still your brother’s best friend above all, and this could be something that might disturb their friendship. But Seunghyun takes it completely calmly. You even get the feeling that he watches it with a certain kind of satisfaction. Daesung smiles sweetly and raises his thumbs in the air every time he passes by and you and Jiyong are standing closer to each other than is strictly necessary. Youngbae, on the other hand, keeps a serious face and mostly avoids places where he might run into the two of you, almost as if he’s afraid he might see something he doesn’t want to see…
You and Jiyong never actually tell each other what you are, or give this kind of “relationship” a name, until one evening, the boys come back from a club concert later than usual and somewhat more drunk than usual. You went to sleep at ten in the evening and were sleeping peacefully until around midnight, when four loud voices wake you up as they try far too hard not to wake you. You roll your eyes and turn to face the wall, trying to fall asleep again and ignore the commotion coming from the hallway downstairs.
You’re almost asleep again when you hear a loud thud against your bedroom door, accompanied by a quiet “Ow…” Confused, you sit up in bed and watch the handle slowly move before Jiyong walks into your room. You turn on the small lamp on your nightstand, and the two of you look at each other. It’s hard to tell whose expression is more confused.
“This is not my room,” Jiyong mumbles and scratches his head. You can’t help a quiet laugh and a shake of your head.
“Jiyong, you’re never so drunk that you can’t find your own room,” you say, raising your eyebrow at his attempt to make this seem like an accident and a mistake, when it definitely isn’t.
Jiyong lets out a heavy sigh and slightly hunches his shoulders. “Okay, maybe it’s not an accident…”
“Maybe?”
“Fine, it’s not an accident,” he admits and walks toward you with slow, unsteady steps. You sit up on the bed and move closer to the wall so Jiyong can sit beside you. “I should probably go to sleep before I start saying things I should say sober…” he mumbles and looks at you. His eyes are glassy, and it’s obvious he’s not completely sober, but he’s also not so drunk that he doesn’t know what he’s saying. “I… I love you,” he says at last, and smiles at you in an adorably drunk way.
“Jiyong…”
“No, you don’t have to say anything,” he says quickly and raises his hand, as if he wants to stop you before you start talking. “You really don’t have to say anything to me, not tonight, when I’m drunk and probably less charming than usual.”
“You are…” you say, but you don’t really mean it. Drunk Jiyong has actually always been pretty cute.
“That actually hurts a little, that you agree with me,” he says and looks at you, a little offended. “No, I mean it completely seriously, what I said. That I love you… And I really wish no one ever hurts you again and that you’re always this smiling and happy.”
For a while, you stay silent, because you need to take in everything Jiyong has just told you. The truth is that no one has ever said such beautiful and sincere words to you before, and you’ve always wished that someone who would say them to you might appear one day… and now he’s here.
“Come here,” you say after a moment, shifting on your bed so you can lie down again, and you lift the blanket, silently telling Jiyong to lie beside you. “I want to hug you.”
Jiyong looks at you for a moment with his slightly drunk and uncertain expression, clearly unsure of what you want from him. After a while, however, he doesn’t hesitate and crawls over to you, slipping under the blanket beside you, still fully dressed. He turns to face you and you move closer to him so you can rest your forehead against his chest. Jiyong’s arm automatically pulls you even closer as he exhales contentedly into your hair.
“I love you too…” you say quietly after a while. Jiyong’s embrace grows firmer. He reaches over you and turns off the lamp on your nightstand. The room is now dark and quiet, disturbed only by Jiyong’s calm breathing and the noises in the house as the other boys probably settle down to sleep. Jiyong’s hand is warm against your back, and suddenly it’s easier for you to breathe, maybe easier than it’s been in months. Wishes that are never spoken out loud always come true… maybe there really is some truth to that.
Ji-yong had a pretty bad history of abandonment by his partners. He’d had 3 partners just…leave. He’d fall asleep after a fight then wake up the next morning to an empty house and a note or text saying they were done. He’d started forming some separation anxiety that became a plague to all his relationships. He frantically texted his friends if they didn’t talk for long and he even got scared when his parents didn’t text back fast enough. He just became extremely clingy, almost to an overwhelming degree.
It wasn’t until you came around that he really realized how deep the trauma went. If you took too long to get home, he’d lose it until you were home. If he woke up and you weren’t in bed? He started freaking out. Anytime you got up at night would make him wake up. Even after starting therapy, he still hadn’t gotten much better. It hurt to watch some days.
At 2-3 in the morning you woke up because of the cat clawing at the door to get in. Nothing out of the ordinary. In your grogginess, you forgot how badly Ji-yong would freak out when you left. You sat up and stretched, preparing to let the cat in. He shot upright immediately, grabbing your waist and dragging you back to him. He started crying and begging you to not leave him and to talk it out. He almost fell over at some point in his panic and he wound up sobbing and hyperventilating into your legs.
“Please, jagi- please- don’t- don’t leave me” Jiyong sobbed, crying helplessly into your lap.
“Fuck- hey- Ji-yong it’s okay I’m not going anywhere. I was just letting Zoa in, she was scratching at the door. I’m not leaving, I promise.” You murmured gently, your hand moving to his hair and scratching his head before trying to get him to look at you.
He dragged himself up, clinging even harder now that he was upright. You kept petting his head, gently kissing his jaw and cheeks while he realized you weren’t going anywhere. He began calming down and very quickly started getting embarrassed. He got embarrassed every single time he’d freak out, especially when he realized you weren’t going anywhere that warranted a full blown panic attack. He began hiding in your shoulder as the embarrassment really started hitting
“I’m sorry.” He sniffled, voice still shaking. “I’m almost 30 and still sobbing whenever my partner gets up” He laughed wetly, the self deprecating joke not hitting quite how he wanted.
“Ji-yong-”
“I didn’t want to wake you up like that. I mean, I didn’t really want to wake up like that-”
“Ji-yong.”
“-and you were sleeping so peacefully and just tried letting the cat in and I-”
“Ji-yong! Stop talking.”
His mouth snapped shut without question.
“I’m gonna get up, I’m gonna let Zoa in and we are going back to bed. You wanted to go to the studio tomorrow.” You said sternly
“But-”
“Ji-yong.”
Silence.
You let the damned cat in, laid back in bed and opened your arms. He folded into your arms, curled up and started clinging like his life depended on it. He felt like a child after a nightmare. You started scratching his head and he melted, his eyes beginning to close without his permission. You noticed the state of his hair, putting the dots together that he hadn’t washed it in at least 3 days. Which also meant he was probably just standing under the water every time he said he was showering.
“Do you want help washing your hair tomorrow night? We can make it a whole thing. Face masks, a bath, painting our nails.” You offered, hoping your excuse of a self care night would be enough to convince him.
“Does that mean you’ll let me paint your nails red?” Ji-yong asked sleepily.
“If it means you’ll let me wash your hair”
“...fine.”
You smiled softly at that, kissing his head and brushing your hand through his hair until his breathing slowed. You dozed off slowly after him, eyes drooping shut until you both fell asleep tangled together.
a/n: BIGBANG APRIL WRITING CHALLENGE I wrote like four different versions of this but I'm glad I challenged myself! So fun :) Shout out to @ldydeath & @wcnderlnds for this fun event <3
prompt: Day 3 - One of them is sick and the other takes care of them
warnings: fluff, Jiyong being a sick baby <3
wc: 3.5k+
The harsh sound of coughing jolted you from sleep, dragging you out of a dream and straight into worry. It wasn’t just a casual throat-clear—it was deep, relentless, painful. You blinked against the faint pre-dawn light spilling through the curtains and reached for your phone on the nightstand. 4:45 a.m.
Your heart sank. He’d probably been up for a while.
You listened for a moment, the wheezing behind the bathroom door growing louder with each ragged breath he took. The sound of his suffering was impossible to ignore. You kicked off the covers and crawled out of bed, padding across the cold floor and toward the door.
You knocked gently, your voice barely above a whisper, but full of concern. “Ji? Are you okay?”
There was a beat of silence, then a muffled reply.
“M’fine…” he rasped, but even that word was shredded by another violent cough that shook through him.
Your chest ached just hearing it.
“Can I come in?”
Silence again. No protest, no permission. That in itself said enough.
You slowly opened the door, heart clenched tight, and found him exactly where you'd feared: hunched over on the edge of the bathtub, his body curled into itself as if he were trying to disappear. His elbows rested on his knees, and his head hung low in his hands. Each breath sounded like it was being dragged unwillingly from his chest, wheezy and raw.
“Baby…” you whispered, crossing the room and kneeling down beside him. “Hey. Look at me.”
You gently lifted his chin, your fingers warm against his clammy skin. His eyes met yours, barely. Bloodshot and glassy, puffy from lack of sleep and probably more than a little crying from the sheer discomfort. His nose was red and runny, his lips cracked and dry. He looked absolutely miserable.
You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, then slid your palm down to his cheek. He was on fire. A soft, worried sound escaped your lips.
“Aish, Jagi…” you murmured. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
He tried to manage a breath. “Didn’t wanna bother you,” he whispered. “Just… need some coffee before work.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. You’re not going anywhere today.”
“But I have meeti—” His protest was cut off by another coughing fit that bent him over, his shoulders heaving with the effort.
You didn’t hesitate. “You’re not working, Jiyong. You’re sick. You need rest.”
He looked like he wanted to argue—but he didn’t have the strength. His head dropped again, this time resting against your shoulder.
“I’ll call your manager,” you said, threading your fingers gently through his hair. “Let him know you need a day off.”
He nodded, barely.
“Come on,” you said softly, reaching your hands out toward him. “Let’s get you in the shower. The steam will help.”
He blinked up at you, clearly torn. “I don’t wanna get you sick…”
You smiled, heart aching at how he still tried to protect you, even now. “Hush. Let me take care of you. Please.”
He hesitated, but then slowly reached for your hands, his fingers trembling as they laced with yours. You guided him to his feet carefully, steadying him when he swayed slightly.
“Feel dizzy…” he mumbled, voice thin and strained.
“I know, baby,” you whispered, holding him steady with one hand while you reached forward to turn on the shower with the other. You gave it a few moments to warm up before gently helping him out of his shirt. “Just lean on me, okay?”
His skin was feverish under your touch, and he shivered even as the heat from the steam began to rise around you. You guided him carefully under the water, keeping a firm arm around his waist in case his knees gave out.
The moment the warm spray hit his back, he sighed—his muscles, tense and aching, seemed to melt under the water, and he sagged forward, forehead pressing lightly to your shoulder.
You rid yourself of your own clothes before stepping under the stream with him. His arms looped loosely around your waist, and he rested his entire weight against you, his face nuzzling into the curve of your neck like it was the only place he could breathe properly.
You stroked his back slowly, letting the water pour over both of you as the bathroom filled with mist. He was so used to being strong, being “G-Dragon” to the world. But right now, he was just Jiyong—your husband, your person—and he was sick and vulnerable and needed you.
The only sound between you was the steady rhythm of the water and the occasional soft exhale from Jiyong as you moved around him with gentle, practiced hands. You worked the shampoo through his damp hair slowly, your fingers massaging his scalp with care. His long strands clung to your skin and slipped through your fingers like silk as you rinsed, the suds trailing down his neck and over his back.
He leaned into your touch with his eyes closed, the tension in his shoulders gradually softening. His breath hitched slightly when your fingertips skimmed behind his ears, the smallest sound escaping his throat—a low, appreciative moan, more comforted than suggestive. His body was exhausted, too weighed down by fever and fatigue for the kind of fun your showers usually ended with. But that didn’t stop him from savoring every moment of your care.
