Summary: She's nervous, inexperienced, and trying to be professional. He's confident, teasing, and maybe falling faster than he expected.
Warnings: age gap (legal), angst, lack of communication, Power imbalance (I guess), Jiyong is kind of an asshole in this one
Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x reader
a/n: Okay, so we’re heading toward the end of this series, and I just want to say how thankful I am for every single one of you 🤍
As always, I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.
Also, I have to share this because I’m ridiculously excited: I ordered the black MOTTE Act III T-shirt from the Japanese leg of the tour, and it arrived yesterday. It looks SO good and I’m so happy I made the purchase.
Despite the earlier encounter still lingering at the back of your mind, practice is actually going well.
Better than well.
The time spent with Jiyong at his apartment and his lingering promise to come see you later, has done wonders for your mood. You feel lighter, more present in your own body, like something that’s been knotted tight inside you has finally loosened.
You try not to think too hard about why.
When you arrive at Studio C, music is already thundering through the speakers, sharp and relentless, vibrating in your chest as bodies move in practiced unison.
You slip into the routine more easily than you have in days, finding your place without effort. Your shoulders roll loose, your muscles warm as you stretch, breath syncing naturally with the beat.
Hajoon is there too.
You spot him near the mirrors, laughing with someone, hair damp, posture loose in that annoyingly effortless way of his. When he notices you, he lifts a hand in greeting, smile open and warm.
“Morning,” he mouths.
You smile back. Despite everything, you still count him as a reliable friend.
Practice flows.
The choreography comes easily, counts landing exactly where they should. Your body remembers without needing to be pushed. There’s energy in you, bright, steady, like you’re finally dancing without carrying extra weight.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register that it’s because of Jiyong.
The thought barely has time to form before you push it aside. It’s not worth unpacking, not now. You just let yourself enjoy the ease of it, even with the woman from this morning lingering faintly at the edges of your thoughts.
Halfway through, Hajoon leans in during a break.
“You’re different today,” he says quietly. “In a good way.”
You laugh, a little embarrassed. “Am I?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “More… grounded.”
The word settles warmly in your chest.
Lunch is light and loud, shared with a few other trainees. Someone makes a dumb joke. Someone else spills their drink. You find yourself laughing easily, the sound surprising even you.
For a while, everything feels simple.
The second practice session starts the same way, easy, energetic. You joke with Hajoon between sets, trading playful complaints about sore muscles. Your body keeps up without protest.
Then the door opens.
You don’t see him at first.
You feel him.
The air in the room shifts, subtle but immediate, like something tightening. Conversations trail off. Someone straightens. The music feels louder all at once.
Jiyong steps inside.
Your stomach dips.
You catch his reflection in the mirror and smile at him. It's a small thing saying, you came, but his expression is closed, shoulders squared as he scans the room. He looks tense, wired thin in that particular way you’ve learned to recognize.
You don’t know why, but your smile falters.
The music starts again.
You dance. You know you’re dancing well. Your movements are clean, confident, exactly where they should be.
Still, you feel his eyes on you.
You laugh softly at something Hajoon mutters under his breath as you reset for the next section.
“Stop.”
Jiyong’s voice cuts through the room.
The music dies instantly.
He steps forward, gaze locked on you.
“Again,” he says. “From the top.”
You swallow and reset.
The energy in the room shifts, like a wire pulled taut. A few trainees straighten instinctively. Someone misses a step.
Jiyong moves to the back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Don’t overthink. Just dance.
But you’re suddenly very aware of Hajoon beside you. Of how close he is. Of the way he mirrors you too well, grinning when you hit a difficult section clean.
You push harder. Cleaner lines, sharper hits. You’re determined to prove… what, exactly, you’re not sure.
Halfway through, Hajoon leans in slightly during a transition, murmuring, “Nice save.”
It’s barely audible.
You almost smile.
“Stop.”
The music cuts again.
“What was that?” Jiyong asks. His voice is calm, but there’s an underlying edge beneath it.
Your smile fades. “Sorry?”
“That last sequence,” he says. “You’re sloppy.”
The word lands all wrong. Too harsh for how good you felt just seconds ago.
“I didn’t mean to- ”
“You’re distracted,” he continues, stepping closer. “You’re anticipating again.”
Heat floods your face. “I was just- ”
“Don’t,” he cuts in. “This isn’t the time to be casual.”
Casual.
You glance instinctively toward Hajoon. He’s gone very still, avoiding your eyes, jaw tight.
Jiyong notices.
His own jaw tightens.
“If you can’t keep your focus during practice,” he says, almost offhandedly, “maybe you need to rethink what you’re prioritizing.”
He doesn’t stop there.
“You’re not here to socialize,” he adds coolly. “If you can’t separate practice from everything else, that’s a problem.”
Everything else.
The implication lands heavy.
The room is silent.
Something inside you sinks, sharp and sudden.
Your throat tightens. “I can.”
“Then show it,” he replies. “Because right now, it looks careless.”
Careless.
“Yes,” you say quietly, bowing your head. “I understand.”
But as the music starts again, the earlier energy is gone.
You dance harder than you ever have, chasing approval that feels just out of reach. Every correction feels sharper than necessary. Every glance from him weighs more than it should.
When it finally ends, your body aches in that deep, punishing way.
You look up at your reflection, searching the room for Jiyong.
All you catch is a flash of colour and a set of sharp but undeniably tired eyes, already turning away.
As you grab your things, Hajoon hesitates beside you.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod automatically. “Yeah.”
He looks like he wants to say more, then thinks better of it. “See you.”
You don’t see Jiyong again.
No check-in.
Not text.
Nothing.
And as you leave all you can think is:
How easily he dismantled something that had made you feel good, and how unfair it feels that he gets to react, to feel jealous or territorial or stressed, while you’re still not allowed to ask what any of this means.
How frighteningly easy it is for him to give you happiness and take it away again without even seeming to notice.
***
By the time you get home, it’s late enough that the hallway lights feel too bright.
Your body aches in that deep, lingering way that doesn’t fade with a shower. Muscles sore, feet throbbing, throat tight from holding everything in all day. You kick off your shoes by the door and don’t bother lining them up properly.
You don’t have the energy.
Your bag slides off your shoulder and lands where it lands. You change into something soft, something worn thin with comfort, and collapse onto your bed like gravity finally remembered you exist.
For a moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling.
The day replays in fragments you don’t want, his voice cutting through the studio, the way your smile died, the look he didn’t give you when it ended.
You roll onto your side and grab your phone. Anything to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.
Just something mindless, you tell yourself. A drama you’ve already half-watched. Something to fill the quiet.
The screen lights up your dark room.
You scroll without really looking. A few messages, nothing urgent. Notifications you’ll answer tomorrow.
Your thumb keeps moving.
And then…
You stop.
It’s a photo.
Canid, not posed, familiar.
Jiyong is there, jacket draped loose over his shoulders, hair pushed back in that careless way he only does when he’s comfortable. Misun sits close beside him, too close to be accidental. Her hand rests lightly on his arm, fingers curled like they belong there.
He’s smiling.
Not the polite smile.
Not the public one.
The tired, genuine one. The one you saw this morning over coffee.
Your chest tightens.
You tap the photo before you can stop yourself.
There’s another.
And another.
Different angles, different moments. The same closeness.
They look easy together, comfortable, like this isn’t new.
You scroll to the caption.
Nothing incriminating. Just a tag. A vague comment about late meetings and long days. About running into old friends. Laughing emojis from people you recognize. People who know him.
No one asks who she is. No one questions why they’re together.
Your phone feels heavy in your hand.
You lock the screen and toss it onto the bed beside you, like it might burn.
For a long moment, you sit there in the dark, listening to the hum of the city outside your window.
Earlier today, you’d walked into practice feeling light, happy, almost steady.
And now…
Now it hits you all at once.
How easily he does this.
How effortlessly he lifts you up and how quickly he pulls the ground out from under you again, without even seeming to notice.
You press your face into your pillow, breathing slow and controlled, like you’re trying not to spook yourself.
You’re overthinking, you tell yourself.
It doesn’t mean anything.
But the thought doesn’t settle.
Instead, another one slips in, quieter and far more dangerous.
What if you’re not the only place he goes to feel better.
You don’t cry. You just lie there, exhausted and wired, the image burned behind your eyes, him smiling like that, with someone who doesn’t have to guess where she stands.
Your phone buzzes sometime after midnight.
You’re half-watching the drama on your laptop, volume low, eyes unfocused. You haven’t really absorbed anything in the last hour, just let the dialogue wash over you while your thoughts loop lazily around things you don’t want to name.
The vibration pulls your attention anyway and you glance down.
Jiyong (oppa)
Something hopeful sparks in your chest before you can stop it. You open the message.
Jiyong (oppa): You up?
It’s simple, casual, like it always is.
Your thumb hovers over the screen.
You check the time without meaning to.
12:47 a.m.
You think about all the other times, how often it’s like this. Late, quiet hours. When the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, when no one is watching, when he’s done being everything else to everyone else.
You tell yourself it’s because he’s busy. Because his schedule is brutal. Because nights are the only time he gets to breathe.
You still answer.
You: Yeah.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Jiyong (oppa): Come over?
No explanation. No mention of practice. No sorry about today. Just that.
Your chest tightens in a way that isn’t entirely anticipation.
You stare at the message, the glow of the screen reflecting faintly off your ceiling. Earlier, you’d been curled up, exhausted, telling yourself you just wanted to sleep. To shut everything out. To stop replaying his voice in the studio, the photos on your phone.
You sit up.
A small, inconvenient thought nudges its way forward.
It’s always like this.
Always late.
Always when he’s finished with his day.
Always when he needs something quiet, something soft.
You hate the direction your mind takes, even as it goes there.
Does he only want me when it’s convenient?
The thought stings, sharp and unfair, because part of you knows it’s not that simple. You know how hard he works. You know how much pressure he’s under. You know he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want you there.
Still.
He never asks about your day first.
Never seems to notice how much you rearrange yourself to fit into the spaces he leaves open.
Another message appears.
Jiyong (oppa): Long day. Could really use you.
Your breath catches.
There it is, the thing that undoes you every time.
Could really use you.
Not I miss you. Not I want to see you.
Use.
You close your eyes, just for a moment.
You think about the photos.
About Misun’s hand on his arm.
About how he smiled with her like the world wasn’t pressing down on him.
Then you think about how he looked this morning, half-asleep and gentle, standing in his kitchen making you breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You type.
Delete.
Type again.
You: Okay.
The word sends before you can reconsider.
Almost instantly:
Jiyong (oppa): I’ll send a car to pick you up.
You set your phone down and sit there for a long moment, staring at nothing.
Part of you is relieved.
Part of you is wary.
Part of you is already bracing for how easy it will be to soften again the moment you see him.
As you pull on your jacket and grab your keys, you push the thoughts aside.
You always do.
And you go anyway.
By the time you reach his building, your mind is a tangled mess. You barely remember walking through the lobby, barely remember the elevator ride.
The door opens almost immediately after you knock.
“Hey, baby.”
The word stops you short. Your heart stutters. He’s never called you that before.
Jiyong stands there in a loose T-shirt and soft pants, hair slightly mussed, eyes tired but warm. He smiles when he sees you, really smiles, and before you can process it, his hand is already at your waist, pulling you inside.
He kisses you. Warm and familiar and gentle.
“Come here,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. “I missed you.”
You let him pull you in.
As the door closes behind you, you can’t help the confusion blooming quietly inside you.
Because he’s so sweet now. So soft. Like the version of him from this morning never left.
He keeps a hand at the small of your back as he leads you inside, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
“You look exhausted,” he says softly, helping you out of your jacket. “Rough day?”
The question feels almost comical, as if he wasn’t part of that ‘rough day’, but it still makes your chest tighten.
“Something like that,” you answer. It’s the safest truth you have.
He hums, thumb brushing slow circles against your spine. “Come sit. I’ll get you something.”
You let him guide you to the couch, sinking into the familiar cushions. He moves around the space with practiced ease, tea poured, blanket draped over your legs like it’s instinct.
You thank him quietly.
He sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch. His arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you in. You let it happen, but you don’t melt the way you usually do.
He notices.
Not immediately, but his fingers still, then resume more gently, like he’s recalibrating.
“Tired?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Mm,” you humm.
He accepts that answer easily.
“Rehearsals were long,” he says, almost to himself. “You pushed yourself too hard today.”
There’s something careful about his tone. Something like remorse that never quite forms into words.
You wonder if this, this softness, is his version of an apology.
His hand drifts up to your hair, combing through it slowly. It feels good, too good. Your body reacts before your heart can catch up, leaning into the touch despite yourself.
He exhales, satisfied.
“Stay tonight,” he murmurs. “We can sleep in tomorrow.”
You nod, even though you haven’t actually agreed.
He presses another kiss to your forehead, then your cheek. Each one unhurried. Affection given freely, like nothing between you is wrong.
And that’s what makes it confusing.
Because if he felt bad, if this was guilt, then he knows he hurt you.
And if he knows… why hasn’t he said it?
His fingers trace idle patterns against your arm. “You were really good today,” he says suddenly. “I saw.”
Your breath catches.
“You didn’t look it,” you say before you can stop yourself.
He blinks, then chuckles softly, brushing it off. “I was stressed. Comeback stuff. You know how it is.”
You nod.
You do know.
Still, the warmth of his body beside you doesn’t reach all the way in. The photos flicker at the back of your mind. Misun’s hand. His smile.
He pulls you closer again, the TV hums softly in the background, some late-night drama neither of you is really following. Your head rests against his shoulder, cheek warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. His arm is around you, fingers moving through your hair in slow, absentminded strokes.