He thought to himself, This is what I should be doing for her. That’s how your shared showers usually went—he was the one massaging conditioner into your hair, trailing kisses down your spine, whispering love and nonsense alike while the hot water fogged up the mirrors. But not today. Not when his limbs felt like lead and his lungs burned with every breath.
Still, your touch was nothing short of magical. You washed him slowly, with reverence. Your hands moved down his chest, over his ribs, carefully lathering away the sweat and chills from the long, restless night. You placed featherlight kisses against his damp skin—his shoulder, the curve of his neck, just beneath his ear—as if to remind him he wasn’t alone.
He didn’t speak, and neither did you. You didn’t need to. The silence was full of love, of presence, of understanding.
Once you’d rinsed the last of the soap from his body, you stood together beneath the stream of warm water, letting it wash over both of you. He wrapped his arms around your waist again, resting his head against your shoulder, his breaths coming in slower now—less ragged, more grounded. You stayed like that for a while, just holding each other in the quiet.
Eventually, you shifted, running your fingers gently through his soaked hair. “Ready to get out, babe?” you murmured. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
He nodded. “Okay.” his voice was so small it tugged painfully at your chest.
You helped him out of the shower carefully, grabbing the fluffiest, most comforting towel you could find and wrapping it around his shoulders like a blanket. He sat back down on the edge of the tub, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the room. The fever had yet to break.
You rummaged through the closet, determined to find something soft and comforting. Your fingers brushed over fabric until you settled on his favorite pair of grey sweatpants and an old, worn Balenciaga hoodie—one that had seen better days but still smelled like home. You handed them to him, then quickly dressed yourself in leggings and an oversized tee.
He moved slowly, almost dazed, and you watched as he tried to tug the hoodie over his head, arms sluggish and uncoordinated. You bit back a frown as he fumbled, then stepped forward.
“Here,” you said softly, taking the fabric from his hands. “Let me help you.”
As you helped him dress, he mumbled, eyes cast downward, voice thick with guilt. “M’sorry… I’m pathetic.”
Your heart clenched. You cupped his flushed cheek, the heat radiating from his skin like a furnace. “Hey,” you said firmly, but gently. “You’re sick. Everyone gets sick. Even G-Dragon.”
That earned the smallest smile from him—a shy curve of the lips and a soft huff of laughter that tickled the air between you. You kissed his cheek lightly, letting your lips linger against the warmth of his fevered skin.
“Now,” you said, brushing his hair out of his face. “Let’s get you wrapped up in front of the TV, and I’ll go make you something delicious.”
By the time you settled him on the couch, you'd turned it into a cozy nest of blankets and pillows. He sank into it like it was the safest place on earth, a heavy sigh leaving his chest as he curled up. You pulled the blanket up to his chin and turned on his comfort show—something soft, nostalgic, the kind of thing that didn’t ask much from a tired mind.
For a few minutes, he looked peaceful. But then the coughing started again. Dry, persistent, tearing at his chest. He tried to stifle it, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, but it didn’t help much.
You stood in the kitchen, heart aching as you watched from the doorway. You knew how much he hated this—being weak, missing work, not being able to control what was happening in his own body. He’d always been a perfectionist, always felt the pressure to push through, to perform, to show up no matter what. But today, none of that mattered.
Today, he just needed to be taken care of.
So, you made it your mission. You blended his favorite smoothie and snuck in some vitamins. You made him a plate of warm food—something easy on the stomach and full of comfort. You kept the lights low, his tea hot, the tissues stocked, and the remote within reach.
He didn’t have to ask. He didn’t have to lift a finger.
Because he’d spent his whole life showing up for everyone else.
And today, you were going to show up for him.
-
By the time the clock blinked 5:00 p.m., Jiyong was deep into his third nap of the day. Or at least, trying to be. Sleep had been an inconsistent companion, slipping through his fingers every time a coughing fit seized his chest. His rest was fractured, broken up by shallow breaths and body aches, but he clung to the stillness when he could.
He was curled up on the couch now, swaddled in a cocoon of blankets, his head resting heavily in your lap. His breathing was shallow, wheezy—each inhale sounding like it scraped down his throat. Your fingers threaded softly through his damp hair, moving without thought, trying to soothe whatever pain he couldn’t seem to shake. The TV murmured in the background, just enough to fill the quiet.
In your free hand, your phone screen glowed faintly. You scrolled through the delivery app, adding item after item with care: cough syrup, vapor rub, lozenges, decongestants, tissues, eye drops. Everything your mom used to keep on hand when you were little and sick. You didn’t want to miss a single thing that might bring him even a moment of relief.
You paused, then typed in a few more ingredients. Carrots. Celery. Egg noodles. Chicken thighs. The makings of your grandmother’s homemade chicken noodle soup. You hadn’t made it in years, but somehow, it felt like the exact thing Jiyong needed now. Comfort in a bowl. The taste of being cared for.
You confirmed the order and gently set your phone aside, your attention returning to Jiyong. He was still asleep, breathing softly, lashes fluttering slightly against his flushed cheeks. You brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead and rested your palm lightly against his skin. Still warm. Still too warm.
You swallowed down the worry.
But then his body tensed, and within seconds, he was coughing violently—his whole frame convulsing with the effort. You jumped, startled, immediately sliding your arms under him to help him sit up. He leaned forward into your chest as the coughs wracked through him, gasping between each one.
“Oh, baby…” you whispered, rubbing firm, soothing circles along his back, your heart breaking with each breath he struggled to take.
Eventually, the fit subsided, leaving him slumped against you, panting. He groaned low and long, the frustration spilling out of him in a wave.
“I fucking hate this,” he muttered, voice raw and thick with exhaustion.
You pressed your chin to his shoulder, your arms still wrapped around his trembling frame. “I know, baby,” you murmured. “I’m having some stuff delivered—food, medicine. It’ll help you sleep through the night.”
He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he turned into you, resting his forehead against your collarbone before gently pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, not as tight as usual, but with all the same love.
“Thank you,” he whispered, voice softer now, almost ashamed. “For always taking care of me.”
You hugged him back, your hand stroking his hair again. “I’ll always take care of you,” you said softly. “Through sickness and in health, remember?”
You pulled back slightly and held up your hand, admiring the diamond ring he’d placed on your finger just two years ago. The sparkle of it caught the last light of the afternoon.
He took your hand in his, fingers tracing the band as a tired smile touched his lips. “Best decision I ever made.”
-
The two of you stayed like that for another 45 minutes, tangled in the warmth of each other and the couch. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy, your body sinking into his. You were drifting… until the doorbell rang.
You startled slightly, rubbing your eyes as you gently slipped out of Jiyong’s arms. He let out a groggy, disappointed huff, already missing your warmth. You kissed the top of his head before padding away.
You shuffled to the door, grabbed the delivery bag, and quickly made your way into the kitchen—ready to throw everything you had at this cold until it backed off. Jiyong, still weak but stubborn, watched you disappear around the corner.
Then, you heard the telltale sound of his slippers dragging across the hardwood floor. You smiled to yourself. “You should be resting,” you said without looking back.
“I missed you,” he said simply, wrapping his arms around you from behind, his body pressing gently into yours. “What did you get?” he asked, peeking into the bag over your shoulder.
“I’m making you soup for dinner,” you said, organizing the contents. “And I’m mixing up a medicine cocktail for you.”
He groaned dramatically. “Yuck. Medicine.”
“Don’t be a baby,” you teased. “You wanna feel better, don’t you?”
He hummed, tucking his face into the crook of your neck like a child clinging to their favorite stuffed animal.
You pulled out the cough syrup and poured the thick, sticky liquid into the small dosage cup, bracing yourself for his inevitable protest. Just as expected, Jiyong sighed and shuffled over to the fridge. He poured himself a tall glass of chocolate milk.
You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Please tell me you’re not about to chase that tiny shot of grape syrup with milk.”
He raised the glass proudly. “Gotta get the taste out of my mouth somehow.”
You watched in horror as he downed the medicine like a shot, then immediately chugged the milk.
“You’re disgusting,” you said, half-laughing, half-gagging. “You know that?”
He set the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “You married me. For better or for worse.”
“Clearly,” you muttered with an eye-roll, though your smile betrayed your fondness.
Then you pulled out the Vapo stick, unscrewing the cap.
“Lift your shirt,” you said, waving the tube in front of him.
“Why?” he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.
“Let me rub this on your chest. It’ll help open your lungs.”
His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t one of those weird things again, is it? Like that peel-off face mask from hell?”
You giggled. “This one’s legit. It was my favorite when I was a kid.” You held it up for him to smell, the minty scent filling the air.
He sniffed. “You mean when you were a little rave girl?”
“Shut up,” you laughed, already tugging up his hoodie. “Just trust me.”
He stood still as you gently rubbed the balm into his skin, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathed in the menthol. His body visibly relaxed.
“Told you,” you said smugly.
“Thanks, Jagi,” he murmured, finally looking at peace for the first time all day.
You leaned up and kissed him softly, lingering just long enough for him to melt into it. “Now go. Back to the couch while I make dinner.”
“You sure you don’t want me to help?” he asked, rubbing at his tired eyes.
“I’m sure,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “Go. Sit.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender and backed away, already turning toward the living room.
You turned back to the counter, already chopping vegetables, your heart full of love and worry and exhaustion—but above all, devotion. Because loving someone wasn’t always about the grand gestures or perfect days.
Sometimes it looked like soup and cough syrup and kisses on clammy foreheads.
And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
-
By the time dinner was ready and the soup was simmering perfectly in the pot, Jiyong looked like a different person—or at least, a slightly stronger version of the one who had been dragging himself across the house all day. His color had returned ever so slightly, and the coughing fits that once shook him every few minutes had quieted into an occasional, mild wheeze. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make your heart swell with relief.
You ladled steaming bowls of your grandmother’s chicken noodle soup—rich with herbs, tender chunks of chicken, and thick noodles—and brought them into the living room. Jiyong sat curled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in a nest of blankets, looking cozy and a little more alive. His eyes lit up the second you handed him his bowl.
And to your surprise—though maybe you shouldn’t have been surprised—he downed it like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. Three bowls later, he slumped back against the couch with a satisfied groan, one hand resting lazily on his stomach.
You grinned as you stacked your empty bowls on the coffee table, leaving them there for Zoa and Iye to sniff and carefully lick clean. The cats didn’t care that the bowls were already spotless—they were just thrilled to be included.
You pressed play on the movie again, the familiar dialogue filling the room as the two of you sank deeper into the cushions. You glanced over and saw Jiyong beginning to nod off, his head lolling to the side, eyes blinking slower with every passing second. The soup, the medicine, and sheer exhaustion from the day were finally catching up to him.
“Come on,” you whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. “Let’s go to bed.”
“M’comfy…” he mumbled sleepily, burying his cheek further into the throw pillow.
“You’ll be more comfy in bed, baby. Promise.”
He groaned like a child being asked to get up for school, but after a dramatic pause, he launched himself off the couch and into your arms, his limbs heavy and loose like a ragdoll. You stumbled back with a laugh, catching him just in time before he could drag you both down.
“God, you’re such a menace,” you teased, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you guided him toward the bedroom.
“Tired menace,” he murmured, nuzzling against your temple.
When you reached the bed, you helped him into it like he was made of glass. He sighed as he sank into the mattress, eyes already drifting closed again. You kissed his forehead before hurrying back to the kitchen to gather everything he might need through the night—water, tissues, another dose of medicine, cough drops all on standby. You placed it all neatly on the nightstand.
Once he was settled, you peeled off your clothes and changed into one of his oversized t-shirts. It swallowed you whole, soft with years of wear and still faintly scented like him.