He exhales, long and tired, like he’s finally letting the day go.
“Today was a nightmare,” he mutters. “Everyone wants something different, and somehow all of it is urgent.”
You hum, a small sound of acknowledgment.
“They keep changing things last minute,” he goes on, “Concepts, visuals. Even the plans for the final music video aren’t locked yet.” He scoffs quietly. “I swear, no one understands how much of this ends up being my problem.”
His fingers slow, tracing the same path through your hair again and again.
“I’m burnt out,” he admits. “They act like I can just pull something perfect out of nowhere.”
Your chest tightens, just a little.
“They want chemistry,” he says. “Something that looks real. Like that’s something you can just manufacture on command.”
You keep your eyes on the screen, waiting for him to continue.
He shifts slightly beneath you. “I’m tired of explaining myself to people who already decided what they want.”
There’s frustration there, but also something softer, something almost vulnerable. Like he’s letting you see behind the curtain.
It feels intimate. Like trust.
The silence stretches.
You take a deep breath and before you can stop yourself
“The woman from this morning,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Who was she?”
His hand stills.
Then it resumes, slower now, more deliberate.
He glances down at you, expression unreadable. “Why?”
The word isn’t sharp, but it isn’t gentle either.
You swallow. “I saw some pictures. Online.”
He exhales through his nose. “You mean Misun.”
You nod, eyes still on the TV. “She’s… involved with the album?”
“Yes,” he says shortly. “She’s part of the video.”
Something in your chest sinks.
Of course she is.
“Oh,” you say. “That’s how- ”
“How what?” he cuts in, not harsh, but clearly bracing.
You hesitate. “That’s how you and I met,” you say quietly.
He doesn’t answer right away and his fingers pause again, longer this time.
“That’s different,” he says at last.
You finally look up at him, confusion flickering across your face. “How?”
He looks away first.
“It’s work,” he says, voice firmer now. “You know that. I don’t blur lines like that.”
Not anymore, hangs unspoken in the air.
You nod slowly. “I know.”
But your voice betrays you, shaking just a little.
He notices.
A flicker of irritation crosses his face, not at you exactly, but at the situation.
“I think you’re tired,” he says, rubbing his thumb against your arm, soothing, calming. “And sensitive because today was rough.”
Sensitive.
The word lands heavier than he seems to realize.
“I don’t have the energy for games,” he continues. “If I’m with someone, it’s because I want to be.”
There’s an edge there now.
“And honestly,” he adds, softer but heavier, “I thought you of all people would understand that.”
The words land wrong. Again.
Not angry. Worse, disappointed.
Like you’ve failed a test you didn’t know you were taking.
“I’m not accusing you,” you say quickly.
“I know,” he replies, but his tone says are you sure? “I’m just saying… trust matters.”
You nod again, even though something in you recoils.
“I do trust you,” you say.
That seems to satisfy him. He presses a kiss into your hair, conversation clearly over in his mind. “I’ve been doing this a long time,” he murmurs. “I know what matters.”
His arm tightens slightly around you.
You settle back against him, smaller than before.
Because he’s not wrong, he has done this longer. He does know more.
His hand resumes its gentle rhythm through your hair, unaware of the distance you’re holding, because it’s easier than explaining something you don’t fully understand yourself.
The TV keeps playing.
***
Jiyong doesn’t say much at first.
You’re walking beside him through the hallway, the late afternoon light slanting in through tall windows, the building is quiet. He keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
“Why are we here?” you ask finally, slowing your steps.
He looks over at you, lips quirking into a small, pleased smile. “Patience.”
You huff. “That’s not an answer.”
He chuckles under his breath. “You’ll survive.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s something in his expression, contained, almost excited, that makes you let it go. He opens the door to one of the smaller company studios and gestures for you to step inside.
The room is dim, lights low, equipment humming softly.
You frown. “We’re not practicing, are we? You said we were done for the day.”
“We are,” he says, closing the door behind you. “This is different.”
He moves past you toward the console, fingers already moving with practiced ease. You hover near the couch, still unsure, watching him out of the corner of your eye.
“Sit,” he says without looking at you.
You do.
He glances back then, eyes catching yours. There’s something almost shy in the way he holds your gaze for a second too long before turning back to the screen.
“I finished something,” he says.
Confusion flickers across your face, not quite catching on.
“Last time we were here, we were recording a little something,” he adds. “Remember?”
Your stomach flips, but you don’t quite know why.
“You finished the song?” you ask cautiously.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
You sit up straighter. “Already?”
He shrugs. “Actually, I finished it a while ago. I wanted you to be the first to hear it.”
The words ignite a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.
Before you can respond, he presses a button.
The room fills with sound.
It’s familiar, the opening notes you remember laying down together, the rhythm you’d struggled with until it finally clicked. Then your voice comes in, clearer than you remember, layered and polished, sitting perfectly in the mix.
Your breath catches.
It sounds… good.
No, better than good.
You glance at him instinctively, but he’s already watching you.
At some point while the track plays, he sits down beside you, knee brushing yours.
Your chest tightens as the song unfolds, your voice weaving in and out, blending seamlessly with his own. It feels almost too intimate to hear it like this.
When the track fades out, the silence feels loud.
You swallow. “That’s… that’s me?”
He smiles, small and genuine. “Obviously.”
“No, I mean- ” You laugh softly, a little breathless. “I don’t sound like I thought I would.”
“That’s because you never hear yourself the way other people do,” he says. “You’re always way too critical.”
He angles his body more towards yours. His hand comes to rest briefly on your thigh, just a gentle squeeze, before he drops it again.
“You were good,” he says. “You were ready. You just didn’t know it yet.”
The warmth in your chest intensifies, fragile and bright.
“You don’t have to- ” you start.
“I want to,” he interrupts easily. “And it’s true.”
You hold his gaze, unsure what to say to that.
For a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has narrowed down to this room again. To the shared creation. To the quiet understanding that this, this, is what started everything.
He leans back slightly, arms crossed, studying you. “You should be proud,” he says. “A lot of people don’t get here at all.”
There’s praise there, but also something else. A reminder of distance. Of unequal experience.
Still, it doesn’t dull the glow.
You nod, a little overwhelmed. “Thank you. For letting me be part of it.”
He tilts his head, considering you. “You earned it.”
The door handle clicks.
Both of you glance toward the sound.
The door opens before either of you can say anything.
“Jiyong?”
Misun steps into the studio without hesitation, already halfway inside as she speaks. She looks comfortable here, like she’s been in this room plenty of times before. Her eyes land on him first.
“There you are,” she says lightly. “I was starting to think you ditched me.”
Jiyong straightens immediately. His knee moves away from yours. The loss of contact is subtle, but you feel it instantly.
“Sorry,” he says, already rising and turning back toward the console. “Lost track of time.”
Misun hums. “You always do.”
Only then she notices you, still awkwardly sitting on the couch.
“Oh,” she says, pausing. “It’s you again.”
Her head tilts slightly, brows knitting as if searching for something. Your name, maybe. It doesn’t come.
“Well,” she continues easily, abandoning the effort, “small world.”
You offer a polite smile, “Hi.”
She nods once, already redirecting her attention back to Jiyong. “I’ve been looking for you. We’re supposed to go over the storyboard revisions before the meeting.”
“I know.” He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I just needed a minute.”
Her gaze flickers toward the couch, then back to the console. “Were you working?”
“Yes.” He gestures toward you. “I was playing something for her.”
Misun’s interest sharpens, surprised. “Oh?”
Her eyes settle on you properly, studying you more closely now.
“So you finally finished it.”
He hums in confirmation.
A slow smile curves her lips. “Play it for me?”
She steps closer, peering at the screen over his shoulder. Close enough that you notice. “You’ve been annoyingly secretive about it,” she adds.
Then, as if remembering you're still here, she glances your way. “I’ve only heard the rough structure. No vocals yet.”
A faint smile. “Must’ve been exciting, watching the great G-Dragon work?”
“It was,” you say, softly.
She nods approvingly, looking back at Jiyong, one hand now lightly resting on his arm. “I can’t believe you made me wait.”
He shrugs, eyes flickering to you briefly. “I wanted it right first.”
“Of course you did.” She nudges his shoulder lightly. “You’re ever the perfectionist.”
She doesn’t move away, if anything, she leans closer.
“Are you going to make me beg?” she asks, amused. “Play it.”
There’s the smallest pause.
Jiyong’s gaze finding yours again.
Then he turns back to the screen and presses play.
The opening notes fill the room.
Misun listens with her arms loosely crossed, weight shifted onto one hip. She nods faintly at certain transitions, humming under her breath when the production swells.
When your voice comes in, she stills.
“Oh,” she murmurs.
Not unimpressed but not quite impressed either.
She glances at Jiyong. “That’s different.”
He says nothing, just watches the levels.
Your voice carries through the speakers, vulnerable, textured, alive in a way that felt intimate when it was just the two of you. Now it feels exposed.
When the chorus hits, Misun exhales softly through her nose.
“It’s raw,” she says after a moment. “It works.”
There’s a pause.
“Feels untrained,” she adds thoughtfully. “But sometimes that’s better.”
Your fingers curl slightly against your knees.
She turns then, finally looking at you directly.
“You’re still training, right?”
It’s phrased gently. Almost kindly.
You nod your head. “Yes.”
She nods, as if confirming something she already suspected. “I can tell.”
The smile she gives you is polite, controlled.
“But that’s not a bad thing,” she continues. “There’s something… unpolished about it. It makes his production feel more grounded.”
Her gaze shifts back to Jiyong, approval flickering there. “You were right. The contrast is interesting.”
He gives a small hum of agreement.
Misun leans closer again, pointing lightly at the screen. “Maybe we should lean into that for the video. Keep the styling minimal. Less performance, more honesty.” Her gaze flicks to you again. “Which works well for something like this.”
You’re not sure if that’s praise.
Jiyong checks the time. “We really are late.”
Misun sighs softly, but she’s smiling. “See? This is what happens when you disappear.”
Her hand returns to his arm, familiar, absentminded. “I told you we didn’t have time.”
He doesn’t react to the touch. Doesn’t remove it either.
When he looks back at you, his expression shifts, subtly warmer, gentler.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says.
It’s kind. It’s also unmistakably different from how he spoke to her.
You rise from the couch, suddenly aware of how quiet you’ve been.
As you step past him, his hand brushes your elbow, brief, apologetic. A small squeeze that feels like a quiet reassurance. Or maybe a dismissal.
Misun is already at the door, holding it open without looking back, confident he’ll follow.
Pairing: Jung Hoseok (J-Hope) x Reader
Genre: Romance, Smut, Idol AU, Fanfiction
Rating: Explicit (18+), contains mature themes, sexual content, and strong language
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, possessive behavior, light dom/sub dynamics, mentions of alcohol, obsessive thoughts, and public teasing. Proceed with caution.
Summary: A flirty dance cover of BTS’s Dynamite with a cheeky “diamond necklace” innuendo blows up, catching the eye of J-Hope himself. What starts as spicy DMs with a mysterious stranger spirals into a steamy, obsessive night in Seoul that leaves you marked—literally and figuratively.
Word Count: ~3.5k
The bass of Sweet Dreams pulsed through your cramped apartment, your phone balanced on a precarious stack of novels. You’d spent weeks perfecting this dance cover—every hip pop, every smirk, every flick of your wrist dialed to precision. Your cropped hoodie rode up with each sway, flashing a glimpse of skin, while your leggings hugged every curve. As the final note hit, you struck a pose: lip bitten, eyes smoldering, a playful wink thrown at the camera.
You collapsed onto the couch, breathless, and grabbed your phone for the outro. “Alright, Army, I’m wrecked,” you laughed, sweeping damp bangs from your face. “But real talk? I’d sell my soul for a diamond necklace from J-Hope. Too much to ask?” Your smirk lingered, the innuendo dripping for the fans who’d get it. You hit post without a second thought.
The “diamond necklace” line was a nod to Army Twitter’s filthier corners, where fans traded sly jokes about Hoseok’s charm. J-Hope was your bias—his radiant energy, fluid dance moves, and that killer smirk were your undoing. You didn’t expect the reel to do more than your usual few thousand likes.
By morning, it was at two million views.
Your notifications were a warzone:
“Y/N, YOU WILD FOR THIS 😭”
“DIAMOND NECKLACE? GIRL, I’M DEAD 💀”
“Living our Hobi thirst dreams, we stan 😍”
Fan edits poured in—slow-mo clips of your hips rolling to Daydream, your hair flip synced to Ego. Brands slid into your DMs, but so did the weirdos. As a small-time Instagram influencer known for K-pop covers and flirty vlogs, this was your brand: bold, teasing, a little dirty. Just another day.
Until it wasn’t.
In a dimly lit Paris hotel room, Jung Hoseok sprawled across a king-sized bed, phone glowing against the dark. He’d been following you for months on a burner Instagram account—@random7digits, no pic, no trace. Not even his members knew.
It started with a fan edit of you slaying his Chicken Noodle Soup choreo, your sensual precision making his pulse spike. He’d binged your profile: dance covers, thirst traps, Q&As where you answered with a wink. You were magnetic, and he was addicted.
Then came the “diamond necklace” reel.
Hoseok watched it on loop, your sultry moves and that bold line—“a diamond necklace from J-Hope”—hitting like a shot of adrenaline. The innuendo was filthy, and it stirred something possessive. He knew you were teasing the fandom, but it felt personal, like a dare meant for him.
“She’s trouble,” he muttered, smirking. “And I want it.”