You crawled into bed beside him, the blankets warm from his body heat. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, letting your body curl around his back.
“Jal ja, nae sarang,” you whispered against his temple, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head.
It wasn’t often Jiyong let you be the big spoon. Usually, he needed to be the one holding you—his protector instincts constantly humming under the surface. But tonight, he just wanted to be held. To feel safe. And you were more than happy to be that for him. After all the times he’d carried your stress, your grief, your pain—it felt good to return the favor, to be the arms he melted into.
Your fingers drifted lazily over his skin, tracing invisible patterns across his side, and slowly, you felt the tension melt out of him. His breathing deepened. Even. Steady.
And then… silence.
He had finally drifted into the deep, peaceful sleep he’d been chasing all day.
And with a full heart, you held him a little tighter, whispering another silent promise against his skin.
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: you and Jiyong keep getting caught making out so many times the others wonder if you two even exist outside of each others orbit. Eventually the boys ambush the two of you telling you to stop making out everywhere they exist but it doesn’t last long before all of that goes out the window.
𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩: BigBang (ot4), grumpy grandad Taeyang, making out, light grinding, Jiyong and reader being little shits, Taeyang and Jiyong share a room. All mentioned are depicted at debut so Jiyong would be around 18 but I refuse to make it anywhere besides making out and light grinding.
Masterist
The dorm had been chaos for the past few days, and the boys were starting to notice a pattern.
Whenever you had come around for the day whether it be to hang around, stay for dinner spend the night, where ever you went. Jiyong went after.
Usually followed my the sounds of giggles, whispers and…. The sounds of you two sucking each others face off.
It started in the living room, you laying on the couch scrolling through your phone when Jiyong had landed on you with his full weight nearly crushing you in the process.
Eventually giggles and tickles had turned into him kissing you and you kissing back just as passionately when Seung Hyun happened to walk in at the exact same time.
Loudly groaning Seung Hyun said “Are you two serious?”
Daesung, who had come by to grab a charger, froze mid-step, eyebrows raised. “You’re… everywhere.”
Taeyang, who was just trying to get a hoodie from the living room, muttered something about “ridiculous roommates,” clearly unimpressed as he backed out slowly.
It didn’t stop there.
In the kitchen, he had snuck up behind you while you were making tea, arms sliding around your waist as he pressed kisses along your cheek and jaw. You squeaked softly, hiding a laugh, and that was the moment Daesung came in - again, stopping short with a shocked look.
In the hallway, in the bathroom doorway, even in the laundry room… somehow, no matter where you went, Jiyong followed, and by some miracle, your quiet kisses had become loud enough to reach the other boys.
Finally, that morning, the three of them had had enough. You and Jiyong had been laughing quietly in the living room, brushing lips and whispering, when Taeyang stepped forward, arms crossed.
“Alright,” he said firmly. “This has gone too far.”
Seung Hyun and Daesung flanked him, both looking far more serious than you’d ever seen. “You two,” Seung Hyun said, pointing at you, then at Jiyong, “need to knock it off.”
“You can’t just kiss all over the dorm!” Daesung added, shaking his head. “Some of us are trying to live here!”
Jiyong blinked, sheepish but still smirking. “Well its-“
Taeyang cut him off. “Oh, please. We saw you. All of it. Enough.”
You buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning red. “We… we’ll… stop,” you murmured, trying not to laugh.
“Good,” Taeyang said, looking triumphant. “Now get your stuff together and let the rest of us breathe.”
—
The dorm was unusually quiet that evening. The other members had gone out for errands, leaving the place empty except for you and Jiyong, who had just returned from practice. You were curled up on his bed, giggling as he leaned over you, fingers brushing your hair back from your face.
“You know,” he whispered, lips hovering near yours, “they just don’t get it..”
You bit your lip, heart racing, as he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, then your neck. “Jiyong…” you breathed, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly.
He grinned mischievously before capturing your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. His hands trailed softly over your sides as he hovered on top of you, brushing your hair back again and again. You arched slightly, letting out a soft, stifled gasp as he nibbled lightly on your bottom lip.
You both stifled quiet laughs, hearts racing, keeping your noises low. His fingers tangled in your hair as he leaned closer again, brushing whispered murmurs against your lips. Every small movement, every soft touch, sent shivers down your spine.
Jiyong pressed down gently, hovering over you, playful heat in his touch. His kisses were slow and teasing, alternating between soft brushes on your lips, gentle pecks on your cheeks, and quiet nibbles along your jawline. You tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responded with a low, playful hum, pressing his hips lightly against yours in a teasing, completely innocent grind that made your stomach flutter and your cheeks burn.
He shifted slightly, pressing a little closer, playful friction that had you pressing back instinctively, giggling and squirming as he teased. Your laughter was muffled against his shoulder as he leaned down for a lingering kiss, holding you flush against him, and teasing little presses of his hips against yours in a way that made your heart race and your body warm.
“You’re impossible,” you whispered, cheeks pink.
“I know,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours, “and yet… you still like it.”
You laughed quietly, hiding your face in his chest for a moment, only for him to lift your chin gently, capturing your lips in another soft, lingering kiss. Your hands roamed along his shoulders and back, while he pressed soft pecks to your lips, cheeks, and jaw, teasing you with every brush of his lips.
The room was filled with quiet laughter, whispers, and the gentle hum of intimacy as he leaned closer again, pressing soft, playful kisses along your lips, jawline, and cheeks. Every touch, every murmur, every playful nuzzle made your heart race, making the quiet dorm feel like your own little world.
You pressed closer, letting your hands roam along his shoulders and back while he held you against him, teasing soft, playful presses of his hips against yours that had you squirming, giggling, and leaning in to meet him halfway. Every stolen kiss, every whispered “I love seeing you like this,” every playful hum made your cheeks burn and your heart race.
Just as you were caught up in the rhythm of playful kisses, whispered words, and teasing presses, the bedroom door opened.
“Ugh… seriously?”
Taeyang stood in the doorway, arms crossed, clearly irritated. He gave a low grumble, muttering to the other guys somewhere down the hall. “These two… cannot ever keep it down…”
Jiyong froze for a second, still hovering on top of you, cheeks pink but smirking. He gave a playful glance at you, whispering, “They’ll get over it.”
You buried your face in your hands, muffling a giggle as Taeyang shook his head and muttered a quick, “Ridiculous…”
Finally, the door clicked shut.
Jiyong leaned back slightly, still close enough that your bodies were pressed together. His fingers brushed your sides as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips again, playful and teasing, and you let out a quiet laugh, leaning into him. The light teasing presses of his hips against yours continued, playful and flirty, keeping your heart racing as you giggled quietly into his shoulder.
Then, a mischievous idea struck both of you.
He leaned up just enough to whisper in your ear, “Wanna mess with them?”
You grinned, catching on immediately. “Oh, absolutely.”
So, you both started being extra loud. Loud playful whispers, exaggerated little pecks and soft kisses, loud noises insinuating you two were getting it on while still holding each other close. Every laugh, every little squeal of excitement, and every teasing brush of lips was timed to perfection, enough to make the other boys cringe from the other side of the dorm without even actually doing anything.
Then you leaned closer to the door, whispering and giggling as Jiyong pressed soft kisses along your cheek. You pressed gently against the floor with your hips, just slightly, letting out little “thump” sounds in rhythm with your laughter, pretending to make it look like you were doing something scandalous.
Oh my god…” you heard faintly from the living room, most likely Seung Hyun, followed by some muffled groans.
Jiyong grinned against your ear, whispering, “They have no idea… and they’re dying inside.”
You both pressed a little closer, still whispering and laughing, letting the thumps happen occasionally as if you were “accidentally” hinting at something much naughtier than it actually was. The boys’ reactions from the hallway were priceless. Groans, muttered complaints, and faint exclamations that made you both laugh harder.
Totally ridiculous,” you whispered between kisses, eyes sparkling.
“Absolutely,” Jiyong murmured, grinning.
—
Later, after all the giggling and playful teasing, you decided to take a quick shower while Jiyong went to grab a towel. The warm water cascaded over you, washing away the day, and you hummed softly to yourself.
Before you could finish, the bathroom door clicked open.
“Hey…” a familiar mischievous voice whispered.
You spun around, cheeks immediately pink as Jiyong peeked in, grinning. “Thought you could get clean without me?”
“Jiyong!” you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-protesting, though your heart was racing.
He stepped closer, playful and teasing, leaning in to press soft kisses along your cheek and jaw. You laughed quietly, letting him, enjoying the warm, intimate moment. His hands stayed gentle on your shoulders and arms, brushing water-slick hair back from your face as he leaned in for another soft, lingering kiss.
“Can’t… resist, huh?” you whispered, trying to hide your giggle.
“Not when it’s you,” he murmured, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly to grin at you.
Just as he leaned in for another kiss, a voice echoed from the doorway.
“Hurry it up, you two!”
Both of you froze and looked up to see Daesung, holding a towel and looking exasperated. “Some of us need to use the bathroom too, okay?”
Jiyong groaned dramatically, but you both laughed, stepping back slightly to let him through. “Fine, fine,” he murmured, pressing a quick peck to your temple. “But we’ll finish later.”
Once the door clicked shut again, Jiyong leaned in for one more soft kiss, playful and lingering, and whispered, “Worth it.”
—
Finally, after all the excitement, you and Jiyong settled back on the bed, holding onto each other. You snuggled against him, nuzzling into his chest as your eyelids grew heavy. “I… I think I could actually fall asleep now,” you mumbled, voice soft and drowsy.
Jiyong chuckled quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good… I’ll stay here with you,” he murmured, tracing lazy patterns along your back. He watched you drift off, a contented smile tugging at his lips.
Not long after, the bedroom door creaked open again. Taeyang shuffled in quietly, looking tired, arms crossed but much calmer than earlier.
“You two…” he muttered softly, glancing at you both. “Alright… enough for tonight. Go to sleep, Jiyong.”
Jiyong pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering, “Goodnight, Jagiya.”
You sighed contentedly, letting sleep claim you fully this time, cheeks pressed against his chest, the warmth, laughter, and playful teasing of the night still lingering in your dreams. Jiyong stayed awake a little longer, smiling down at you, listening to your steady breathing, and feeling completely at peace.
Summary: You threaten Jiyong that if he doesn’t behave he’s gonna sleep on the couch so he becomes extra clingy
Warnings: None
Word Count: 850
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You’re halfway through fixing his collar when Kwon Ji-yong decides, for reasons unknown to humanity, that standing still is optional.
“Stop moving,” you mutter, tugging the fabric into place again.
“I am still,” he insists, immediately shifting his shoulders like a cat who’s been told not to sit on the keyboard.
You stare at him. Slowly. Very deliberately. He grins that grin that has gotten him out of everything since 2006.
“Ji-yong,” you say, voice sweet in a way that should concern him, “if you don’t behave for the next… let’s say two hours?” A small pause. A tilt of your head. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”
Silence. It lands. You can actually see the moment it hits him, like a cartoon lightbulb flickering… then exploding.
“The couch?” he repeats, offended, scandalized, personally attacked.
“Yes. The couch.”
“That’s not even a real threat,” he scoffs, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Suspicion. Calculation. Fear, even.
You raise an eyebrow. Don’t say a word. Just reach past him and pick up your phone like the conversation’s over.
He folds in seconds.
“Okay,” he blurts. “Okay. I’ll behave.”
You hum. Noncommittal. You’ve been here before.
Five minutes later, he’s perfect. Too perfect. Standing still. Quiet. Watching you like you might revoke his human rights at any second.
You narrow your eyes. “Why are you being weird?”
“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I’m just… respectful.”