His thumb hovered over your DMs. From his burner, he typed:
Careful, princess. Wishing for diamonds like that might get you in trouble.
He hit send, heart racing, already hooked on the game.
You woke to a DM that stopped you cold:
Careful, princess. Wishing for diamonds like that might get you in trouble.
The account was a blank—random numbers, no face. Probably a troll, but the cocky tone sent a thrill down your spine. You bit your lip, typing:
Trouble? My favorite kind. You offering diamonds or just talk?
His reply was instant:
More than diamonds, princess. But you gotta earn ‘em.
Your stomach flipped. This guy had game. Over the next week, the DMs became your fix—each message bolder, hotter, laced with tension. He matched your flirtation with a mix of charm and edge, keeping you glued to your phone.
That dance today… you know what you’re doing. Teasing like that’s gonna get you in deep.
You upped the ante, posting a story for him: a slow-motion Ego cover, your body rolling in a tight tank top, sweat gleaming on your collarbone. Caption: Deep? Only if you can keep up.
His response was a video: no face, just a lean, toned torso in grey sweats, moving to Mic Drop with lethal precision. His abs flexed, hands—long fingers, veins popping—tugging his waistband low, revealing a V-line that made you choke.
Keep up with this, princess.
You rewatched it, thighs pressed together, heat pooling. You sent a photo: you in a lacy bralette, leaning forward to flaunt cleavage, lips parted. Your move, mystery man.
The escalation was relentless. His voice notes(using voice changer)—low, husky—were pure sin. “You keep sending shit like that, I’m gonna lose it,” he growled, the words sinking into you. You fired back a breathy note: “Good. I want you wrecked.”
One night, after a Butter cover where your hips swayed and fingers traced your neck, he snapped:
You’re begging for it, aren’t you? Touching yourself like that, knowing I’m watching.
He wasn’t wrong—you’d been thinking of him, this faceless stranger who had you unraveling. You typed, reckless:
Maybe I am. Gonna do something about it?
His reply was a photo: his hand gripping a whiskey glass, knuckles tense, a silver ring glinting. Keep pushing. I’ll give you everything you’re asking for.
You pushed harder—a shower clip, steam blurring the glass, your silhouette teasing as water slid down your shoulders. Oops. Slipped.
His response was feral: You’re fucking killing me. That body… I’m gonna ruin you.
The game was addictive, each message a spark setting you both on fire. You didn’t know his name, but he was under your skin.
Ten days in, he dropped a bomb:
Meet me. Seoul. This weekend. Lotte Hotel penthouse. No questions, just us. Say yes.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Meeting a stranger who’d been driving you wild? Insane. But the promise of that penthouse, the mystery, the way his words made you ache—it was too much to resist.
You typed, fingers trembling:
You’re nuts. Rules: safe word, no sketchy shit, and you better be as hot as you sound.
His reply:
Safe word’s ‘sunshine.’ I’ll take care of you, princess. You won’t regret it.
You spent the next days in a frenzy, packing, texting your best friend (“If I die in Seoul, avenge me”), and boarding a flight. The uncertainty only fueled your want.
The Lotte Hotel was a glittering maze of marble and gold. The penthouse was obscene—black marble floors, silk-draped bed, a bottle of champagne chilling in ice. The air was heavy, intoxicating.
You stepped inside, heels clicking. “Hello?” Your voice wavered. No answer. Your pulse raced as you set your bag down, nerves and anticipation colliding.
You poured champagne, the bubbles sharp on your tongue. Then you felt it—a shift in the air, a presence behind you. You turned.
He stood in the shadows, black cap low, fitted shirt clinging to a lean frame, dark jeans slung low. He moved like a predator, all controlled power. Then he lifted his cap.
Jung Hoseok. J-Hope. Your bias.
Your glass almost shattered on the floor.
“Oh my God,” you whispered, legs buckling. “You’re… him.”
He smirked, closing the distance, eyes dark and possessive. “Still want that diamond necklace, princess?” His voice was velvet, laced with sin, sending heat to your core.
You couldn’t speak, brain short-circuiting. Hoseok—Hoseok—was real, devastatingly hot, his gaze promising everything.
“I…” You swallowed. “Yes.”
His smirk deepened, predatory yet soft. “Good girl.”
Hoseok stepped into your space, his cologne—musky, spiced—flooding your senses. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb dragging across your lip with deliberate slowness.
“Been dreaming about you,” he murmured, lips close. “Every night, watching you tease me. You’ve got no idea what you do.”
Your breath hitched, hands gripping his shirt, feeling muscle beneath. His kiss was filthy—tongue sweeping, teeth nipping, all hunger. You moaned, melting into him as he backed you against the wall, the cool surface a shock against your heated skin.
His hands gripped your hips, pressing himself against you. You gasped—he was hard, straining against his jeans.
“Feel that?” he growled, grinding slowly. “All for you.”
He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed. He pinned your wrists, his other hand yanking your dress up to reveal soaked lace panties.
“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes raking over you. “Dripping already.”
He tore the lace, the rip loud. His mouth was on you—hot, relentless, tongue swirling over your clit, then plunging inside. You screamed, hips bucking, but he pinned your thighs, devouring you like a man starved.
“Hoseok—fuck,” you gasped, trembling. His fingers joined, curling deep, hitting your G-spot with precision.
“Taste so good,” he rasped, lips glistening. “Could do this all night.”
He edged you, pulling back as you neared the peak, leaving you whimpering. “Please,” you begged, tears pricking.
“Not yet,” he said, licking his lips. “You cum with me inside.”
He stripped, revealing lean abs, sweat-slick skin. His jeans dropped, and you stared—he was thick, veined, glistening. He climbed over you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself.
“Ready?” he whispered, softer now, checking in.
“Yes,” you breathed, arching into him.
He pushed in, slow and deep, the stretch intense. He paused, forehead against yours, breath ragged. “So tight,” he groaned. “Perfect.”
His thrusts were powerful, each one hitting deep, his hips angled to strike your G-spot. The bed creaked, headboard slamming as he drove into you. His dirty talk was relentless:
“Wanted my cum, didn’t you? Begging for it in front of whole world.” he growled, biting your neck. “Gonna mark you, make you mine.”
His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles. You screamed, the edge nearing. He denied you once more, stopping as you trembled, leaving you a sobbing mess.
“Please, Hoseok,” you cried. “Need it.”
“Okay, princess,” he murmured. “Cum for me.”
His thrusts deepened, fingers relentless. Your orgasm crashed, vision whiting out, body convulsing as you screamed his name. He fucked you through it, thrusts erratic, then pulled out, spilling across your chest and neck, marking you in thick, warm ropes.
“Mine,” he whispered, smearing his release across your collarbone, sealing the claim.
Hoseok collapsed beside you, both of you slick with sweat. He pulled you close, lips soft on your forehead, your cheeks.
“You okay?” he murmured, brushing hair from your face.
“Better than okay,” you whispered, dazed.
He smiled—bright, sunny, your heart stuttering. He cleaned you gently with a warm towel, then pulled a velvet box from the nightstand. A diamond necklace—delicate, sparkling—clicked around your neck, his lips brushing the clasp.
“Next time you want something,” he said, low, “you come to me.”
You laughed, still reeling. “Think I just did.”
He grinned, tucking you into his arms. You fell asleep, the necklace a cool weight against your skin.
You woke alone, panic flaring until you saw the note:
Flight to catch. Keep the necklace. Call me when you want more. - H
A Polaroid showed Hoseok, shirtless, smirking, holding a card: Mine.
Your phone buzzed—a text from his official Instagram:
Liked your necklace, baby. Ready for round two?
You grinned, typing: Only if you bring a matching bracelet.
Days later, you filmed a Blood Sweat & Tears cover, the diamond necklace glinting, hickeys blooming across your collarbone. Your hips rolled, fingers tracing the marks, a smirk for the camera.
The reel went viral. Army lost it:
“Y/N, THOSE HICKEYS?? SPILL 😳”
“DIAMOND NECKLACE AND LOVE BITES? QUEEN SHIT”
“Isn't this J-HOPE coded?? I’M UNWELL”
Twitter exploded with edits—zooms of your marked skin set to Euphoria. Theories flew: “Y/N’s mystery man is an idol, bet it’s Hobi.”
A DM from Hoseok’s official account: a screenshot of a tweet: Y/N’s hickeys + necklace = J-HOPE CLAIMED HER, I’M SCREAMING.
His message:
Showing off my work, princess. Wear those marks like a crown.
You typed back, grinning:
Just giving the people what they want. More next time?
His reply:
Count on it. Bracelet’s ready. So’s round two.
You touched the necklace, the hickeys tingling. The world could guess, but only you knew—and the promise of more burned bright.
A/n: Okay so my 2AM thoughts are getting wild I guess. But seriously all I need is diamond necklace from J-Hope. Is it too much to ask? 🤭
P.S.: My @kittenan account tumblr messaging is not working and also I am unable to comment. So I created a backup account. Please follow and support.
synopsis: following the morning-after rules jiyong set to keep you safe, the tour became a constant game of push and pull; him breaking his own boundaries, while you’re left to enforce them. the tension built quietly; tangled in stolen glances, subtle touches, and one nickname you never meant to take seriously…until halloween night.
warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, daddy kink, dom!jiyong, brat!reader, power play, semi-public sex, begging, teasing, praise kink, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, consensual rough sex | age gap (legal), slow burn, angst, workplace power imbalance, swearing, idol/fan dynamic, jealousy, pushing boundaries, generational humour differences.
author’s note: happy kinktober!! i am so excited to be participating in this event with so many amazing and talented writers! i figured, what better way to start off the month than with the part two that everyone has been begging for, along with some gdaddy content 😈 if you haven’t read part one, i’ve linked it below for some context on their relationship dynamic! i am super happy with how this turned out, and i hope that you all enjoy it as much as i do!! i love you all ♡
part one | part two
sunlight pushed weakly through the curtains; enough to nudge you awake, but not enough to demand you move.
your cheek was pressed to jiyong’s shirt, the steady beat of his heart filling the quiet.
his arm was heavy around your waist, holding you there like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep with you tangled across him, but also hadn’t let go once he did.
zoa and iye had taken the other side of you, their small bodies warm against your back.
his fingers were already in your hair. slow, barely-there touches that felt more instinctive than conscious.
memories from yesterday started to collect, hesitant at first.
the early morning meeting. your boss hating you. the job offer. the studio. the boys. his penthouse. him.
the smaller details followed in fragments.
what it felt like when he kissed you. how possessive his hands had been. the way he held you like he meant it, even though it made no sense.
he hadn’t even known your name yesterday morning.
now, not even a full day later, you were in his bed, curled into his chest, in his hoodie, with his fingers threaded through your hair like they belonged there.
you stirred without thinking, inching closer into the warmth of him. your leg drifted higher, slipping over his and settling just above his hip bone.
his hand paused when you moved, just for a moment, before settling back into the same slow rhythm through your hair.
“morning, trouble,” jiyong spoke softly, his voice still rough with sleep.
you shifted against him, one hand drifting up to rub the tiredness from your eyes.
when your gaze found his, your smile followed without hesitation.
there was a softness in your eyes, still glazed with sleep, like your heart had already recognized him before your mind could catch up.
“hi,” you whispered, voice cracking from disuse as you let your head drop back onto his chest, eyes closing like the morning had already asked too much of you.
he hadn’t been prepared for this version of you; sleepy and quiet, melting into him like you’d done it a thousand times before.
he brushed your hair away from your face without thinking, pressing a quiet kiss to the top of your head.
“how did you sleep?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“like a baby,” you mumbled, voice muffled where it pressed into his hoodie.
he let out a soft breath of laughter, warm against your hairline.
“figured,” he said, thumb brushing lightly over the curve of your neck. “you drooled on me.”
your head lifted fast, eyes wide with sleepy offense. “no, i didn’t.”
“you did.” he grinned as he tapped the fabric of his hoodie with his pointer finger. “right here.”
“that was probably zoa,” you muttered, weakly pushing at his chest before hiding your face in it again.
his chest shook beneath you with a quiet laugh. “also,” he added, dragging the word out, “did you know that you talk in your sleep?”
you cracked one eye open. “excuse me?”
“mmhm,” he said, the grin on his face already forming. “clear as day. ‘kwon jiyong, i swear to god—’”
a laugh burst out before you could stop it, your hand flying to cover your mouth. “shut up. no way.”
“way,” he said, laughing as he rested one of his hands on your thigh. “you were dead serious. sounded like i owed you money or something.”
you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “what else did i say?”
“hard to say,” he shrugged, shifting just enough to try and catch your expression. “the rest was mostly gibberish…but i’m almost positive you said ‘don’t test me’ at one point.”
your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him, chin still resting on his chest. “what the hell did you do to me in my dream, kwon?”
his brows pulled together, caught somewhere between amused and alarmed. “me?”
you nodded, stone-faced. “don’t act so innocent. if i was threatening you in my sleep, you obviously did something.”
he blinked hard, like you’d just accused him of a felony. “okay—but like, how would i know what happened in your dream?”
“i don’t know,” you said, poking his chest. “but my subconscious clearly clocked some shady behavior. you were up to something.”
he let out a short, confused laugh. “you’re actually blaming me for something dream-me did?”
“oh, i’m not blaming dream-you,” you said, eyebrows raised. “i’m blaming you-you. dream-you is just the whistleblower.”
jiyong stared at you, mouth opening slightly like he wanted to protest, but couldn’t find the words.
“i was literally half-asleep,” he said finally, dragging a hand down his face. “right next to you.”
“which gave you access!” you argued, sitting up slightly like you were presenting evidence to the jury. “you probably infiltrated the dream.”
he let out a sharp laugh, throwing his head back onto the pillow for a second before looking at you again. “you’re insane.”
“you’re deflecting,” you replied, squinting at him. “that’s textbook guilt.”
he groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “oh my god.”
you didn’t flinch. “apologize.”
“for what?!” he asked, voice cracking a little. “something dream-me did?”
“no,” you said sweetly, “for whatever real-you did to make dream-you act like a dickhead.”
he let out a long, suffering sigh as he closed his eyes. “i’m sorry for infiltrating your dreams, or whatever you said earlier.”
“that didn’t sound very sincere,” you said, scrunching your nose.
one of his eyes cracked open, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “alright—i formally apologize for dream-me being a asshole. real-me takes full responsibility for causing you emotional damage in an alternate reality.”
you nodded, satisfied. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”
“i hate it here,” he grumbled, but his thumb never stopped moving on your thigh.
you hummed softly, triumphant, and let your head fall back to its place on his chest.
the grin on your lips still lingered, but your eyes had softened; fluttering shut as his hand resumed its slow drag across your thigh, his thumb moving absentmindedly over your skin like muscle memory.
the room went still again.
not completely silent, thanks to the hum of the heater and the muffled sounds of the city, but the kind of quiet that only settles when something else is waiting beneath it.
jiyong didn’t speak, but his fingers continued to move. he threaded them through the ends of your hair, carefully untangling knots that weren’t even there.
it was comforting. addictive. the kind of intimacy that was too easy to get used to.
you didn’t say anything either.
you just lay there, suspended in that weird, quiet space between sleep and whatever came next.
and maybe you could’ve stayed like that.
maybe, if you stayed still long enough, he wouldn’t say what you knew was coming.
but when he inhaled a little deeper, you felt it.
the way his chest lifted beneath your cheek. the way his fingers slowed in your hair. the subtle shift in the air.
“y/n?” his voice was softer now. careful.
you swallowed. “hm?”
he hesitated for a moment. “can we talk?”
your fingers curled slightly against his shirt. “you’re already talking,” you mumbled.
he huffed, a quiet breath through his nose. “don’t be annoying.”
you smiled, just barely. “speak your mind, ji.”
he didn’t answer right away.
he kept tracing through your hair, each pass slower than the last; like if he just kept his hands busy, the truth of it all might stay buried a little longer.
“i’ve just been thinking,” he eventually said, voice low and a little rough around the edges.
you didn’t answer. didn’t even blink.
just kept your head on his chest, eyes fixed somewhere in the space between his collarbones.
his throat moved beneath your cheek as he swallowed. “about…this.”
your hand twitched slightly where it rested against his side; barely a flinch, but he felt it.
“last night. this morning. all of it,” he went on, a little quieter now. like the words were still forming, even as they left his mouth.
you gave the smallest nod, almost imperceptible.
you weren’t surprised. some part of you had been bracing for it since last night.
since the moment he whispered ‘we’ll figure it out’ into your skin like a promise he never planned to open.
you hadn’t expected the conversation to come this soon.
not while you were still wrapped in each other. not with your leg draped over his hip and his hand tangled in your hair.
but deep down, you knew it was inevitable.
it lived in the quiet between his words.
in the way he’d held you a little too tightly afterward, like he already felt the clock ticking.
in the way your chest tightened every time you remembered that none of this was simple.
not you, not him, and especially not the world you were about to step back into.
“you’re gonna be with me,” he said, slower now. “working by my side every single day.”
he didn’t have to spell it out. you knew exactly what came with that.
“people are gonna notice,” he continued, eyes fixed somewhere past you. “they’ll talk. twist things. make it a whole thing before we even figure out what this is.”
his hand was still in your hair, but his voice had gone soft; measured in a way that told you he’d been thinking about this all night.
“you already know how it gets,” he said. “they’ll dissect everything. turn you into a headline for just…being near me.”
the wall beside his bed blurred slightly as you stared it down, gaze locked like you could keep the moment from moving forward if you just didn’t look at him.
“i know you’re tough,” he said softly. “but that doesn’t mean that you should have to be.”
his eyes searched your face, like he was hoping you’d stop him; give him an excuse not to keep going.
“i just…” he hesitated, breath catching slightly. “…i still feel like i have to protect you.”
you didn’t answer. silence felt safer than risking saying the wrong thing.
instead, you shifted closer, as if the warmth of his body could shield you from what you already knew was coming.
“i just think we need to draw a line,” he said, each syllable steady and deliberate. “no more…this. not while we’re working. not when other people are around. it’s smarter that way.”
your cheek stayed pressed to his chest, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall beneath you. the sound of his heartbeat filled your ear, steady and unflinching, even as yours stumbled.
“okay,” you said quietly, your voice steady in a way that almost convinced you too. “if that’s what you want.”
the steadiness of your words only made him ache. it was the kind of calm that didn’t belong to you; the kind that almost sounded like retreat.
you remained still, swallowing down the lump in your throat, forcing the ache back far enough that it wouldn’t show.
“hey,” he whispered, brushing the side of your face with his fingers, coaxing you to look at him.
you let his hand guide your face, your eyes lifting to his despite the sting gathering at the edges.
his gaze softened instantly, guilt etched in every shade of brown that looked back at you.
“this isn’t because of you,” he murmured softly. “i like you. way more than i should, considering we just met.”
you gave a small shrug as you let your head fall back down onto his chest. “i know,” you replied calmly. “we can do whatever you think is best, ji.”
his hand stayed tangled in your hair, waiting for the lean-in that never came.
“we can still be us,” he said quickly, trying to fill the silence. “joke around, hang out. i’m not asking you to stop being you.”
“sure,” you answered, your voice clipped but light.
his thumb brushed against your temple, restless, as though the motion could hold your attention. “i just mean…” his words dragged, uncertain. “no more kissing. no more hooking up. no touching when people are around.”
“okay,” you breathed, as if it were the simplest answer in the world.
he studied you in the quiet that followed, thumb still restless against your temple.
“y/n,” he said finally, your name breaking low from his chest.
“i’m good,” you murmured, lifting your head just enough to meet his eyes. the smile you gave him was bright, practiced, like it cost you nothing. “boundaries are healthy.”
his brows knit together, suspicion flickering. “you’re being weird,” he said slowly, as if naming it might pull the truth out of you.
“i’m being reasonable,” you argued, breaking your gaze away from his once again.
his eyes narrowed, studying you. “reasonable doesn’t look like this.” he muttered. “you’re shutting me out.”
you let out a weary breath. “i’m just agreeing with you, ji. that’s all.”
“you won’t even look at me,” he whispered, his voice coming out softer than he meant it to.
your eyes flicked up just long enough to catch his before slipping away again. “i’m just tired,” you said quietly, as if that explained everything.
he breathed in, unsteady, the rise of his chest uneven beneath you. “y/n…” he said again, softer this time, almost careful.
“what?” the question slipped out with more bite than you’d planned. “you want me to fight you on it?”
he let out a short, embarrassed laugh. “yeah,” he admitted, shaking his head. “part of me did want you to fight it. which is stupid, considering i’m the one who’s supposed to know better.”
your lips curved, though the ache in your chest didn’t ease. “maybe,” you teased lightly, “but you’re also the one making the rules. if this is what you want, i’m not gonna argue with you about it.”
he sighed, a soft laugh caught in it. “the worst part is, i don’t even want the rules. i just…feel like it’s the only way to keep you from getting hurt.”
you looked up at him, a smile tugging at your mouth despite the tightness in your throat. “that’s the thing, ji. you don’t actually believe in your own rules.”
his thumb lingered in your hair, guilt shadowing his eyes. “maybe not. but i believe in protecting you.”
you let your head drop back against him, your laugh quiet, almost fond. “then you’ve gotta make up your mind. either we have boundaries and you keep them, or you stop pretending like you can.”
he chuckled, the sound rough in his chest. “you make it sound so simple.”
“it is simple,” you said, smirking up at him. “you just like to complicate things.”
his mouth curved, but before he could answer, you tilted your head. “actually…wait. if i’m not allowed to date you, does that mean i can date seunghyun instead? since he’s, you know…” your grin widened, “sort of the deluxe version of you.”
his head jerked back like you’d slapped him, eyes wide. “deluxe version?” he repeated, scandal dripping from every syllable.
you bit down a laugh, nodding solemnly. “mhmm. taller, older, deeper voice. seems like an upgrade to me.”
“upgrade?” he sat up half an inch, staring at you in disbelief. “yah—are you out of your mind?”
you bit your lip, eyes glinting as if you’d just discovered the best game in the world. “don’t act so shocked. everyone knows seunghyun’s got that whole…broody, mysterious, man-of-few-words thing going. total bonus features.”
he scoffed so loudly it made your chest shake with laughter. “bonus features? what am i then—basic model?”
“exactly,” you teased, patting his chest like you were confirming it on a receipt. “starter pack. great for beginners, but eventually you wanna upgrade.”
his jaw dropped, disbelief painted across his face. “starter pack? yah, you’re unbelievable.” he pushed a hand through his hair, muttering half under his breath, “deluxe version, my ass…”
your grin only widened, delight bubbling out of you. “hey, don’t be mad. these are your rules, remember? no kissing, no cuddling, no you. so technically…nothing’s stopping me from going after him.”
his head whipped back to you so fast you thought he might hurt himself. “nothing’s stopping you—” his voice broke into a disbelieving laugh. “you’re actually insane.”
“i’m just following your boundaries,” you sang sweetly, resting your chin on his chest like the picture of innocence.
he pointed a finger down at you, eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward. “you’re evil.”
“mm.” you smiled, smug as ever. “but at least i’m respecting the rules. can’t say the same for you, mister ‘no more touching’ with your hand still in my hair.”
his hand stilled instantly, caught red-handed. “…shit,” he muttered, dropping it to his side.
your laugh rang out, triumphant. “see? you can’t even last five minutes. how are you gonna survive an entire world tour?”
“easily,” he shot back, smirking like he believed it.
he did not survive easily.
in fact, he barely made it ten feet into the airport before he broke his own rule.
the tour hadn’t even started, and already the crowd was swallowing him whole; fans screaming his name, camera shutters clicking like machine guns, staff waving badges and shouting updates into headsets.
it was the kind of chaos he knew all too well. the kind he could usually drown out.
except today, his focus refused to stay on anything but you.
you were walking beside him; noise-cancelling headphones on, phone in hand, scrolling through the pictures you’d just taken while humming whatever throwback song you were currently obsessed with.
with you running his new instagram, 88llow88llowme, it wasn’t unusual for your eyes to be glued to your phone, capturing little moments of him into frames only you knew how to find.
however, this meant that you were everywhere he was; in the chaos, in the quiet, documenting every angle of a life most people only saw in pieces.
you were so absorbed in your gallery that the noise around you blurred into the background. every swipe seemed to pull you further into your own head, a half-smile tugging at your lips as you lingered over each shot.
somewhere between steps, you started to drift.
it was barely noticeable; just a quiet shift as your steps pulled you a little sideways.
but he noticed. of course he noticed.
you didn’t look up until a familiar hand landed at your waist, guiding you back without a word.
your hand shot out immediately, smacking his away like a reflex. it wasn’t hard, just enough to make a point.
“kwon jiyong,” you said, sharp with mock-offense. “boundaries.”
he turned his head toward you, eyes shimmering. there was laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth already. “you were about to walk into jaeho.”
your eyes lifted, scanning ahead. jaeho was a good few steps in front of you, fully in his lane, looking unbothered and unaware.
“sure,” you nodded slowly. “blame the innocent man just doing his job.”
jiyong bit his lip to keep from smiling, but failed spectacularly. “i was helping.”
“you were breaking your own rules,” you countered, voice light and smug.
he sighed like the world had wronged him. “you’re never gonna let this go, are you?”
you gave him a sweet, unbothered shrug. “nope.”
he laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “unreal.”
his hands disappeared into his pockets as he fell back into step beside you, close enough to brush shoulders but just out of reach.
you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.
he met your gaze with wide, innocent eyes. “not touching,” he said, all fake sweetness. “see? i’m learning.”
you snorted under your breath. “sure, ji. we’ll see how long that lasts.”
it didn’t last long at all.
barely a day into the tour, you felt the weight of his head tip onto your shoulder during the morning briefing.
everyone was crammed into the hotel lobby, half-awake and pretending to care what the tour manager was saying about call times.
you didn’t even look up from your phone.
“ji,” you said calmly, tilting your shoulder just enough for his head to slide off.
he made a wounded noise. “why are you like this.”
“why do you act like i’m the one that made the rules,” you replied sweetly, still scrolling.
he muttered something about regrets and betrayal and stomped off dramatically, tripping over a suitcase on purpose just for dramatic effect.
two days later, you found a rare pocket of quiet backstage and wasted no time claiming it.
you stretched out across the greenroom couch, earbuds in, phone balanced on your stomach as you sifted through photos from the last show.
you barely registered the sound of the door before you felt a sudden weight drop onto you, knocking the breath from your lungs. “oh my god—”
jiyong dropped onto you without warning, chest-first and sprawled out like you were the couch. his chin pressed to your shoulder, one arm flung carelessly across your side.
“what’re we watching?” he mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie.
you yanked out one earbud and glared at him. “my life flashing before my eyes.”
“cool, cool.” he shifted slightly, just enough to rest more comfortably. “seems cinematic.”
you stared at the ceiling, defeated. “you are literally suffocating me.”
“just tryna bond.” he craned his neck to peer at your screen. “oh, that’s a good one. save that.”
you didn’t dignify him with a response.
instead, you rolled your hips to the side with one sharp twist, and his balance gave out instantly.
he slipped right off and hit the floor with a dramatic thump.