That word doesn’t belong in his mouth like this.
You finish adjusting his outfit anyway, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder. “We’ll see.”
The event is packed. Cameras flashing like tiny lightning storms, voices overlapping into one long, shimmering buzz.
And Ji-yong? He’s Attached.His hand in yours, fingers laced tight enough to feel like a promise. His arm sneaking around your waist any chance it gets. At one point he literally rests his chin on your shoulder mid-conversation with someone important, like he forgot you exist in public spaces too.
You lean back slightly. “You’re being obvious.”
“We’re public,” he murmurs, not even a little ashamed.
“That’s not the point.”
He squeezes your hand. “I’m just… appreciating you.”
You turn your head just enough to catch his expression. There’s a softness there. And something else. Something suspiciously like strategy.
“You’re scared of the couch,” you whisper.
“I am not scared of the couch,” he whispers back, immediately pulling you a little closer.
You let out a quiet laugh. “You totally are.”
“Mm,” he hums, resting his cheek briefly against your hair. “But I’m not sleeping on it.”
It doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets worse.
During photos, his hand never leaves your back. During conversations, he drifts closer until your sides touch. At one point, he literally interrupts someone mid-sentence just to ask if you’re cold and then drapes his jacket over your shoulders like a man trying to secure his future.
“You’re overcompensating,” you tell him under your breath.
“I’m being affectionate.”
“You’re being strategic.”
He smiles. Slow. Unrepentant. “Both can be true.”
By the time you get home, the adrenaline has worn off and the quiet settles in like a blanket.
You barely make it through the door before he’s right there again, arms wrapping around you from behind.
“You did good tonight,” you say, kicking off your shoes.
“I always do good,” he replies, but he presses his face into your shoulder anyway, voice softer now. “But I did extra good.”
You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “You did.”
A beat.
“…So no couch?” he tries.
You pretend to think about it. Long enough to make him sweat.
“No couch,” you decide.
The relief is immediate. Visible. He actually exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
“Thank God,” he mutters, pulling you closer like you might change your mind.
Later, in bed, it becomes a problem. You’re lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, while Ji-yong has somehow… migrated. Half on top of you. One leg thrown over yours, an arm wrapped around your middle, his face tucked into your neck like you’re a very comfortable pillow he refuses to share.
“Ji-yong,” you mumble. “I can’t breathe.”
“You’re fine,” he murmurs, already half-asleep.
“I’m being crushed.”
He shifts. For a second, you think he’s going to move. He doesn’t. If anything, he settles more. Dead weight now. Fully committed. You huff out a laugh despite yourself, one hand coming up to run through his hair.
After a minute, you sigh and let your head turn toward him, pressing a light kiss to his temple. “Goodnight, you menace.”
Nothing. He’s out. Completely.
And somehow, despite the fact that you’re pinned under a human blanket with questionable circulation, you don’t mind all that much.
Summary: you had come down with a cold, and your husband jiyong takes care of you.
warnings: none.
a/n: this has been sitting in the drafts for a while haha. i wrote it while having the worst cold of my life 😭 hope u guys enjoy🖤
──────୨ৎ──────
The sun cascaded through the blinds, flooding the room and shining down onto the soft sheets.
you had stirred awake, groaning as the sun hit your face. Sitting up on your elbows, you let out a small cough, your throat feeling like a cactus.
You yawned, brushing it off—it was probably just thirst.
You looked around the room, confused as to why jiyong wasn’t by your side.
You had grabbed your phone from the small white nightstand beside yours and jiyongs shared bed, A text from him displayed on the screen.
Ji💕:
good morning jagi, there was an important meeting i had to attend, i’ll be back around noon. i love u.❤️
You had smiled softly at your phone, placing it back down next to you on the bed.
You grabbed your water bottle from the nightstand, took a small sip, then set it back down with a quiet sigh. But as you swallowed the lukewarm water, the soreness in your throat only worsened.
You frowned, dragging yourself out of bed to wash up. Your throat only got worse—then a headache started to form—then body aches.
You had tried to carry on with your day, popping an advil and making yourself a hot cup of tea. But sooner or later you found yourself back in bed, now buried under the covers, shivering with a fever.
You had eventually fallen asleep, the tiredness from the cold taking over you.
Jiyong had arrived home, Smile plastered on his face at the thought of being home with you for the rest of the day. As the key turned in the door and he walked in, his smiled widens as his two cats circle as his feet.
he walks into the living room, Throwing his jacket into the couch. “Jagiya! i’m home.”He waited for you to answer—no response.
His brows quirked in confusion. He had walked out of the living room, Zoa and iye following behind him As he made his way to the bedroom.
you were buried under the blanket, a sea of tissues surrounded you as you slept peacefully.
the door creaked open, causing you to stir awake. you rub your eyes as you sit up slightly. “Jagi?” you say, your coming out quiet and scratchy.
Jiyong smiles sadly, walking iver to you and sitting beside you on the bed. he placed a hand on your forehead gently, a small frown forming as he felt the heat coming from your body.
“Baby, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you call me?” he moved a stray peice of hair away from your face as you coughed dryly.
“I didn’t think it was anything, i felt fine earlier. didn’t wanna bother you.” you say tiredly, voice almost completely gone. you leaned into your husbands touch, your nose slightly red and your eyes droopy.
He tsked, shaking his head softly as he kissed your forehead. “You wouldn’t have been bothering me y/n, I’m your husband, It’s my Job to take care of you. In sickness and in health, remember?”
You smile at his words, studying his face. a small frown on his lips and his eyes full of concern. you placed your hand on top of his, squeezing it softly.
“You’re too good to me, i love you so much.” your voice was small and raspy, barely being able to talk from the pain. Jiyong smiled at you sadly, the thought of you being sick and alone hurting his heart.
“I love you even more, aein. Stay here—rest. i’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” he spoke softly, like raising his voice an octave would shatter you. You looked at him with stars in your eyes, wondering how you were blessed with such an amazing man.
He leaned in, trying to kiss you before you snapped your head away, covering your face with your hands. “No!, jiyong i am not getting you sick aswell. you could last a day without kissing me.”
He rolled his eyes playfully, removing your hands from your face softly, leaning in to steal a quick kiss from your lips. “I don’t care about getting sick, as long as you’re okay im not worried about myself.” He sassed, like it would be crazy of you to assume otherwise
♡₊˚
The scent of homemade soup drifted throughout the house, warming you up without even tasting it yet. You had finally had enough strength to make your way out of your bed and to the kitchen, face lighting up at the smell of spices and tea brewing on the stove.
Jiyong sat in the kitchen, almost never leaving the stove if it wasn’t for him coming to check on you every 20 minutes.
You lazily wrapped your arms around his waist, face settling in the crook of his neck. “It smells amazing in here.” Your throat felt much better than it had earlier—thanks to jiyong forcing you to drink tea and handing you cough drop after cough drop.
He smiled, arm resting lazily on top of yours. he turned his head slightly, kissing your warm forehead softly. “How do you feel jagiya?” he murmured before turning his attention back to the stove. You hummed softly. “better. thanks to you my love.”
You kissed the side of his head, rubbing up and down his back. your heart warmed at the concern lacing his voice. Jiyong has been serving on you hand and foot all day, Making tea, fetching tissues, Constantly checking your temperature. with not one single complaint.
You smiled softly to yourself as you watched him stir the pot filled with the delicious homemade soup. “I love you. i’m sorry you’ve been stuck taking care of me all day.” He chucked lightly. “I haven’t been ‘stuck’ jagi, I love you and i love taking care of you. don’t ever be sorry about it.”
You felt butterflies form in your stomach. Even after being married for so long, he still knows what to say to make it feel like you just started dating. He still knows how to make your face flush and Heart pound. “Now go sit down on the couch, the foods almost done and i want to watch a movie while we eat.” He said, scolding you jokingly.
You say comfortably on your couch, bundled up in fuzzy blankets and soft throw pillows while iye was sprawled out on your lap. As you were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, The couch dipped in, Jiyong handing you your soup while he places his on the coffee table.
You waited for him to come back, The steam carried a warm scent that filled your nose, warming you up.
Jiyong had calm back into the living room. Two cups of lemon tea in hand. As you two sat on the couch sipping on your warm tea and homemade soup, You had felt brand new—but not from the medicine, or the tea, or the honey ginger cough drops he had given you.
it was him. it was the concern. the gentleness when he was checking your temperature like you were made of glass. The soft expression on his face when you’d sneeze of half a coughing fit. The way he’d insist on giving you the medicine even though you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself.
You had fallen for him all over again. No one had ever loved you the way Jiyong did. You’ve never felt such care or affection before him.
After the two of you had finished eating, You had gotten up from your spot on the couch, picking up the two bowls on the coffee table, Jiyong scolded you for trying to put the dishes in the sink, reminding you, ‘You need your rest.’
As you laid with your husband on the couch, Your legs underneath you with your head on his chest. your eyes started to flutter shut, slipping in and out of consciousness.
Jiyong noticed your sudden wave of tiredness, a soft smile forming on his face. The tv light cascading on your slightly flushed cheeks from the light fever, your hair messy and peaking up in every direction. His heart fluttered at the sight of you. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” he mutters softly while kissing your hair.
You hummed, eyes fluttering open quickly. “Mhm? no, i’m not tired ji.” you say as you nuzzle into his side, eyes quickly falling shut one more.
He giggles softly at your small lie, His heart melting at your light snores as you drifted into to sleep.
“Ji?”
“Yes jagiya?”
“Thank you, for everything today. You were a really good nurse today, you truly are the best husband a woman could ask for. i’m so grateful for you.”
Butterflies grew in his stomach, His cheeks flushing a light pink at your words. He could almost cry at the sudden words of affection.
“I love you so much, there’s no one else i would rather take care of.” He kissed the top of your forehead before picking you up bridal style, carrying you into your shared room and placing you down carefully onto the bed.
You stirred in your sleep. your eyes fluttering open softly, you smiled at your husband softly. reaching your arms out for him to lay with you. He chucked, quickly pulling the covers up and laying down next to you.
you pulled him into your chest, tracing small circles on his back. he nuzzled into you, placing his head in the crook of your neck.
You fell asleep again quickly, soft snores falling past your chapped lips. Jiyong watched you as you slept peacefully, pure adoration glistening in his eyes. “Goodnight my love.” He murmured softly before slipping into sleep.
About story: As the kingdom’s princess and future queen, your entire life has always been planned for you. Lord Jiyong has been by your side for almost your entire life and what begins as childhood friendship slowly changes into something far more complicated as the two of you grow older beneath the watchful eyes of the royal court. During a winter ball meant to introduce you as the kingdom’s future queen, one simple question changes everything between you forever.
Pairing: Lord!Jiyong x Princess!reader (future queen)
Word Count: 4,487 | Oneshot
Content Note: Medieval / royal AU, childhood friends to lovers, princess reader, forbidden romance, court politics, mutual pining, ballroom scene, emotional tension, slowburn, first kiss, open ending
A/N: [request]
You were the king’s long-awaited daughter and when you were born, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say the entire kingdom celebrated, including the common people and drank for seven days straight. But the life of a princess started boring you very quickly, especially during moments when the other children constantly let you win on purpose, or in worse cases, feared you and avoided you completely, even though you were without question the weakest player in almost every game. The satisfaction of winning therefore felt almost nonexistent…
But then little lord Jiyong appeared at court, the son of a duke who’d greatly helped your father and, in a way, your entire kingdom during the war. Lord Jiyong had been sent to the castle to learn etiquette, politics, diplomacy, combat and, of course, to build stronger ties with the allied royal family… well, mainly with you, the princess and that started from the very first moment he arrived at the castle.