“ow—” he yelped, clutching his side like he’d been shot. “you’re so violent.”
you propped yourself up on your elbow and gave him a look. “you’re so touchy.”
his eyes narrowed. “you used to like that about me.”
“used to,” you nodded solemnly, voice flat. “back before you had rules.”
he groaned from the floor, flopping onto his back in defeat as he flipped you off.
you smirked and slipped your earbud back in, already returning to your edits.
“love you too, by the way,” you added, just loud enough to make sure he heard.
he didn’t respond, but you caught the small grin tugging at his mouth before he turned his head away.
the next week passed like every other since the tour started; long days, late nights, and jiyong still breaking his own rules like they were suggestions instead of boundaries.
he touched your waist in crowded hallways. rested his chin on your shoulder during van rides. threw his arm across your chest while you were napping, like he was your personal seatbelt.
every time, you called him out.
every time, he pretended to be shocked.
after the show earlier that night, you’d barely made it back to your room before collapsing face-first on the bed, half-scrolling your phone, half-dozing off, when a knock rattled the door.
“nope,” you called, not even lifting your head.
“yes,” came his voice, muffled but smug.
you groaned. “you’re not invited.”
“i just wanna hang out,” he said quickly, knocking again. “i swear. nothing illegal.”
“illegal?” you laughed, sitting up. “you’re thirty-six. everything you do with me is illegal.”
“yah,” he sounded offended, but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “don’t start.”
“i’m serious,” you went on, smirking as you padded to the door. “this is textbook harassment. i should call hr.”
“i am hr,” he shot back. “open the door.”
you cracked the door just enough to look out.
he was leaning against the frame, hair pushed back like he’d already decided to cause trouble.
the grin on his face confirmed it.
“hm,” you squinted at him. “i’ve seen that look before. nothing good ever follows it.”
“i don’t have a look,” he shot back immediately, as though you’d accused him of a crime.
you tilted your head, already easing the door shut. “uh-huh. keep telling yourself that.”
his hand shot out, slapping against the door before it closed, and the next thing you knew, your feet were off the ground.
“what the hell is wrong with you?!” you shrieked, kicking as he threw you over his shoulder. “put me down, you asshole!”
he adjusted his grip, laughing as your fists pounded his back. “not a chance. this is way easier than arguing with you.”
“easier?!” you yelped, fists thudding uselessly against his back. “you can’t just pick people up when they don’t agree with you!”
he chuckled, shifting you higher on his shoulder. “worked, didn’t it?”
“worked?!” you twisted, trying to kick free. “you’re deranged! this is harassment!”
the commotion carried down the hall until jaeho stepped out; his eyes flicking from you, dangling upside down, to jiyong’s smug grin.
“help me!” you cried, reaching dramatically towards him. “he’s abducting me!”
his mouth twitched, fighting back a laugh, and with a small shake of his head, he slipped back into his room.
“unbelievable!” you yelled after him, smacking your palm against jiyong’s back. “i thought i was your favourite!”
jiyong’s laugh cracked, loud in your ear. “see? no one’s buying your victim act.”
you twisted, glaring at him from over his shoulder. “that’s because you’ve got everyone brainwashed!”
he let out another laugh, carrying you the last few steps before shoving his door open with his hip.
he barely cleared the doorway before tossing you onto the bed, grinning like he’d just pulled off the heist of the century.
“that’s better,” he said, brushing his hands off.
you shot upright, outrage written all over your face. “better for who?”
“for me,” he replied, not missing a beat.
before you could even respond, he grabbed a towel off of the chair and slung it over his shoulder, already moving towards the bathroom.
“excuse me? where are you going?” you asked, eyes tracking him across the room.
“to shower,” he answered casually.
your jaw dropped. “are you kidding me? you couldn’t have showered before coming to kidnap me?!”
“obviously not,” he shot back, glancing at you with a shameless grin. “had to leave the option open in case you felt like joining.”
your laugh came out sharp and disbelieving as you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his head. “you’re disgusting.”
he caught it with ease and immediately tossed it back at you while still laughing. “it was worth a shot.”
the pillow landed back in its place as you flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic groan. “unbelievable.”
he was still laughing when he backed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
you sighed, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling for all of ten seconds before boredom won.
your phone was within reach, so you grabbed it, scrolling with lazy flicks of your thumb.
one clip caught your attention; slowed concert footage of him dragging a hand through his hair before snapping into the beat, hips rolling like he owned the stage.
you watched it twice before forcing yourself to open the comments, already laughing at what you might find.
you didn’t even make it past the first comment before you cracked, laughter spilling out so hard your stomach hurt.
‘ok g-daddy we see you’ it read, racking up almost as many likes as the video itself.
you were still gasping for air with tears forming at the corners of your eyes, when the shower cut off.
the room went quiet except for your laugh echoing against the walls.
“yo,” jiyong’s voice floated out through the door. “what are you laughing at?”
you tried to smother the sound of your laughter with your sleeve, but failed miserably.
“seriously,” he called again. “what’s so funny?”
you cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice casual. “nothing, g-daddy.”
the silence that followed was deafening.
you buried your face in the pillow, shoulders shaking, tears slipping out as you tried to keep the laughter quiet.
“wait—wait, wait, wait—what the fuck did you just say?” his voice cracked out.
you bit your knuckle to keep yourself from laughing, which only made it worse.
the bathroom door slammed open a second later, steam pouring out behind him like a stage entrance.
he stumbled out in a cloud of heat, towel barely hanging on,
you were already doubled over, clutching your stomach.
his steps were erratic, like he couldn’t decide whether to flee the scene or interrogate you with his entire soul.
“g-daddy?” he choked, practically wheezing. “did you just call me g-daddy?!”
you nodded through your laughter, eyes sparkling. “it suits you, don’t you think? has a nice little ring to it.”
he stared like you’d grown a second head. “no. no, absolutely not—”
“g-daddyyy,” you repeated, dragging it out this time, just to be annoying.
“no,” he cut in, voice cracking again. he pointed at you like he could physically reverse the words. “you are not calling me that.”
you were already laughing too hard to speak. “you—you did this! this is my revenge.”
his eyes narrowed. “revenge for what?”
“for your stupid boundaries,” you cried, turning the screen to him. “they’ve been calling you g-daddy all week. how have you not seen this?!”
he stepped closer, squinting at the video. his mouth opened. closed. opened again.
you caught the shift in his face before he could hide it; the split-second ‘oh no’ that flickered behind his eyes.
your grin turned slow and dangerous. “wait,” you said, sitting up straighter. “oh my god—you like it.”
he scoffed. “what? no.”
you tilted your head, narrowing your eyes like you were solving a puzzle. “you totally do.”
“do not psychoanalyze me right now,” he warned, towel slipping lower as he tried to gesture vaguely at your phone. “that’s not what’s happening.”
“mm,” you mused. “sure it’s not. you’re bright red.”
“that’s sweat,” he said too fast. “from the shower. obviously.”
you leaned forward. “is it?”
“shut up,” he said, one hand flying up like he was trying to block the soundwaves. “you’re being annoying on purpose.”
“me?” you gasped, mock-offended. “i’m just a humble staff member trying to document your legacy, g-daddy.”
“stop saying it!” he cried, pacing toward the dresser like the movement might save him. “this feels like a hate crime.”
“you’re the one with a daddy kink,” you called after him, biting your lip.
he stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body stiffening as though your words reached a part of his brain that he’d been actively avoiding.
“excuse me?” he said, voice climbing several octaves. “i do not have a daddy kink.”
you propped yourself up on your elbows, brows lifted. “oh, okay. so i guess the be-a-good-girl-and-beg-for-it energy was just a coincidence?”
he turned around slowly, needing to see your face to make sure you were being serious.
he looked traumatized.
you, however, were having the time of your life.
“you—” he sputtered, eyes wide. “that was—i was being—dominant. not…” he trailed off, expression contorting like the word itself betrayed him.
you nodded solemnly, biting back a grin. “sure. because telling your much younger employee to beg for it is just normal workplace dominance. nothing to unpack there.”
he looked violated. “don’t say it like that. you make it sound—”
“like a daddy kink?” you offered, fully smiling now. “that’s because it definitely is.”
“okay, no. nope. shut it down. i’m not doing this with you.” he said, pulling open the dresser like finding pants would save his dignity.
you propped your chin in your hand, still grinning. “so what now? just…parade around half-naked until i forget what i said?”
“no,” he muttered, yanking a pair of sweats from the drawer. “i’m just getting dressed.”
you squealed, immediately rolling onto your stomach, face buried in the blanket. “boundaries! hello?”
“are you serious?” he cracked up, tugging them on. “you’ve literally seen it all.”
“that was private!” your voice came out muffled against the comforter. “this is workplace harassment.”
“workplace harassment?” he repeated, still laughing at your ridiculousness. “need i remind you, you’re in my room.”
you peeked up just long enough to glare. “you dragged me into your room, which makes me the victim here.”
“oh, please,” he dropped onto the mattress beside you, water still dripping from his hair onto your arm. “you are not a victim. you live for this.”
you rolled onto your back, smirking up at him. “what i live for is enforcing the rules you made.”
“i hate those rules,” he said, though his grin gave him away.
“good,” you shot back. “that means they’re working.”
he leaned closer, bracing one arm on the pillow beside your head. “one kiss,” he murmured. “just one. no one would know.”
your pulse skipped for just a second before you shoved his face away, laughing. “nope. that’s a violation. i’m filing another complaint.”
he laughed into your palm, catching your wrist and pressing it flat against his chest. “complaint denied. i’m the boss.”
you pulled back with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “that’s cute. kind of hard to take the boss seriously when he’s this desperate.”
he groaned dramatically, collapsing back onto the hotel bed with a grin. “you’re gonna break eventually.”
“maybe,” you said, sliding off the mattress with your phone in hand. you tugged your hoodie straight and headed for the door. “not tonight though, g-daddy.”
his laugh cracked, boyish and helpless. “i hate you!” he shouted after you, voice breaking from how hard he was laughing.
you stopped at the doorway, half-turned with a smirk. your wink was quick and smug. “love you too, g-diva!”
you pulled the door shut behind you, leaving him sprawled in his sheets, groaning like you’d just ruined his whole life.
the next few days passed in a haze of flights, late nights, and too little sleep.
by the time any of it registered, you’d landed in australia for the final show before a much needed break.
soundcheck was already underway, bass rattling through the empty arena as jiyong moved under the lights.
you sat cross-legged on the floor at the side of the stage, phone in hand, snapping pictures between scrolls.
every so often, he glanced your way, a quick grin flashing before he turned back to the mic.
it was a habit by now; something he always found himself doing when you were around, and somehow, it tugged a smile out of you every single time.
your phone started to ring mid-photo, the name ‘seunghyun’ flashing across the screen.
your eyebrows shot up, and a grin spread before you even answered.
you scrambled to your feet, clutching your phone tight as you wove past the speakers and ducked further backstage.
when the noise finally dulled to a manageable level, you swiped the screen and lifted it to your ear.
“hello?” your voice came out a little too bright, betraying the grin you couldn’t hold back.
“rookie,” he drawled, warm and amused, just like how he always sounded when he called just to bug you. “tell me you’re coming to the party.”
your brows knit, confusion flickering across your face. “party?” you echoed. “what party?”
“the halloween one we’re hosting. don’t tell me jiyong didn’t—” he cut himself off, the disbelief clear in his tone. “yah, you’re joking. he never mentioned it?”
you blinked, forcing a laugh that came out lighter than you felt. “nope. first i’m hearing about it.”
“really?” he questioned, his voice filled with surprise. “that’s so weird. i figured he told you right away.”
your chest tightened as possibilities tumbled over each other.
maybe he’d just forgotten. maybe it slipped his mind in the chaos of tour.
it wasn’t long before other possibilities pushed their way in; ones that you didn’t necessarily want to unpack.
maybe it wasn’t an accident. maybe he didn’t want you there.
maybe he already planned on showing up with someone else; someone who wouldn’t spend the whole night throwing his own rules back at him.
the thoughts knotted tighter the longer you stood there.
against your better judgement, your gaze slipped back towards the stage.
he was already looking at you.
the smile he’d been wearing slipped the moment he registered your expression, his eyes darting to the phone pressed to your ear before settling back on your face.
his brows pulled together, worry flickering across his face. his eyes stayed on yours like he wanted answers, but the track carried on, pulling his focus back to rehearsal.
the moment his attention shifted, you let a breath and steadied your voice.
“guess not,” you said into the phone, leaning back against the wall, twirling the drawstring of your hoodie between your fingers. “but if you want me there, i’ll come.”
“of course i want you there,” seunghyun said easily. “what kind of party would it be without you?”
the tightness in your chest eased, just a little. “smooth,” you let out a laugh, quiet but real. “you always talk like that, or is this special treatment?”
“only for you,” he teased. “seriously though, the boys miss you. i miss you. it won’t be the same if you’re not there.”
you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your mouth gave you away. “fine. only because you asked so nicely.”
“nicely? rookie, that was me begging,” he laughed. “don’t let it go to your head, though.”
“too late,” you teased. “what’s the dress code anyway? do i have to match you guys or something?”
“as long as it’s a costume, you’re fine,” he said easily. “though sexy is always a bonus.” he added with a grin you could practically hear through the line.
your laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “a bonus for who, exactly?” you teased, raising your brows even though he couldn’t see you.
“for everyone,” he replied without missing a beat. “but let’s be real—we all know you’re ji’s girl.”
you huffed out a laugh, heat creeping up your neck. “i am not his girl.”
“uh oh,” seunghyun jumped in right away, dragging it out like he’d been waiting for this. “sounds like somebody’s mad she didn’t get the invite straight from him.”
your mouth fell open, a laugh slipping out of you. “i’m not mad!”
“sure,” he teased, voice smug. “you’re practically foaming at the mouth.”
“okay, okay,” you shook your head, grinning despite yourself. “maybe i am a little annoyed, but that still doesn’t make me his girl.”
“sure, sure,” he said easily. “so if you’re not his girl, that means you’re fair game, right?”
“fair game for who? you?” you questioned, already knowing what his answer would be.
“obviously,” he responded without hesitation, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “i’m taller, cooler, less bossy. i’d never make you follow dumb rules.”
your laugh burst out before you could stop it. “that’s literally what i said! i told him months ago that you were the deluxe version!”
seunghyun broke into full laughter on the other end, so loud you had to pull the phone back a little. “no way. you actually said that to his face?”
“of course i did,” you said, grinning as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “he looked like he wanted to strangle me.”
“oh my god,” seunghyun managed between laughs. “this is why i love you.”
“careful,” you warned, biting back another laugh. “say stuff like that and people might actually believe it.”
“good, let ‘em.” he shot back, still chuckling. “see you at the party, rookie.”
you shook your head, smiling as you said your goodbye and ended the call.
when you glanced back toward the stage, jiyong’s eyes were already on you, once again.
the confusion from earlier hadn’t gone anywhere. if anything, it was sharper now; threaded with something you couldn’t quite name.
you forced a small smile in his direction, hoping it was enough to smooth over whatever he thought he saw.
his mouth twitched like he wanted to return it, but the music pulled him forward before he could.
you slipped your phone into your pocket and headed for the dressing room, not bothering to stay through the rest of rehearsal.
the couch welcomed you like it knew the weight you carried, the soft cushions swallowing you as you tugged your hood up and leaned back.
the ache in your chest clung on, quiet but insistent, no matter how many times you told yourself you didn’t care.
the door cracked open a little while later, the hinges giving the faintest groan before it shut again.
before you could even look up, his voice cut through the silence.
“who called you?” he asked, steady on the surface, though the edge underneath gave him away.
your head snapped up. “seriously?” you shot back, hood still tugged over half your face. “so it’s fine for you to keep secrets, but i have to give you a play-by-play of every call i get?”
his mouth opened, then closed again, confusion flickering across his face. “what are you talking about? i just—i wanted to know—”
“it was seunghyun,” you cut him off, a little sharper than you intended.
he stilled mid-step. “…okay?” he tried, cautious. “why’s he calling you though?”
you tilted your head, feigning confusion. “why wouldn’t he?”
he blinked, caught off guard. “i mean, he doesn’t usually—he could’ve just…i don’t know—” his words tangled, shoulders shifting like he couldn’t quite find his footing.
you didn’t bother answering. instead, you sank deeper into the couch and unlocked your phone, scrolling like the conversation was over.
his brows knit, confusion tugging at his features as he watched you ignore him. “…what did he want?” he asked finally, the caution in his voice making it clear he was still trying to figure out what he’d walked into.
you hummed like you had to think about it, eyes still on your screen. “oh, nothing important,” you said at last, casual enough to sting. “just wanted to know if i was coming to the halloween party.”
he froze. “…the party? in seoul?”
you finally looked up, gaze sharp. “yeah. apparently everyone knew about it—well, everyone except me.”
his mouth parted, words stumbling out before he could shape them. “i was gonna tell you. i just…things have been—”
“don’t say crazy,” you cut in, tossing your phone aside. “don’t say busy, either. we spend every waking moment together, and somehow i’m the last to know? come on, ji. that’s not an accident.”
“i didn’t think—” he started, shifting his weight like he couldn’t decide whether to step toward you or back off.
you let out a sharp, humorless laugh, pressing a hand to your forehead. “yeah, no kidding. do you know how embarrassing that was? him sounding shocked, like, ‘yah, you’re joking, right?’ and i’m standing there looking like an idiot because you ‘didn’t think.’”
his jaw clenched, teeth pressing together hard. “you’re not an idiot. you know i don’t see you that way.”
“then explain it,” you fired back, your chest tightening. “because either you didn’t want me there, or you already planned on taking someone else. which one is it?”
“it’s neither,” he bit out, the pitch of his voice rising before he forced it lower again. “you’re twisting it—”
“i’m not twisting anything!” you snapped. “if i mattered, you would’ve told me. it’s as simple as that.”
his mouth opened, and quickly shut again, like he couldn’t line up a defense. “it wasn’t about that,” he managed finally. “i wasn’t hiding it from you.”
“right,” you muttered, arms crossing tight. “funny how seunghyun thought to ask me, though. at least he thought i was worth telling.”
his expression faltered, your words hitting him harder than you meant them to. “…so what? now seunghyun cares more about you than i do?” his voice rose, sharper than before. “that’s not fair.”
“what’s not fair,” you argued, heat rising in your chest, “is you making me feel like some afterthought. you knew for weeks, ji. weeks! and you said nothing. but god forbid i get a phone call when you aren’t around—and suddenly i have to explain myself?!”
his brows pulled together, confusion twisting into something tighter. “that’s not what this is—”
“isn’t it?” you asked, leaning forward. “you get to make all the rules, pretend like you don’t want me too close, but the second someone else gives me the bare minimum of attention, you’re looking at me like i’ve done something wrong!”
something in him cracked at that, his jaw tightening before his face shifted; hurt flashing first, frustration chasing close behind. “jesus, do you even hear yourself? you’re acting so childish—”
you froze, breath catching sharp in your chest. “childish,” you echoed, soft but trembling underneath, like you couldn’t quite believe he’d actually said it.
it wasn’t just his words that stung; it was what they implied.
you’d always believed he looked past the years between you, that he saw you standing beside him rather than behind.
the thought had been a comfort, something you clung to in the quiet moments when the gap felt too wide. now, it pressed against your ribs like a bruise, leaving you feeling much smaller than ever before.
regret washed over his face so fast it almost looked painful. “wait—no, that’s not what i meant,” he rushed, words tripping over themselves. “i didn’t mean it like that, i just—”
you let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed your bag. “don’t bother. you clearly meant it enough to say it.”
he moved toward you, hands half-raised, like he could undo it if he just explained fast enough. “y/n, please, i didn’t—”
“save it,” you cut him off, yanking the strap over your shoulder. your voice cracked once before you forced it steady. “if that’s how you see me, then fine. but i’m not gonna sit here and be talked down to by the same guy who can’t even decide what he wants from me.”
he flinched, almost like you’d hit him, but you didn’t give him the chance to recover.
“get someone else to take your stupid fucking pictures tonight,” you added, brushing past him hard enough that your shoulder clipped his.
he was on your heels the second you reached the door. “you can’t just leave—you’re working—”
you didn’t so much as look back. “then fire me,” you snapped, the words flung over your shoulder as the door slammed hard against the frame.
you tugged your hood further down your forehead as you walked, hoping the shadow it casted was enough to hide the sting in your eyes.
the door behind you flew open almost instantly. “y/n!” his voice ripped down the hall, cracked and desperate, almost like he thought sheer volume might drag you back.
his footsteps followed quickly behind you, each one hitting the floor harder than the last, until they cut short in a scuffle.
“jiyong,” jaeho’s voice came firm, his grip closing tight around jiyong’s arm.
“let me go!” jiyong roared, twisting against him, his voice breaking as he shouted again. “y/n! please!”
heads turned as you passed, a hundred questions written across their faces. curiosity, pity, judgment; all of it clung to your skin with a weight you couldn’t quite shake.
you didn’t give any of them the satisfaction of meeting their eyes, choosing to fix your stare on the floor instead, praying that if you just kept moving, they’d eventually look away.
behind you, jaeho’s voice cut through the noise, steady and immovable. “enough, ji. don’t make this worse.”
“i said let me go!” jiyong’s voice broke, rough with desperation as jaeho dragged him back.
his shoes scraped hard against the floor, fists jerking like he still thought he could fight his way free, but the older man’s grip didn’t budge.
your name ripped out of him one last time, echoing down the corridor, before the door closed behind them and cut the sound in half.
by the time you reached your hotel room, your phone had been buzzing non-stop in your hand with calls and text messages; everything lighting up the screen faster than you could swipe it away.
the moment the door shut behind you, you let your bag fall wherever it landed and threw yourself face-first onto the bed.
the mattress dipped hard under your weight as you buried your face into the comforter, a muffled sound ripping out of you before you could swallow it back.
you kicked your feet once, twice, sharp little bursts of frustration that made the bed jolt.
your phone wouldn’t stop, the vibration rattling against the nightstand like it was mocking you. you didn’t even have to look to know who it was.
you rolled onto your side, arm flopping out blindly until your fingers found the screen. the messages blurred together as they filled the display.
jiyong: where are you??
jiyong: i’m sorry.
jiyong: i didn’t mean it like that.
jiyong: please answer me.
the screen lit up again before you could even finish reading through all of the messages, his name flashing across the top.
you declined the call without a second thought and tossed your phone face-down onto the bed, but it wouldn’t stop; buzzing again and again, as if he wasn’t going to stop until you finally caved.
it went on for what felt like hours, breaking only when he was pulled onstage. for a while, there was quiet; long enough for you to almost believe he’d finally given up.
but after the show, it started again. call after call, message after message, each one more frantic than the last.
the only pause came when you realized he wasn’t on the other end of your phone anymore, but on the other side of your door.
first, it was his voice; low and hoarse from the night, coaxing, apologizing, begging you to just say something.
when that got no response, everything went quiet.
no more calls flashing across your screen. no more words piling up in bubbles you refused to open.
the silence should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. it pressed in heavy, filling the room until it was impossible to ignore.
he was still there; you could feel it, as if his presence seeped through the walls, steady and unrelenting, a quiet vow that he wasn’t leaving.
you lasted only a few minutes on the bed before the pull became too much. eventually, your steps carried you across the room, slow and unwilling, until you sank down in front the door.
you didn’t make a sound. you couldn’t. you didn’t want him to know you were there. still, being this close, separated by only a sliver of distance, dulled the ache just enough to let you breathe.
at some point, exhaustion pulled you under. you stayed curled against the door, cheek pressed to your knees. the position was uncomfortable, but the faint comfort of knowing he was still there on the other side kept you from moving.
when you opened your eyes again, morning light was already seeping past the curtains. the knock that came wasn’t his this time, but staff, reminding you that it was almost time to leave for the flight back to seoul.
the rest of the morning blurred. you packed without thinking, every motion stiff and mechanical, your chest still heavy from the night before.
he didn’t knock again. didn’t try to stop you in the hall. didn’t say another word.
still, you felt him. in the car to the airport, on the walk through the terminal, even on the plane.
his eyes lingered, his gaze thick with regret, but you gave him nothing; keeping your attention locked on everything but him.
by the time you landed back in seoul, the weight of everything hadn’t lifted. if anything, it only grew heavier when the terminal doors opened and the chaos flooded in.
cameras. voices. fans pressed shoulder to shoulder. flashes of light cutting across your vision.
you stayed back instinctively, your hand already reaching for your phone. “i’ll call someone to come get me,” you told jaeho quietly, in an attempt to avoid jiyong all together.
but before jaeho could answer, jiyong was already there.
his arm hooked over your shoulders, pulling you in tight, his hand steady at the back of your head to shield you from the swarm of bodies and flashing lights.
“i don’t care how mad you are at me,” he said, voice rough but steady against the noise. “i’m not leaving you alone in the middle of this airport.”
his words left no room for argument.
every step he took angled your body into his, his hold a shield against the swarm of fans and cameras until the car door finally closed, cutting off the noise.
his arm slipped reluctantly from your shoulders, the heat of his palm still lingering at the back of your head.
you leaned towards the window, eyes fixed on the blur of lights, even as you felt him watching you.
he stayed quiet for a long moment, head bowed, before finally speaking. “i should’ve told you,” he said, voice rough. “about the party. about all of it. you deserved to hear it from me.”
you exhaled sharply, your forehead pressing against the glass. “yeah. i did.”
his hand dragged over his mouth, restless. “it wasn’t on purpose. i wasn’t hiding it. i just…kept putting it off, and suddenly it was too late.”
your head tilted toward him, eyes narrowing. “too late? ji, we spend every minute together. you had a hundred chances to tell me. you just didn’t.”
he flinched, guilt flickering clear across his face. “i know. and i’m sorry. i hate that i made you feel like you didn’t matter.”
your throat tightened, words catching before you forced them out. “it’s not just this, though. it’s those stupid fucking rules. you set the boundaries, not me. and i’ve tried to respect them, i really have. but you’re always the one breaking them—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head.
his chest rose with a shaky breath. “i know it’s not fair. i don’t mean to confuse you. i just…” he stopped, searching. “i don’t know how to want you without risking everything. but i don’t know how to stop wanting you, either.”
you turned fully then, your eyes locking on his. “i can handle the risk. what i can’t handle is feeling like an afterthought, or like this is something you can switch on and off whenever it scares you.”
his gaze broke first, dropping to his lap. he sat there for a long beat, jaw tight, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find a single word that didn’t make it worse.
“you’re not an afterthought,” he said finally, his voice low and raw. “you’re the only thing i ever think about.”
“if you really mean that, then prove it,” you spoke quietly, the fight finally slipping out of your voice, “stop making me feel like i’m something you have to resist.”
he nodded once, slow, like the weight of your words landed heavy in his head. his fingers tapped restlessly against his knee, the silence thick between you.