You realized it during the first game you played together with the other children, a game about conquering a castle that practically meant splitting into two groups and turning the whole thing into chaotic tag. You stood slightly off to the side beneath the trees of the castle garden with your arms crossed over your chest when you noticed that you’d become the target of little lord Jiyong, who was charging toward you at terrifying speed. Before you even had time to react, you were lying flat on your back while he knelt on top of you and laughed happily with that wide grin of his.
“We won!” Jiyong shouted excitedly while still holding your wrists above your head. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the other children immediately stop the game and stare at you in horror as you rolled around in the wet grass in your princess dress. Nobody’d ever dared to do something like this to you before…
“You didn’t win, I wasn’t even paying attention,” you protested and tried to free yourself from Jiyong’s grip. Even as a child you had to admit that you liked the fact that someone wasn’t avoiding you simply because you were a princess.
“That’s your own fault. When you defend a kingdom, you always have to stay alert because the enemy never sleeps,” Jiyong replied back then after finally letting you go and climbing off you. Despite being only eight years old, just like you, he was incredibly clever and learned very quickly. He was also very temperamental and struggled to sit still during lessons for too long and would’ve much rather run around outside or practice sword fighting instead.
You could say with certainty that from that moment on lord Jiyong became your greatest partner in crime and the entire kingdom had been talking about the two of you. Especially during moments when the two of you ran through the castle halls without restraint and knocked over everything standing in your way, causing the servants more than a few unpleasant moments while cleaning up after you.
Jiyong’s behavior toward you never changed even as the two of you grew older and slowly became more aware of your true positions. One day a terrible storm caught the two of you while returning to the castle from a horseback ride. You were both sixteen at the time but that didn’t change the fact that storms still frightened you. Jiyong tried to act like he had the entire situation under control and that it wouldn’t take long to reach the castle.
But then a deafening crack of thunder echoed through the sky and your horse bolted and threw you from the saddle. It wasn’t anything serious but you were completely shocked in that moment. Jiyong immediately climbed down from his horse and knelt beside you while you sat up and hissed in pain from your ankle. He began examining it carefully and after a moment stood back up and returned to his horse to climb back into the saddle while you remained sitting in the wet dirt in disbelief.
“Get up. We’ve to go before the storm gets worse,” he said calmly.
“But my ankle—”
“It’s not broken or sprained, so stop acting like a princess and get up.”
“But—”
“I’ve fallen like this a million times. Now get up already, the storm’s getting worse… And you should stop whining like this because nobody’s going to want a queen like that,” he said simply and without emotion while watching you climb back onto your horse covered in mud.
Jiyong treated you like any other girl in his life and never cared about your high status, which honestly taught you far more about life than all the lessons and lectures you’d been forced to attend as a royal daughter.
From the moment both of you turned sixteen, the people around you started paying more attention to the two of you as well. At first, you barely noticed because to you lord Jiyong was still simply Jiyong. Still the same boy who’d tackled you into the wet grass without warning and laughed while you got angry that he’d beaten you at chess again and the same boy who constantly convinced you to ride horses that were far too wild because, according to him, it was fun…even though the queen would’ve probably lost her mind if she’d known what her daughter was doing in her free time and how recklessly she behaved... Jiyong simply loved dragging the two of you into every possible problem that appeared. To you, nothing had changed at all, but the court slowly became more and more observant…
It started subtly. The looks from the court ladies who immediately fell silent whenever you entered a room with Jiyong, the whispers from the servants whenever he automatically took your hand while helping you out of a carriage, or lightly adjusted your dress while you sat down at the table. To Jiyong these were ordinary things he’d been doing practically his entire life. To everyone else, they weren’t anymore…
“You should be more careful,” your mother told you once during lunch while reaching for her glass of wine and taking a sip from it. “People like to talk.”
“About what?” you asked in complete confusion and the queen exchanged a meaningful look with your father, who only smiled faintly and lowered his gaze back to his plate. Unlike your mother, he seemed more amused by your innocence and cluelessness than offended by it.
“About you… and lord Jiyong.”
You stopped chewing for a moment and rolled your eyes in annoyance even though you knew that was completely improper behavior for a princess and future queen. “Jiyong—” you began, but your mother interrupted you immediately.
“Lord Jiyong.”
“I apologize, yes, lord Jiyong has been with me since childhood,” you answered simply and continued poking at your food because you weren’t hungry at all. Jiyong had promised to take you horseback riding near the kingdom’s borders later that day, somewhere you’d never been before, and you’d been looking forward to it all morning.
“Exactly,” your mother snapped and ended her moralizing lecture there.
But conversations like these started happening more and more often. During etiquette lessons, your mother constantly reminded you of your position and your role, repeating over and over that one day you wouldn’t only represent yourself but the entire kingdom and that every glance, every smile, and especially every decision you made would carry weight and be carefully watched.
“You’ll be queen soon,” she repeated again and again while servants rushed around you, adjusting the layers of expensive fabric on your dress. “And a queen must never allow any feelings to outweigh her duties and the wellbeing of her kingdom.”
“What if I don’t have any feelings?” you muttered once in annoyance because her lectures exhausted you endlessly. That day she looked at you with an unsettlingly searching expression and answered, “Then you’re on the right path.”
The king, your father, was far calmer than your mother, but even he gradually had to show you the reality of the future waiting ahead of you. He often brought you with him to long meetings with envoys from neighboring kingdoms and noblemen and you were bored to death during every single one of them. While your father and the other men around the table discussed possible alliances, armies, trade and the wellbeing of ordinary people, you usually found yourself watching Jiyong, who sat nearby together with his father, the duke who still held enormous respect at court long after the war had ended.
Jiyong’s father was one of the very few men your father truly trusted. During the war, he’d stood beside him during nearly every important decision and without his army, your kingdom would’ve most likely suffered far greater losses. Maybe that’s why Jiyong never felt like an outsider at court. But his father wasn’t blind either…
“Remember your position,” you overheard the duke telling Jiyong one evening while walking past the library on your way back to your chambers. You stopped beside the slightly open door and listened quietly for a moment.
“I’ve never forgotten my position…” Jiyong muttered calmly. His voice sounded muffled through the door.
“Then start acting like it,” his father replied harshly and the moment you heard footsteps approaching, you hurried away before either of them could see you. At the time, you had no idea what any of it truly meant…
♔ ♚ ♔ ♚♔ ♚ ♔ ♚
Several months later, the castle is hosting a grand winter ball. Noblemen from neighboring kingdoms, envoys, princes and sons of powerful families have all gathered there and the entire castle has spent months preparing for the celebration. Including you, because among other things, this evening is supposed to serve as your presentation as the future queen.
You hate every second of the evening from the moment the servants start forcing you into several layers of a heavy emerald green dress embroidered with gold. The corset squeezes you painfully and the expensive jewelry being added around your neck and hair is so heavy that your head starts aching.
“I can’t breathe,” you groan in annoyance and one of the servants nervously lifts her gaze from the laces of your dress.
“You’ll get used to it. Every future queen says that, Your Highness.”
“Then I don’t want to be queen,” you say firmly and a sudden silence fills the room. The only thing you hear is one of the servants dropping a golden hairpin onto the floor with a quiet clink.
“You shouldn’t say things like that out loud, Your Highness…” the servant behind you mutters and continues tightening your dress.
“Too late. I already said it.”
“As always… you speak before you think.”
You recognize the voice immediately and turn your head toward the doorway. Jiyong’s leaning against the frame while watching you. He’s wearing a black formal coat embroidered with silver thread, tall riding boots, and a sword hanging from his waist. He looks like even during a ball, he’s prepared to refuse the idea of staying inside for too long and leave at any moment to climb onto a horse and disappear somewhere for an aimless ride.
He looks far more elegant than most men in the castle and for some reason that irritates and unsettles you slightly.
“So you actually know how to dress properly?” you ask and turn toward him because you’re finally trapped beneath every layer of your dress, which probably weighs at least ten kilos altogether. The crown and jewelry likely add another two kilos…
“Yes and for once you actually look like someone the kingdom could listen to one day,” he says and slowly looks you over from head to toe.
“That almost sounds like a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it. Your ego’s already unbearable enough,” Jiyong smirks before turning around and walking away from your chambers. You notice the servants exchanging glances again. They’re most likely shocked and slightly offended by the way you speak to Lord Jiyong and by the fact that he speaks to you the same way in return. To hell with etiquette anyway…
The grand ballroom’s overflowing with music, laughter and loud conversations, and your head hurts from all of it even more than from the heavy jewelry hanging from your neck and woven into your hair. One dance follows another, and soon every prince and nobleman asking you to dance starts blending together into one identical person. Their faces, names, and kingdoms blur together completely...
One prince behaves far too theatrically while dancing, another smiles so stiffly at you that you feel like you might need to revive him soon, and a third spends the entire dance staring at your chest instead of your eyes…
Every time you return to the royal table, you find Jiyong sitting only a few steps away from you. He watches the ballroom with the same observant expression he always wears during hunts or sword training. Beside him sits his father together with yours and the two of them continue yet another exhausting conversation about politics, armies, and the future of the kingdom.
“That prince from the south is unbearable. If he asks me to dance one more time, I’m going to step on his feet on purpose,” you mutter quietly when Jiyong approaches to refill your wine.
“He’s intelligent,” Jiyong says calmly, as if he’s actually trying to defend the prince.
“He’s horribly arrogant,” you answer immediately.
“That describes most men at court. But his family has a strong army,” Jiyong says after a moment and finally lifting his gaze toward you.
“You’re talking about them as if I’m actually supposed to choose one of them…” you reply in disbelief while staring at him.
“You’ll have to choose eventually. One day you’ll be queen...”
“That doesn’t mean I have to be miserable,” you say almost desperately, because only now does the seriousness of the situation truly hit you…the realization that you’re actually expected to choose your future husband and future king from this entire parade of men. Jiyong doesn’t answer and simply lowers his gaze toward his wine glass instead.
The music starts again and several couples immediately return to the center of the ballroom. You rub your temples tiredly and sigh. You’re not capable of surviving another dance with another incompetent fool and so you reach your hand out toward Jiyong.
“Dance with me.”
Jiyong lifts his gaze toward you in surprise. “I thought you were already tired of dancing tonight.”
“I am, which is why this will be the last one, and I want at least one normal dance.”
Silence settles between the two of you for a brief moment and then Jiyong finally sets down his wine glass and takes your hand without another word.
Dancing with Jiyong feels strangely easy and maybe that’s because around him you don’t have to think about every movement, every step, or every word. The two of you have known each other for far too long not to recognize the rhythm of each other’s breathing, moods, and glances before either of you even speaks.
His hand rests firmly against your waist and you suddenly realize how different the way he touches you feels compared to every other man who’s danced with you tonight. Most of them held you as if you were made of fragile glass and you could practically feel how terrified they were and how desperately they wanted to impress you. Jiyong isn’t like that. Jiyong’s never been afraid of you… never.
“Everyone’s staring at us…” you murmur quietly.
“Let them stare,” Jiyong replies calmly, but you can hear the faintest trace of nervousness in his voice. He’s definitely noticed the looks from everyone around you as well.
“My mother’s probably going to have you executed soon,” you mutter quietly with a grin.
“Your father had never allow that… I’m his favorite lord after all,” Jiyong grins back proudly and lifts his chin slightly and for the first time the entire evening you genuinely laugh.
When the dance ends, Jiyong keeps his hand resting against your waist for slightly longer than what’s considered appropriate at court, or at least, it feels that way to you. You carefully glance around and notice several court ladies whispering among themselves. The moment they realize you’ve caught them staring, they immediately lower their eyes.