“are you still going tomorrow?” he asked after a pause, cautious, almost like he was bracing himself for the answer.
your arms folded across your chest. “yeah. i told seunghyun i’d be there.”
his head turned, eyes sharp even in the dark. “what are you wearing?”
you leaned back toward the window, a faint smile tugging at your lips even as your chest tightened. “you’ll find out tomorrow.”
you hadn’t spoken to him since.
after everything that was said in the car, you thought he might reach out. a knock at your door. a half-hearted excuse. maybe even a real apology, if he was feeling brave.
instead, there was silence.
you didn’t let it bother you. at least, not enough to let it ruin tonight.
the bow tie was still loose around your neck when your phone lit up on the counter. the buzz carried through the quiet hum of the bathroom, breaking your focus for just a moment.
seunghyun: car’s downstairs. told the guys you’d be on time. don’t embarrass me, rookie.
your mouth curved, soft at the edges.
you clipped the bow tie into place, fingertips brushing over the satin until it rested perfectly against your skin. it was the smallest part of the costume, but somehow it pulled everything together.
you wouldn’t be a real playboy bunny without it.
the rest of the outfit framed it perfectly; a black corset pulled snug at your waist, a skirt so short it felt more like suggestion than fabric, fishnets mapping clean lines over your legs, and heels that raised you three inches higher than you were used to.
you picked the ears up from your dresser and settled the band over your hair, nudging it into place with careful fingers.
your eyes lingered on the mirror longer than you meant them to, and the longer you stared, the easier it was to let the confidence sink in.
a small smile curved at your mouth before you finally turned away, slipping your phone into your purse and pulling the strap over your shoulder as you walked out of your apartment.
by the time you reached seunghyun’s house, the front steps were scattered with people in costume; some smoking, some laughing, most of them unfamiliar.
a few faces stood out, ones you’d grown up idolizing, but that didn’t make walking through them any easier.
you slipped your phone from your purse and opened jiyong’s chat without thinking. it was a habit by now; texting him the moment you arrived, knowing he’d meet you outside so you wouldn’t have to walk in alone.
but when you opened the thread, there was still nothing waiting.
your thumb hovered for a moment, but you didn’t type anything. he hadn’t said a word all day, and you were definitely not about to be the one to change that.
with a quiet sigh, you backed out of the thread and opened the group chat instead.
y/n: i’m here.
you tucked yourself against the edge of the front steps, just outside the swirl of bodies moving in and out of the house.
daesung: omg finally!!!
youngbae: door’s open, just come in.
your eyes flicked towards the entrance, catching flashes of movement and loud voices as more strangers pushed through the door.
y/n: i’m not walking in alone. absolutely not.
y/n: i think someone just barked at me???
y/n: i’m too sober for this.
you shifted your weight from one heel to the other as you waited for a reply.
daesung: bark back and assert your dominance.
a laugh slipped out before you could stop it. you shook your head, already typing a comeback when another message popped up.
seunghyun: i’ll come get you, scaredy cat.
the door cracked open a moment later, and seunghyun stepped into view dressed in dark jeans, a fitted tee, and a worn cowboy hat that somehow made too much sense on him. he spotted you insantly, that same easy grin lighting up his face.
“i guess you’re not a scaredy cat,” he called out as he strolled toward you, “you’re a scaredy bunny, apparently.”
you groaned. “i hate you.”
“no, you don’t,” he said, stopping a few feet in front of you. his gaze dragged from your heels to your collarbone with no real attempt at subtlety. “rookie, what the hell are you wearing?”
“what?” you looked up at him, feigning innocence. “you don’t like it?”
he let out a short laugh. “i didn’t say that.” he leaned back slightly, giving you another once-over, slower this time. “you look really hot, actually.”
you rolled your eyes, trying not to smile as you crossed your arms over your chest. “you’re ridiculous.”
“says the girl in ears and a bowtie,” he shot back, still keeping his eyes locked on you. “you really went full playboy, huh?”
you smirked. “you sound surprised.”
“i’m not.” he said, head tilting just slightly. “i’m honestly impressed. you might’ve just saved halloween showing up like this.”
you bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. “oh my god.”
“i’m serious.” he gestured vaguely down your body. “i should’ve brought you one of those little trays. you could be walking around with shots on it right now. men would be on their knees.”
“you would be too, don’t kid yourself,” you said, poking at his chest.
he held up his hands in mock surrender. “i never said i wouldn’t be.”
your eyes flicked to the drink in his hand, and without a word, you plucked it from his fingers and knocked it back like it was yours to begin with.
“unbelievable,” he said, watching you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “do you ever get your own drinks?”
you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smug. “why would i? yours always taste better.”
he shook his head, laughing under his breath. “you’re actually the worst,” he muttered, nudging you gently with his elbow. “come on, bunny. we’re getting you your own drink before you rob anyone else.”
you let him lead the way, following closely as he pulled the front door open. the air shifted instantly; thick with heat and sound, the bass pulsing through the floorboards like a second heartbeat.
bodies pressed in from every side, voices echoing down the hall as the party spilled deeper into the house.
you hooked your fingers lightly around his arm without thinking, just to stay close. he didn’t seem to mind. if anything, he shifted a little, making room for you as you moved through the crowd together.
“is jiyong here?” you asked, ducking your head toward him so only he could hear.
he glanced sideways, raising an eyebrow. “what, you miss him already?”
you shot him a look. “don’t be annoying.”
his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “he’s here,” he said, way too pleased with himself.
your brows pulled in. “why do you sound like that?”
“i don’t sound like anything,” he said, way too quickly.
you narrowed your eyes, but he was already steering you towards the kitchen.
“you’re gonna need this,” he muttered, grabbing a glass off the counter and filling it without waiting for your input.
“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you asked, giving him a look.
he didn’t answer. just turned, lifted the drink towards your mouth, and tilted it ever so slightly until you had no choice but to take a sip.
“trust me,” he added, fingers still wrapped lightly around the glass. “you’ll thank me later.”
you swallowed, eyeing him over the rim as he finally let go. “you’re actually insufferable, sometimes.”
“probably,” he said, already nudging you out of the kitchen. “but you’re about to be real glad i did that.”
you didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant by that.
the music pulsed heavier as you followed him down the hall, the crowd thinning just enough to move without bumping into every person in your path.
still, the occasional shoulder grazed yours, causing you to tighten your hold around seunghyun’s arm for balance.
“they’re over there,” seunghyun said, tipping his chin towards a cluster of couches near the window.
you spotted them just as they spotted you.
“finally,” daesung called, already pushing to his feet. “what took you so long?!”
youngbae stood too, a grin spreading across his face as his eyes flicked over you. “rookie, you look insane,” he said, pulling you into a quick hug before you could even answer. “definitely worth the wait.”
“seunghyun made me stop for a drink,” you answered as daesung pulled you in for a hug of his own.
this side of the living room was a little calmer. the smoke still hung in the air, curling lazily toward the ceiling, but it wasn’t as dense. the music bled in from the hallway, bass heavy and slow, muffled just enough to make voices easier to hear.
groups of people lounged across the couches, plastic cups balanced on their knees or cradled in their hands. the lighting here was low and violet-toned, soft enough that everyone looked a little hazy around the edges.
daesung leaned back, still grinning as he looked you over. “wait, where’s your drink?” he asked, glancing at your empty hand.
you shrugged. “finished it already.”
“damn,” he laughed, reaching behind him to grab another off the low table. “guess that means this one's yours now.”
you took it before he could change his mind, raising it in mock salute. “you’re a good man, dae.”
“i try,” he said, flashing a grin.
youngbae hadn’t taken his eyes off you. his head tilted, gaze narrowing a little like he was trying to line something up in his mind.
“wait,” he started, the words dragging out slowly as he glanced over his shoulder. “did you and—”
“yo, ji!” someone shouted from one of the couches beside you. “one of your little bunnies are here!”
the words sliced right through the loud music, causing a few heads to turn your way; including his.
he shifted from where he was standing and turned towards the noise, a lowball glass dangling from his fingers.
the movement was casual until his eyes landed on you.
everything around him seemed to blur out. the smoke, the music, even the girl standing beside him. none of it mattered anymore.
his fingers tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, but he didn’t move. not right away.
he just stared, eyes dragging down the length of you like he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, eyes drifting over the silk robe slung low over his shoulders, the dark shirt half-unbuttoned beneath it, and the pipe on the table next to him.
he was dressed as hugh hefner. of course he was.
beside you, seunghyun’s low laugh was almost a whisper. “told you you’d need a drink,” he muttered, his mouth close to your ear.
you lifted your drink to your lips in acknowledgment, taking a slow slip as if that might dull the heat crawling up the back of your neck.
he still hadn’t looked away.
for a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t move.
maybe he’d stay exactly where he was; frozen in place, trying to blink you into something less dangerous.
but the moment the alcohol touched your tongue, he took a slow step forward, then another, weaving between shoulders and couches like nothing else in the room existed.
he stopped a few steps in front of you, not quite close enough to touch. his gaze dragged over your outfit again, much slower this time, before returning to your face.
“you made it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
you gave the smallest nod, not knowing how to respond to him.
“you look…” he started, only to trail off mid-thought.
“smoking hot,” daesung offered casually.
“drop-dead gorgeous,” youngbae chimed in with a grin.
“absolutely lethal,” seunghyun added, deadpan.
jiyong exhaled, jaw flexing once before he finally cracked a smile. “yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “that.”
you tilted your head the slightest bit, letting the silence stretch before answering.
jiyong flicked a look at the boys, not subtle in the slightest, a silent order to give the two of you space.
to your surprise, they actually listened, peeling off towards the kitchen with the worst attempt at casual you’d ever seen.
“you look good too,” you said, voice deceptively light. “hugh hefner, though? really?”
his lips twitched, eyes flicking down for a second. “wasn’t my idea.”
“sure it wasn’t,” you replied, arms loosely crossed over your chest. “it’s very on brand.”
he raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “how so?”
you took a slow step closer, your mouth curling at one corner. “old. rich. dramatic. craves attention…” you paused, leaning in just enough for only him to hear, “it’s all very g‑daddy of you.”
his body went still, so subtle anyone else would’ve missed it, but you caught it.
the flicker in his eyes. the way his breath dipped for half a second. how his grip on the glass tightened.
his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging over your mouth like he was already imagining it parted around his name.
“you’re not playing fair,” he said, voice rough.
“i’m not here to play,” you said softly. “you know that.”
he stepped closer. not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of him.
he let out a quiet, rough laugh, almost more breath than sound. “you’re gonna be a fucking problem tonight.”
you didn’t flinch. instead, you lifted your chin, eyes locked on his like you were daring him to do something about it.
the space between you barely existed now; one breath, one slip, and you’d fall right into him.
“funny,” you murmured, voice low and deliberate, your words curling between you like smoke. “i thought that’s what you liked about me.”
his eyes darkened instantly, like you’d hit a nerve he’d been trying to keep buried.
he leaned in just enough that your noses nearly brushed, voice low enough to vibrate through your chest.
“i like a lot of things about you,” he said, each word thick with restraint. “but that mouth might be my favourite.”
his voice rolled through you, low and deliberate, like it knew exactly where to land.
your body reacted before your mind caught up; heat curling in your stomach, a slow throb of want that settled deep in your bones.
you smothered it before any of it could reach the surface.
your lashes lifted with calculated ease, gaze locking on his like you were reading every filthy thought behind his eyes, and choosing not to act on a single one.
you lifted your drink with slow, measured simplicity, letting the rim graze the edge of his skin on the way up; a fleeting, but deliberate touch.
his muscles tightened in response, subtle but unmistakable, like the slip of control had caught him off guard.
you tipped it back and finished the rest in one long swallow, allowing him to watch the movement of your throat.
his gaze tracked every shift — your lips, the curve of your neck, the rise and fall of your chest — devouring you without the slightest hint of shame.
when the glass came down, your lips were damp, parted, and just inches away from his.
you didn’t move. neither did he.
his eyes lingered on your mouth for a beat too long, almost like he was weighing the consequences of closing the gap between you, or maybe fantasizing about all of the ways he could make you beg for it first.
“i’m gonna get a refill.” your words brushed his mouth more than his ear, soft enough to be mistaken for a promise.
you stepped past him slowly, your fingers skimming the back of his hand.
before you disappeared into the crowd, you looked back once, shoulder turned, eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t quite innocent.
“try not to miss me too much,” you added sweetly, with a smile sharp enough to draw blood.
you didn’t wait for his reaction.
the crowd swallowed you in seconds; music pulsing, bodies everywhere, and heat pressed from all directions, but none of it compared to what you’d just walked away from.
you didn’t make it far before familiar fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting you so abruptly your breath caught mid-step.
you didn’t have to look to know it was him.
his fingers tightened just enough to make you stop. heat rolled up your arm a second before his chest brushed your back, his breath ghosting the side of your neck like a warning.
“upstairs,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “now.”
the words cracked through the noise, quiet but absolute. it wasn’t a request.
you felt the tug of his hand before your mind caught up. the crowd parted for him without a glance, his grip steady as he pulled you through it.
his hand stayed locked around yours as he cut through the party like it wasn’t even there. shoulders and cups brushed against you, a blur of faces and smoke, but no one tried to stop him.
your pulse matched the bass underfoot, hard and fast, even as the sound dimmed with every step up the stairs.
your heels barely hit the landing before he was unlocking the last door at the end of the hall; seunghyun’s in-home studio.
the room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a red interface light.
you barely had time to register the space — the cluttered desk, the low hum from the equipment, the scent of wood polish and smoke still clinging to the walls — before his grip shifted.
his hand moved from your wrist to your waist, and in one smooth, unrelenting motion, he turned you.
your back hit the door hard enough to make it slam shut behind you; the sharp, echoing click of the latch sealing the room, and sealing you in it.
your gasp caught on his mouth before you even realized he was that close.
his hands bracketed your hips, wide and possessive, fingers digging in like he was daring you to move.
his chest pressed flush to yours, keeping you pinned with nothing more than his body and the heat rolling off of it.
he didn’t say a word. didn’t give you a second to breathe.
he kissed you like he was starving; the kind of kiss that knocked the breath right out of your lungs and left your knees weak.
you moaned against his mouth, a sound he swallowed eagerly, hands already sliding under your ass.