“Strange…” you murmur in amusement. “People really do love gossiping…”
“People at court usually have nothing better to do,” Jiyong replies calmly.
“That coming from the man who spends half his life listening to political debates with my father.”
“I don’t do that voluntarily...”
Before you can answer him, another prince approaches the two of you with a perfectly practiced smile and an unnecessarily deep bow. Just looking at him exhausts you, let alone the thought of surviving another dance with him.
“Your Highness, I was hoping I could ask you for another dance.”
Internally you nearly groan and mentally run through every terrible curse word Jiyong once carefully taught you during one particularly long evening together, words that absolutely don’t belong in a princess’s vocabulary.
“The princess has danced enough for tonight,” Jiyong answers for you with complete calmness and doesn’t even bother trying to sound apologetic. The prince’s smile stiffens slightly as he straightens up and turns toward Jiyong.
“Do you make decisions regarding the princess’s schedule now, lord Jiyong?”
The prince says Jiyong’s title with such obvious disdain that it nearly makes your head spin. Beside you you feel Jiyong tense slightly as he straightens his posture and lifts his chin. There’s no doubt he noticed the mocking tone as well.
“Sometimes,” Jiyong replies calmly and firmly.
“Jiyong,” you hiss quietly in an attempt to ease the growing tension, because you know that only a few more words would be enough for Jiyong to throw the prince onto the floor and land at least a few well-deserved punches. “Please excuse us,” you say with a smile toward the prince and don’t even wait for an answer. You simply grab Jiyong’s hand and pull him out of the ballroom.
The deeper into the castle the two of you walk, the more the music and laughter behind you begin to fade. You can only hope nobody noticed the two of you leaving together and that the prince keeps quiet about this little…misunderstanding.
“One day someone’s actually going to do something to you because of the way you behave…” you mutter, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing while the two of you hurry through the empty castle hallways. “You almost insulted a prince.”
“Only almost?”
You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you still drag me everywhere with you,” Jiyong says with a satisfied grin and you have no answer for that because he’s right.
By the time you reach your chambers, you’re exhausted and desperate to get rid of everything you’re wearing. You immediately pull the crown from your hair and practically throw it onto the small table beside the door in disgust.
“I hate balls.”
“That’s obvious,” Jiyong replies calmly.
“I hate dresses.”
“That’s also obvious.”
“And I hate every arrogant and fake prince in that ballroom.”
“That became obvious during the first hour.”
You turn toward Jiyong with an exhausted expression while he casually walks toward the fireplace as if these chambers belong to him just as much as they belong to you. In a way, they almost do. He’s spent half his life here with you…
Without even thinking about it, you turn your back toward him again and begin trying to loosen the heavy bodice of your dress. Your fingers ache from the ridiculous number of rings on your hands and from all the jewelry the servants spent hours placing onto your body.
“Help me?” you mutter in annoyance after repeatedly failing to free yourself from the dress. Jiyong lets out a quiet sigh, shakes his head and walks over to you. His fingers touch the laces at your back without the slightest hesitation. It feels just as natural as when he helped you climb onto a horse for the first time or treated your scraped palms after your first fall while you panicked about whether your mother would notice.
“I think my ladies-in-waiting would faint if they saw you right now…”
“The servants nearly faint every time I get within ten meters of you anyway,” Jiyong replies while continuing to focus on loosening your corset. You can’t help laughing quietly at his comment. After a moment, the corset finally loosens, and you let out a deep sigh of relief before letting the rest of the heavy dress fall to the floor around your ankles. You’re left standing only in the thin underlayers beneath it and rub your aching neck gently. Not even for a second does it occur to you to hide yourself from Jiyong. You’ve never even thought about things like that before.
“That prince from the south was truly the worst,” you say while walking toward the table to pour yourself a glass of water. “He probably thought that smiling at me and complimenting my dress would immediately make me want to marry him.”
“He’s very educated and well positioned—”
“Jiyong—”
“And his kingdom’s extremely wealthy. He could—”
“Please stop…” you mutter because you don’t want to hear any of this. You don’t even want to imagine marrying any of the men you danced with tonight and making one of them your future king…
Silence settles between the two of you and suddenly feels heavy and almost unbearable. You slowly walk toward the mirror and begin pulling one golden ornament after another from your hair.
“You read a lot…” you say quietly after a moment and meet Jiyong’s gaze through the reflection without actually turning around to face him. “Is it possible for a princess to marry a lord?”
Jiyong lifts his gaze toward your reflection in the mirror and studies your expression for several seconds as if he's trying to make sure he heard the question correctly. Meanwhile, you continue removing the jewelry from your hair as casually as if you’d just asked whether the two of you were going horseback riding tomorrow.
“I’ve… I’ve read about a few situations like that,” he finally answers and his voice sounds far too uncertain, carrying the same nervous tone you’ve heard from him several times during discussions with your father. “But it’s not something people usually accept easily. For a kingdom it can become… complicated.”
“How complicated?”
Jiyong looks away from your reflection for a moment and stares into the fire. “Princesses are married for alliances, for trade, for stability between kingdoms…”
“But even so, a marriage like that’s possible…isn’t it?”
“A princess marrying a lord could be seen as weakening the crown because it would—”
“I’m asking whether it’s possible,” you interrupt calmly and finally turn around to face him after removing the last unnecessary decoration from your hair. Silence settles between you again and the only things breaking it are the crackling fire and the distant music drifting up from the ballroom below.
“Yes,” Jiyong answers quietly after a moment. “I think… probably yes.”
His answer fills you with a strange sense of relief and the smallest spark of hope. You lean your hands against the table behind you and watch Jiyong, who’s still standing only a few steps away from you while the firelight flickers in his eyes. He’s unbelievably intelligent and well-read and unlike all those polished princes, he never pretends to be someone else.
“And would you like the idea of being king?” you ask after a moment with a faint smile.
Your question pulls a quiet laugh from Jiyong and he shakes his head in disbelief. “Technically I wouldn’t actually be king—”
“Jiyong—” you interrupt warningly because you’re not interested in another lecture. You slowly begin walking toward him but he continues speaking anyway.
“I would only stand beside the ruling queen. The crown and the right to rule would belong to the queen. Historically speaking my role would be more—”
He never finishes the sentence because you kiss him. For a brief moment he freezes completely and visibly tries to understand what’s happening. Your fingers curl against the fabric of his coat and only now do you realize how fast your heart’s beating. After a few seconds Jiyong’s hand slowly moves to your waist, to the exact same place where he held you during the dance earlier, and he finally kisses you back.
When the two of you finally pull apart again, your heart’s beating so loudly that Jiyong must be able to hear it. He stares at you silently for several seconds, taking in your loose hair, your flushed cheeks and the thin fabric of the underdress falling softly against your body. After a moment he smiles again and shakes his head in disbelief.
“You’re insane.”
“Me?” you ask innocently. “I’m not the one who almost started a fight with a prince in front of the entire kingdom.”
“I wouldn’t have fought him…”
“If I hadn’t interrupted, you probably would have,” you reply because you always need to have the last word. Jiyong lets out a quiet breath through his nose and his hand slides up to your neck, his thumb brushing gently over the sensitive skin beneath your jaw.
“The queen would hate me even more than she already does…” Jiyong says quietly and despite the faint smile on his lips, there’s something sad and resigned hidden in his voice.
“My mother’s always going to suspect you of being a bad influence on me.”
“And am I?”
“The worst possible influence...”
Jiyong finally laughs properly at that and gently rests his forehead against yours. If you couldn’t still hear the distant music from the ballroom, you’d almost believe time had stopped for a moment… but it hasn’t. Time keeps moving and the entire castle’s still celebrating the future of its princess and future queen…
“I’ll speak to my father,” you say quietly after a moment and immediately feel Jiyong tense slightly beneath your hands.
“You actually mean that?” he whispers while lightly brushing his nose against yours.
“My father likes you... You said it yourself, you’re his favorite lord.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll agree to me standing beside you…”
Silence settles between you once again. You honestly don’t know how your father will react or what he’ll say, but you’re relying on the fact that Jiyong’s father is a respected duke who helped your kingdom survive its darkest years.
You lift your hand to Jiyong’s face and slowly brush your fingers along his jaw. “Then I suppose I should hope I paid attention during all those lessons about negotiation and diplomacy so I can convince him…” you whisper before kissing Jiyong once again.
Summary: You have a cold but you are dramatic and assume you’re dying
Warnings: None
Word Count: 737
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You sniffle for the third time in five minutes, staring at your phone screen like it’s about to deliver a death sentence. The scratch in your throat has upgraded to a full-on rasp, your nose is running, and there’s this tiny, nagging ache behind your eyes. It’s just a cold. Logically, you know it’s just a cold.
But your brain has already sprinted past “cold” and is now filing paperwork for “rare tropical virus” and “undiagnosed autoimmune nightmare.”
You’re curled up on the couch in one of Jiyong’s hoodies, knees to your chest, when the front door clicks open. The familiar scent of his cologne and whatever takeout he’s carrying hits you before you even see him.
“Baby?” His voice is soft, a little tired from the studio, but it brightens the second he spots you. “Why are you buried under three blankets? It’s not that cold in here.”
You peek out like a guilty raccoon. “I’m dying.”
Jiyong pauses mid-step, one eyebrow arching in that trademark way that usually means he’s trying not to laugh at you. He sets the bags down and walks over, crouching in front of the couch so he’s eye-level with your dramatic misery.
“Dying, huh?” He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, then your cheek. “Fever?”
“Probably. Or maybe meningitis. Or..”
“Or a cold,” he finishes gently, brushing your hair back. “Your nose is red. Your voice is scratchy. You’re doing that thing where you Google worst-case scenarios again, aren’t you?”
You hide your face in the blanket. “WebMD said..”
“WebMD says everything is cancer, baby. We talked about this.” He stands up, peels off his jacket, and immediately starts mother-hen mode. “Stay there. Do not move. Do not refresh that search tab.”
You hear him in the kitchen: cabinets opening, the kettle clicking on, the clink of a spoon. Ten minutes later he returns with a tray like he’s running a five-star hotel for sick girlfriends. Hot lemon-honey tea, a bowl of the seaweed soup he apparently picked up on the way home because he “had a feeling,” cold medicine, tissues with lotion, and a damp washcloth.
He sits on the edge of the couch, nudging your legs until you make room for him. Then he tugs you forward so your head rests against his chest.
“You’re warm,” you mumble, already melting a little.
“That’s because I’m not the one with the cold, drama queen.” His fingers card through your hair, slow and soothing. “Breathe with me, okay? In… out. It’s just a cold. You’re not dying. You’re not even that sick. You’re just mine, and I’ve got you.”
You take a shaky breath, the panic loosening its grip under the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “What if it turns into pneumonia?”
“Then I’ll still be right here, feeding you soup and playing you the new tracks I’m working on until you’re sick of my voice.” He kisses the top of your head. “But it’s not going to. Promise.”
He feeds you a spoonful of soup, blowing on it first like you’re a toddler. You complain, but open your mouth anyway. Between bites he keeps up the quiet commentary, funny stories from the studio, how TOP sent him a ridiculous meme earlier, anything to distract you from the spiral.
When the soup is gone and the medicine is taken, he rearranges the blankets so he can slide in behind you, pulling your back flush to his chest. One arm wraps around your waist, the other hand gently rubbing circles on your stomach.
“Jiyong,” you whisper after a while, voice thick.
“Hm?”
“Thank you. I know I’m… a lot when I get like this.”
He nuzzles into your hair, lips brushing your temple. “You’re not ‘a lot.’ You’re scared, and I love taking care of you. Let me be your safe place when your brain gets loud.”
You nod, eyes already heavy. The congestion is still there, the throat still scratchy, but the terror has dialed down. “Get some sleep, my little hypochondriac. I’ll be here when you wake up. And tomorrow. And the day after that. Always.”
The last thing you register before sleep wins is his soft humming, one of your favorite songs, slightly off-key on purpose just to make you smile.
Can't Help Falling In Love | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)
Summary: You and Jiyong have been dating for a few months and you know you love him. You’re just not ready to say it yet. A night alone together brings out confessions and questions about the future.
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, unprotected p in v, after care, tooth rotting fluff
Authors Note: Because of who requested this, I decided to make it part of The Night We Met series. This is just a small glimpse into who Jiyong and reader were before she got amnesia. I hope for anyone who’s having a hard time liking reader that this will help you get a better idea on who she really is. You can check out the whole series here. You also don't need to read the series to understand this fic at all. Enjoy! 🖤 1K Celebration Event!
When you first met Jiyong you hadn’t thought you had anything in common. How silly you’d been to almost throw away the best thing that had ever happened to you. You had never wanted to fall in love, date someone, not really. Your crush on Soohyuk was child’s play compared to how you felt about Kwon Ji-yong.
It had only been a couple of months and despite the way you felt, you refused to say it. You weren’t going to be first and you highly doubted he felt the same way. It didn’t matter though, you were completely and totally head over heels, annoyingly in love with the man.
You knew this to be fact when he’d shown up after filming with ridiculous side bangs touching his shoulders and still made out with him. There was something seriously wrong with you.
Confirmed only by the fact that you were currently getting ready to go to his apartment. He’d been trying to get you to come over since the first time he’d seen your place. He claimed he had the better views, the better neighborhood, the better floor plan. You’d give him the last one, you hadn’t been there yet but you knew he had at least two guest rooms and you were in a one bedroom. Hongdae was the better neighborhood and had the best views, you’d die on that hill.
You didn’t know if this was a sleepover or not, but considering the time - well after ten at night and he’d asked you to meet him when his shoot was done, you could only assume. So you had been busy packing a little overnight bag to take to his place.
He’d sent you a text with his elevator code, so at least you didn’t look super out of place at his fancy high rise. Especially since someone else was in the elevator already. You nodded politely, entered your code and took off. Once you reached Jiyong’s floor, you stepped out and sighed. It was basically a maze once you got off. Luckily, Jiyong and all his cotton candy hair glory was waiting for you just outside his door.
He grinned at you once you made eye contact and you all but sprinted into his open arms. He laughed as he held you close, your legs wrapping around him. It was as if you hadn’t seen him three days ago and it had been months since you’d see him.
“I missed you too.” He whispered into your hair as he pulled you into his apartment.
Iye being the curious cat he was, slinked over to the two of you as Jiyong sat you down on the ground. He sniffed you once before deciding you were worthy and rubbed against your leg. You bent down to scratch behind his ears. You’d only ever seen Iye in pictures and had been looking forward to meeting him.
“Hi cutie!” You grinned before standing back up. “Hi other cutie.” Jiyong smirked and reached for your hand.
“Come on, let me show you around.”
You slid out of your shoes and placed your bag down before following him further into the apartment. You hated to admit that he really did have the better apartment and the better view. You weren’t willing to slide on the neighborhood and you wouldn’t. He took his time showing you around the open concept living and kitchen area. It was all very him. Loud colors, furniture you’d expect from a fashion magazine, art that perfectly summed him up. You loved it.
He showed you his office next, the place you knew he spent a lot of time writing up songs, working on random art work and items for his fashion brand. It was almost like a museum in there and you didn’t want to touch anything. That was until you spotted something hanging on a clothes rack and walked further into the space. It was a custom peaceminusone leather jacket, somehow managing to cast the perfect mix of rock and roll and a soft feminine vibe.
“You like it?” He’d been watching you from the doorway and you looked up at him, nodding.
“It’s gorgeous, Ji. You continuously blow me away with your talent.” He smirked and entered the room. His arms wrapping around you. You leaned into his touch, your back flush against his chest.
“It’s for you.” He murmured his lips moving to kiss your shoulder.
“What?”
“I didn’t realize it at first when I started creating the piece, but as I continued with it I realized the only person I wanted to see in it was you.” You turned around in his arms, a grin on your face as you planted a soft kiss to his lips.
“It’s perfect, you're perfect. Thank you.” He smirked again, his eyes staying fixed on yours.
“Try it on?”
You stepped out of the warmth of his arms and stripped off the hoodie you’d had on. Carefully, you took the jacket off the hanger and slid your arm into it. It fit perfectly, so not only was Jiyong great at everything but he could perfectly guess your size, too.
“I love it so much!” You grinned as you spun in a circle, showing off the design. Jiyong laughed and reached for you, pulling him back to you.
“I’m so glad.”
He picked up your hoodie and let you from the office. The tour included him pointing out the guest bath and guest room, claiming he never stepped foot in them before ending the tour at his bedroom. It was exactly how you’d pictured it. Large king sized bed smack dab in the middle of the room. A TV sat on the opposite end, larger than the one in the living room. Various statues and art work sat or hung around the TV somehow making the room feel cozy despite its size. A cat tree sat by the window in the room, thick curtains hung on either side, you imagined they were black out curtains so he could sleep well past the sun. To the left of the bed was the en-suite and walk in closet.
“You have a really lovely home, Ji.” You finally said once you were both situated on his bed, feet sprawled out in front of you.
“Nice enough for you to live here?” He teased and you rolled your eyes.
“Nice try.”
He’d mentioned it once before, how nice it would be to come home to you every night. It was the first time he’d shown up at your place unannounced after a particularly hard day. He just needed to see you, you always made everything better. You’d thought maybe it was just the emotions of the hard day talking when he’d said it but now maybe there was more to it.
“Worth a shot.” He laughed, his arm moving to wrap around you.
It was always like this with you two since you’d started dating. Personal space wasn’t a thing anymore, you two were constantly touching, it drove everyone else insane. Almost so that your best friends almost regretted setting you up. At the end of the day they were just glad you two had worked out even if your happiness was slowly driving them all crazy.
Soohyuk and Youngbae had a support chat with the rest of BigBang with a running tally of how often the two of you brought each other up in conversation. Daesung constantly asked why YB and Soohyuk had thought this was such a good idea, but he was secretly just as happy as the rest of the guys for you both.
You curled into Jiyong’s side as he turned on a movie, your fingers tracing the fake tattoo on his arm. His real tattoos were some of your favorite things about him, but you were starting to enjoy the colorful fake ones he had at the moment. It went well with his current hair color. Anything was better than that ridiculous side bang.
“What are you thinking?” You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t realized he’d been watching you.
“I was thinking about how much I hated that side bang.” You smirked and he let out a laugh.
“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”
“Not for as long as you’ll have me.” His hand moved to cup your cheek and he gave you the softest smile you’d ever seen.
“Forever then.”
Your stomach flipped, like it always did when he got serious about you. You leaned up, closing the distance between you and planted a soft kiss against his lips. His hand moved your face ever so slightly, allowing a better angle to deepen the kiss.
You moved to straddle his lap, his hand moving from your face to the small of your back as he held you close. His lips moved from yours to your neck, your shoulder. The softness that had been there before was replaced with urgency and need.
You had both tried to wait, you really had. But after a couple of back to back dates, it just kind of happened. There was no self control when it came to either of you, and ever since then sex had become a normal part of your relationship. The love and care you had for each other - even if you hadn’t said the L word out loud yet had made for this to be the best sex of your life.
Jiyong’s hand moved to pull your shirt up and you discarded it quickly, his shirt following close behind yours. His teeth nipped at your skin as your body moved against him. You could feel him getting hard beneath you and your hips rolled, teasing him. He bit down harder, his eyes on yours, a devilish smirk on his lips.
You pulled down his pajama pants, palming him through his boxers and he groaned as his lips reconnected with yours. You took quick work of removing the rest of your clothes and you leaned back, positioning yourself above him. You were practically dripping with want and Jiyong licked his lips.
“You are perfect.”
You smiled as you moved, lowering yourself on top of him. His hands steady on your hips, guiding your movements as you took him inch by inch. Your eyes rolling closed as he bottomed out.
“Not as perfect as you.” You managed to get out, a moan following.
You rolled your hips before you rose, pulling off him so only the head of his cock was still inside you before you lowered yourself again. His hands steady on your hips as you moved up and down. Your head fell backwards as you began moving quicker. Jiyong rose, his chest meeting yours and he kissed the exposed skin of your neck. One hand moving to cradle the back of your head.
“Ji” You moaned, eyes locking with his. “I’m so close.”
“I know, baby.” He moved his hand from your hip, sliding in between you two. His thumb circled your clit and you moaned so loud you would’ve been embarrassed if this was anyone else.
“Cum for me baby, cum on my cock.” He whispered in your ear before his lips were back on yours.
Your movements became quicker as his thumb continued to rub your clit just right. It didn’t take much longer before your walls clenched against him and you came undone, his name falling from your lips. He held you close as he rolled his hips a few more times, his own release followed yours.
“I love you.”
Your eyes widened, you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Jiyong looked at you for a second, a smile spreading across his lips as he leaned in to kiss you softly. He pulled back, his eyes staying locked on yours.
“I love you. I’m in love with you. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”
You grinned, your forehead resting on his. It was irrelevant that you were still on top of him, that he was still inside you. Your hips moved against him slowly and you could feel his cock getting hard again inside you. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling before you opened them again.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m so thankful.” You kissed him again, slow and deep.
Jiyong flipped you on your back, his hips pushing his cock further into you. He took his time this time, his movements slow, sure, steady. Driving you to the edge with each thrust. His lips stayed connected with yours as he brought you to the edge again, and again.
You weren’t sure how many rounds you ended up doing that night but when he finally pulled out of you, you felt warm and exhausted in the best way. He carried you to the bathroom and you caught a glimpse of the time on the way, well after 3 AM. You were definitely calling off work in the morning.
He started the shower, and you both took turns cleaning each other's hair before you carefully cleaned each others bodies. He wrapped you in a towel after and you pecked his lips. Once you were back in bed, he put on another movie and you grabbed your phone. Sending a quick text that you were sick and would need the rest of the week off. Jiyong raised a brow and you shrugged.
“Now I’m all yours for the rest of the week.” He smiled.
“You’re gonna stay here all week?”
“Yeah, sure. Your bed is more comfortable than mine.” He laughed as he pulled you closer. Your head resting on his chest.
“I want to show you something.”
He grabbed his phone, unlocked it, making sure you saw his passcode, he didn’t have anything to hide. You noticed it was your birthday and you couldn’t help but smile. He opened up instagram, to something he’d posted the last time you were on a date. It was just a simple picture of you, smiling at him across the table. Your arm outstretched and you knew you were holding his hand across the table. The caption was simple. “Can’t help falling in love with her.” With a simple red heart emoji.
“I just wanted you to know, I’ve thought it for awhile and it wasn’t because of the sex. Why I said it.”
“Oh, Ji. I would never think that.” You took the phone from him, studying the picture for a minute before handing it back to him. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“Hm?” He chuckled, putting his phone back on the nightstand.
“Rapper, singer, dancer, producer, clothing designer, and photographer.” You paused. “And the most gorgeous human in the world. It’s unfair.” He laughed, placing a kiss to the top of your nose.
“The most gorgeous around goes to you. But I guess you’re right, I am insanely talented.”
“And modest too.” You laughed, swatting at his chest.
“You know, you should really get instagram so you can see my posts.”
“Hm. Maybe. I’ve never really wanted one. I don’t even know what I’d post.” Jiyong gestures to himself and you rolled your eyes.
The rest of the night was spent with you two wrapped up in each other's arms, joking and talking about everything. It was well into the morning when you both dozed off to sleep and you’d never been so happy for black out curtains in your life. You spent the next five days at his place, takin a brief pause for him to run you home to get some clothes.
You’d decided after this week together that maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to both leave things at each other's houses. Your backup toothbrush now held permanent residency next to his toothbrush on the counter. The PMO jacket hung in the closet, it was too pretty to travel across Seoul, and you’d left a pair of pajamas behind as well.
When you left Sunday night to get some much needed rest in your own bed, he’d sent you with a travel toothbrush for him, some of his can’t live without comfy clothes, and a kiss that made you weak in the knees. After work, you curled up on the couch, wearing his sweatpants and downloaded instagram. After creating an account you scrolled through your photos, finding one of him with the side bang and posted it. A simple caption reading “him. ❤️” You then followed both his public and private accounts, not that you could see anything on the private account.
It didn’t take long for him to see the follow request, approve it, follow you on his private account, like the photos, or leave a comment. You had just started your deep dive into his account when your phon buzzed, a new text.
Love you too.
Yeah, I know. How’s work?
Youngbae just discovered your instagram and is upset you haven’t followed him yet.
Tell him I’m busy and he can wait.
Now he’s pouting in the corner and refuses to practice.
I just followed him.
❤️❤️❤️❤️ want me to swing by when we’re done?
Obviously.
See you in a few.
Love you ❤️
You held your phone tightly to your chest for a minute. How was it possible to be this in love with someone? You sent a text to Soohyuk thanking him again before putting your phone down for the night. You spent the rest of your alone time thinking over the idea of living together. It was soon, it had only been a couple of months, but when you knew you knew, right? Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to live in the same space, to be able to see each other before and after work each night. In fact, it sounded really nice. You were so far gone for that man, it almost scared you a little. But you knew with him, there was nothing to fear and falling in love with him was the easiest thing you’d ever done.
Summary: You and Ji-yong have a 14-year old daughter who is every bit like Ji-yong
Warnings: None
Word Count: 910
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The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their Seoul apartment, casting long shadows across the marble floors. G-Dragon, Ji-yong to his family, stood in the kitchen, coffee in hand, staring at his 14-year-old daughter like she had just suggested robbing a bank.
Jun-mi twirled in front of the full-length mirror by the door, adjusting the hem of her black crop top that barely skimmed the waistband of her high-waisted shorts. Her hair was styled in perfect waves, makeup subtle but intentional, exactly the kind of look that screamed “trainee ready.” She had even slipped on platform sneakers that added a couple of inches to her already growing frame. To her, it was professional. To Ji-yong, it looked like she was about to film a music video instead of heading to middle school.
“Absolutely not,” he said, voice calm but final, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “Go change.”
Jun-mi spun around, hands on her hips, eyes flashing with that familiar stubborn fire he saw in the mirror every day. “Appa, it’s not even that bad! Everyone at school dresses like this. And if I want to audition, I need to practice looking the part every single day. How am I supposed to get used to it if you keep treating me like a baby?”
Ji-yong pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to smile. She was so much like him it hurt, talented, headstrong, with a voice that could already belt out notes that made his producer friends raise their eyebrows. She spent hours in the home studio he’d built for her, writing lyrics in her notebook and practicing choreography in the living room until she collapsed on the couch. But she was fourteen. Fourteen.
“You’re not auditioning yet,” he reminded her gently, walking over to tug the hem of her top down as far as it would go, which wasn’t far. “And even if you were, school is not the stage. Go put on a normal shirt. One that covers your stomach.”
She crossed her arms, lifting her chin in defiance. “You debuted when you were six! You were performing way younger than me. Why can’t I even try?”
Ji-yong let out a low chuckle, leaning against the kitchen island. He knew this argument was coming; it surfaced at least once a week. “First of all, nobody should be debuting until they’re at least sixteen. And second,” he held up a finger when she opened her mouth to interrupt, “..I wasn’t in Big Bang until I was eighteen. Eighteen, Jun-mi. That’s four years from now. You’ve got time.”
“But time is wasting!” she protested, her voice rising with all the dramatic flair only a teenager could muster. “Yuna from my class already has a YouTube channel with thousands of views, and she’s only thirteen. I have to stand out. My lyrics are good, my dancing is getting better, and..”
“And you’re still going to school with a shirt that actually covers you,” he finished, his tone brooking no argument. He walked over and gently turned her toward the hallway. “Change. Now. We can talk about auditions after you finish your homework tonight.”
Jun-mi huffed, stomping off with all the grace of a miniature idol in revolt. “You’re so unfair! You got to do whatever you wanted!”
Ji-yong watched her disappear into her room, shaking his head with a fond smile he’d never let her see in that moment. When she re-emerged five minutes later in a hoodie and jeans, he felt a strange mix of relief and pride swelling in his chest.
She looked more like a normal fourteen-year-old now, but the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed one bit. As she grabbed her backpack, he pulled her into a quick side hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head despite her half-hearted attempt to squirm away.
“I’m not saying no forever,” he said softly. “I’m saying not yet. You’re talented, Jun-mi, scary talented. But I want you to have a childhood. Real friends, bad math tests, awkward school dances. The industry… it takes things from you. I don’t want it to take everything before you’re ready.”
Jun-mi looked up at him, her stubborn expression cracking just a little. She was still angry, but the fight was softening around the edges. “You turned out okay,” she muttered.
He laughed quietly. “Barely. And only because I had people looking out for me. Let me be that for you, okay?”
She rolled her eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. But after school, can we at least work on that bridge for my song? The one I showed you last week?”
Ji-yong’s heart warmed. “Deal. But only after homework. And no crop tops to school. Ever.”
As Jun-mi headed out the door with her more appropriate outfit, Ji-yong leaned against the frame, watching her go. She was a force, strong-headed, brilliant, ready to take on the world just like he had been.
One day, she’d shine brighter than any of them. But today, she was still his little girl, even if she was already taller than his waist and arguing like a pro. He’d protect that for as long as he could.
Could you do a sieun x reader? Where the boys (gotak, juntae, humin) always see sieun with like zero emotion, but then they’re walking and see sieun and reader like giggling being all cutsey and they’re like whattt and determined to figure out who what when where why.
Thank you!!! Your writing is amazing!
“What in the Si-eun is This?”
Pairing: Si-eun x Reader
Omgg!!! First I want to say I’m so srry for taking so long to get back to ur request!!! But thanks you for request and I hope you like it😜🫶🏻
⸻
There were a few universal truths at Eunjang High.
The school lunches were suspicious. The vending machines ate your money. And Si-eun was emotionally unavailable.
Always.
Forever.
Perpetually carrying the energy of a man who’d seen the apocalypse and was unimpressed by it.
So when Gotak froze mid-step on the third floor hallway and muttered, “No way,” it wasn’t out of boredom. It was a cosmic event.
“What now?” Juntae asked, annoyed as he stepped around him.
Humin followed, and then they both saw it.
Down the hall, in a quiet nook between the stairwell and the water fountain—was Si-eun.
Laughing.
Like, full-body laughing. Not his usual “slight smirk that might’ve been a sneeze” expression.
And you were there too. You flicked his forehead playfully, saying something that made him roll his eyes with mock exasperation. Then he—he—leaned down and kissed your temple so casually it looked like he’d done it a hundred times.
“…What in the K-drama is going on?” Juntae whispered.
“That’s Y/N, right? She’s in Class 2-B,” Humin said, squinting. “The one that gave me a tissue when I got a nosebleed.”
“I thought she was dating that guy from the dance team,” Gotak whispered.
“No, that guy had a girlfriend. You’re thinking of the girl with the dyed tips.”
“Oh. Still. How is she dating Si-eun?”
The boys ducked behind a corner like a poorly-trained surveillance team. Peeking around the wall, they watched Si-eun rest his hand on your waist, his usually sharp eyes softened like they’d been rinsed in honey.
Gotak’s mouth dropped open. “He just touched her like he wasn’t allergic to humans.”
“They’re smiling at each other like they’re in a rom-com montage.” Humin narrowed his eyes. “But when I asked him yesterday if he wanted chips he looked at me like I threatened his family.”
“I’ve never even seen him blink that gently.”
“This is so suspicious,” Juntae whispered. “Something’s not right.”
Gotak suddenly stood straight. “Boys. We have a mission.”
Juntae groaned. “Not another one.”
“This is different. This is urgent,” Gotak hissed. “We are going to investigate—Operation: Unmask the Si-eun Softness.”
“…You already named it?” Humin asked.
“I always name them,” Gotak said proudly. “Now. Tomorrow. Lunch break. We gather intel.”
⸻
The Next Day – Eunjang Cafeteria, 12:15 PM
The three of them sat at their usual table with an open notebook, half-eaten kimbap, and determination in their eyes.
Gotak tapped his pen like a crime drama detective. “So. What do we know about Y/N?”
“She’s nice,” Humin said. “Really smart. Always has extra pens. Smiled at me once and I forgot how to breathe.”
“That’s not helpful.” Gotak scribbled something anyway. “Juntae?”
“I saw her walk into the library with Si-eun once. He looked…calm. Like, not murdery.”
“Guys,” Humin whispered, pointing behind them.
Si-eun and you had just entered the cafeteria—side by side. Not hiding, not pretending. Just there.
You were laughing, again. Si-eun was holding a drink and passed it to you wordlessly. You took it and leaned against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Gotak stared. “He’s letting her lean.”
“She took his drink. He shared,” Juntae gasped.
“I need to lie down,” Humin muttered.
The three watched you both sit at a quieter table in the back corner. Si-eun looked up from his tray just as you leaned toward him and said something, making him chuckle—actual chuckle—before shaking his head and flicking your forehead.
“They have inside jokes,” Gotak whispered.
“No one has inside jokes with Si-eun,” Juntae breathed.
“We don’t even have jokes with him!” Humin whisper-shouted.
And then, the final blow: Si-eun scooted his tray closer to yours so you could steal bites from his lunch.
“Betrayal,” Gotak said dramatically. “He didn’t even yell at her.”
Juntae stood. “That’s it. I’m asking.”
“No, you idiot—” Gotak tried to stop him, but it was too late.
Juntae walked straight up to your table and casually leaned his elbow on the edge.
“So…how long has this forbidden romance been going on?” he asked with a grin.
You looked up, surprised. Si-eun calmly kept eating.
“Forbidden?” you repeated, confused but amused.
“I mean,” Juntae continued, motioning dramatically, “he’s the cold, stoic loner, and you’re like…a person.”
Si-eun raised a brow. “You done?”
“No.” Juntae sat down next to you. “We’re concerned. You broke him.”
You tilted your head. “Broke him?”
“In a good way! Like, emotionally. You unlocked his heart or something. Like a human USB.”
Si-eun sighed. “I can throw you across the room, you know.”
Juntae grinned. “But you won’t. Because she’s here. And you’re soft now.”
You just laughed, while Si-eun rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.
Gotak and Humin eventually dragged Juntae back to their table.
“What’d he say?” Gotak asked.
Juntae grinned. “He didn’t say much. But Y/N laughed. And he didn’t glare at me. So I think they’re the real deal.”
Humin let out a long exhale. “Can’t believe we’re living in the Si-eun romance era.”
Gotak crossed his arms, frowning. “I feel like I just watched a wild animal learn to hug.”
From across the cafeteria, Si-eun looked up—and met their eyes.
He raised a brow.
Then, very deliberately, slipped his hand into yours.