“jump,” his voice was low, wrecked, and demanding.
you obeyed without hesitation, legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck.
he caught you easily, palms spreading over the back of your thighs as he pressed you back against the door, like he needed every inch of you flush against him.
his mouth dragged down your jaw, hot and open, and your head hit the wood behind you, causing your bunny ears to fall to the floor without either of you even noticing.
“fuck,” you gasped, breath hitching when he rocked into you.
he was already hard, and already so far gone.
“you’re such a fucking tease,” he growled, biting lightly at your neck. “walking away from me like that—”
his hand slid up your side, fingers grazing the edge of the velvet corset. “—acting like you didn’t want me to do this.”
he didn’t wait for a response.
his hand gripped your waist, steady and hard, anchoring you in place as he rolled his hips into yours again, rougher this time, like he wanted to hear you break.
your breath caught, the moan slipping out before you could stop it.
“you wore this just to test me, didn’t you?” his breath was hot against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “knew i wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”
your legs flexed tighter, forcing him closer. “don’t get too cocky now, kwon,” you whispered, nails dragging lightly along the back of his neck. “not everything is about you.”
he let out a short breath, eyes still fixed on yours like you were the only thing in the world.
“you’re right,” he said, voice rough and edged with amusement. “it’s about you.”
his hands slid higher, up your thighs and under the hem of your skirt.
he pressed you harder into the door with the weight of his body, growling something low and nearly incoherent when your fingers gripped onto the back of his hair.
“you’re really not gonna say anything now?” he muttered, voice wrecked and laughing against your jaw. “mouthy all night, but the second i touch you—”
your hand fisted his shirt, yanking him back to your mouth.
“shut up,” you breathed against his lips. “you talk too much.”
his laugh was low against your mouth, swallowed almost instantly by another kiss. this one was hungrier, his lips parting yours like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.
you met him with the same heat, nails still dragging along the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left to take.
his grip under your thighs tightened, lifting you higher with a sharp tug. your gasp spilled into his mouth, legs squeezing around his waist.
the shift tore your back from the door, your weight settling entirely into his arms as he carried you.
you barely realized where he was taking you until the edge of the desk pressed up against your hip.
his arm swept across the desk in one quick motion; monitors, mics, and cables crashing to the floor in a violent clatter. the sound rattled the room, sharp and jarring, but he didn’t flinch.
you jerked in his arms, laughing in disbelief. “holy shit, ji—” your voice broke on a gasp, eyes wide. “do you have any idea how much that shit costs?! it’s not even your—”
his mouth crashed against yours before you could finish.
the kiss was chaotic and hungry, his teeth catching your bottom lip before his tongue soothed the sting.
your laugh dissolved into a moan, hands clawing at his shoulders, pulling him closer even as you tried to catch your breath.
he pulled back just enough to smirk, lips brushing yours as he spoke. “you think i give a fuck about seunghyun’s shit? i could buy him a new studio by tomorrow,” his grip on your thighs was bruising, forcing you higher against him. “the only thing i care about right now is you.”
heat flickered low in your stomach, enough to shake your smugness for a beat. you pushed it down fast, tilting your chin like you still had the upper hand.
“mm,” you hummed, soft and teasing, though your pulse betrayed you. “that almost sounded sweet.”
his mouth twitched; not quite a smile, more like a warning. “almost?”
your lips curved, eyes glittering with defiance. “guess you’ll have to work harder if you want the full compliment.”
his laugh scraped low against your lips, rough enough to vibrate through your chest.
in the same breath, he shifted his hold, lowering you onto the desk in one smooth motion until the cold wood pressed into the backs of your thighs.
“is this how you’re gonna act all night?” he asked, eyes burning into yours.
“depends,” you murmured with a shrug, eyes gleaming.
his eyes narrowed, the amusement in them razor-sharp. “lay back.”
you stayed where you were, lips twitching like you might say no just to see what he’d do.
his grip slid higher on your thighs, fingers pressing hard enough to drag a gasp out of you. “i said lay back.”
the command rippled through you, leaving no room for argument.
still, you dragged it out, easing yourself down slowly across the desk, just to test him. the cool surface pressed into your back, your legs dangling until he pushed them higher, heels landing on the edge of the desk.
he crowded closer, breath hot against your mouth, hands prying your thighs wider until you couldn’t fight the heat pooling in between them. “that’s better.”
your laugh came out shaky, teasing, the sound skating along the tension. “bossy tonight.”
his mouth grazed your jaw, hot and claiming. “you like it.”
your pulse stuttered, the curve of your smile faltering slightly, but holding just enough to keep your game. “maybe i do, daddy.”
his head tilted, eyes narrowing like a predator catching movement in the dark. “you still think you’re in charge, huh?”
your smile only widened, the brat in you refusing to back down. “a little.”
his mouth hovered just above yours, his words scraping against your lips. “last time you thought you were in control, i made you beg. do you remember that, baby?”
your breath hitched, the memory flashing hot in your mind, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack. “vaguely,” you murmured, tone dripping with fake innocence.
“if you want to come tonight, you’re gonna behave,” he murmured, voice so calm it made your pulse stutter harder. “because if i even think you’re trying to play me again, i’ll keep this pretty pussy begging all night. you understand?”
your lips curled, smug even as your chest rose too fast. “i guess i’ll behave,” you murmured, tone feather-light like you were humoring him.
his eyes narrowed, the warning in them flickering darker. the grip at your waist shifted, palm sliding higher until his thumb brushed the edge of your corset.
“be good and say it right,” the words came out rough, scraping against your lips like a spark waiting to catch.
your pulse jumped, but you dragged it out, lashes lowering like you might make him wait. the look in his eyes warned you against it.
your throat worked once before you let the words slip out. “okay, daddy…i’ll behave.”
his approval roughened his voice, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “good girl.”
his hands slid down the curve of your thighs until they hooked into the fishnets. the sound of fabric tearing split the air, harsh and unforgiving.
your eyes widened, a shocked laugh breaking free before dissolving into a shiver. “ji—” his name caught halfway between disbelief and a moan, your hips already lifting into his grip.
any thought of protest evaporated under the rush of heat roaming through your body, leaving nothing but want.
his hands didn’t hesitate. the ruined edges of the fishnets curled against your skin as he shoved your panties aside, his fingers sliding through the heat of you like he’d been waiting all night for it.
a ragged sound left your throat, sharp and needy, heels digging into the desk as your legs spread wider for him.
your skirt had already ridden up, bunched high on your hips, and the air felt cold against your bare skin compared to the burn of his touch.
he dragged his fingers over you again, slower this time, like he was remembering every slick inch before pressing two of them deep inside of you.
your back arched, a choked gasp breaking free, your head tipping back against the desk.
“fuck, daddy—” your voice cracked when his thumb circled your clit in a steady rythym. your heels scraped uselessly against the desk, the sharp click of them hitting wood echoing in the small room.
his gaze never wavered, locked on your face like he was memorizing every flicker of you unraveling. “look at you,” he rasped, voice low enough to scrape down your spine. “already so desperate for me.”
he bent without warning, dropping to his knees at the edge of the desk. his palms spread you wider, forcing your thighs open until the arch of your platform stilettos braced hard against his shoulders.
“keep ‘em there,” he ordered, gaze flicking up once. “don’t you dare move.”
you barely had time to nod before his mouth replaced his hand, tongue hot and unrelenting as it dragged through your folds.
the moan that ripped out of you was raw and shameless, hips jerking up into his face like you’d been waiting for this all night.
“oh fuck—daddy, oh my god,” your moans broke free like a plea, wrecked and unplanned, your heels digging into him harder as if you could lock him there.
his laugh vibrated against your clit, smug and rough all at once. “that’s it, baby. feels good, huh?”
your answer dissolved into a gasp. “y—yeah—”
he dragged his tongue once more through your slick before pulling back, the heat of his breath ghosting over you. his two fingers slid back inside, quick and deep, until your spine arched against the desk again.
“not yet,” he murmured, voice rough, his thumb still circling your clit without pause. “you don't come until i say.”
your nails scraped across the wood, the desk creaking under your grip. “daddy, i—” your voice broke into a moan. “i'm try—trying—”
“hold it,” he ordered, pace quickening, the wet sounds obscene in the small room. “you can take it, baby.”
your legs trembled around his shoulders, thighs taut, heels digging into his shoulders. “it’s—fuck—it’s too much—”
his gaze flicked up, steady and dark. “good. that's the point. stay with me.”
his fingers curled deep, pressing the same spot again and again, while his thumb continued its relentless motion on your clit.
“please” you gasped, chest heaving. “please, daddy, i can't—”
“yes, you can,” he snapped quietly, his rhythm never faltering. “don't you dare let go.”
your hips jerked anyway, your body betraying you. “i—i can't—oh god—”
“wait,” he said, calm as ever, while driving you harder into the desk. “you wait until i tell you.”
you shook your head, breath breaking into sobs of pleasure. “i can't hold it—”
the orgasm ripped through you before you could stop it, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your whole body clenched around his fingers.
he didn't let up, dragging every tremor out of you until you were squirming under his hold.
when he finally pulled his hand free, slick glistening down his wrist, his eyes stayed locked on yours.
he stood slowly, the height difference suddenly overwhelming as he loomed over you, your back still pressed to the desk.
your chest heaved, every nerve still buzzing, the desk cool beneath your back.
he slid a hand beneath your back and pressed firmly, coaxing you upright.
your legs wobbled as he guided you to your feet, stilettos clicking unsteadily against the floor. your body leaned into his without thinking, still weak from the force of your release.
his palm came up to your jaw, firm but not rough, tilting your face until you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. “you didn’t listen,” he said, voice even and unshaken. “you told me you’d behave. you lied.”
your throat tightened, the sting of his words hitting harder than his touch. “i’m so—sorry,” you breathed, shaky and soft. “i didn’t mean—”
he cut you off with his mouth, the kiss rough and punishing. you gasped against him, tasting yourself there; the filthy reminder making your body jolt with a mixture of shame and want.
“sorry doesn't fix it,” he said evenly. “you lied to me. and now you don't get a thing until you earn it.”
before you could reply, he spun you in his grip and bent you forwards, pressing you down against the desk until your cheek met the wood.
your skirt bunched higher at your hips, fishnets torn wide between your thighs, but his hands left you there — completely untouched.
the silence dragged, your pulse pounding loud in your ears. you shifted your hips back, searching for him. "really?" you muttered, breathless but taunting. "you're just gonna make me stand here like this?"
"that's exactly what i'm gonna do," he said, voice low at your ear. "until you remember how to be a good girl and beg properly."
your stomach twisted, heat pulsing low. you had begged before, exactly the way he liked it, and you knew that's what he was waiting for.
still, the stubbornness in you didn’t let up. “i thought you liked it when i misbehaved, daddy,” you said, words edged with a shaky laugh.
his hand pressed between your shoulder blades, firm enough to make your chest flatten against the desk. "don't play dumb. you know better."
your lip caught between your teeth, pride buckling under the ache between your legs. "please," you breathed. "please, daddy..."
"not good enough." his tone sharpened, the grip at your back unrelenting. "say it right."
you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliation and want tangling hot in your chest. "please, daddy, please fuck me. i need you—need your cock. i'll be good, i swear."
his breath ghosted over your ear, voice low and rough. “there we go, that’s more like it,” he murmured, using his foot to nudge your legs a little further apart. “good job, baby.”
you barely had time to breathe before the rasp of his zipper filled the silence.
he stepped in close, pressing the thick head of his cock against the mess between your thighs, dragging it slow along your slick folds just to hear you whimper.
“are you gonna behave now, hm?” he asked, voice still even but edged with threat. “be a good girl?”
“yes—” your answer broke into a moan as your hips rolled back without permission. “yes, daddy, please—”
his fingers dug into your hip, pinning you still. “i didn’t say you could move.”
your breath hitched, your cheek still pressed to the desk, hands clawing at the edge. “i’m sorry—”
he lined himself up at your entrance, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you down, the other still gripping your hip. “stay right here, baby.”
before you could catch your breath, he drove into you with one hard push, burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust. the sudden stretch tore a cry from your throat, the sound splintering as it left you.
“oh—my god—” the words stumbled out, raw and uneven, caught between shock and the rush of pleasure.
he gave you no time to recover, driving his hips forward in a ruthless rhythm, every thrust slamming you harder against the desk.
“daddy—fuck—too much—too—” the fragments tumbled after, broken and desperate, every syllable dragged from you in pieces.
your breath came in sharp gasps, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to adjust to the sudden intrusion.
he didn't allow you the chance to catch your breath, setting a punishing pace that had the desk creaking beneath you. “fuck, you're so tight,” he grunted, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. “you like it rough, huh?”
you could only moan in response, your body stretching to accommodate him.
every thrust sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine, your walls clenching around his thick length.
he leaned over you, hot breath ghosting over your ear. “that's it, baby. take my cock like the good girl you are.”
his words sent a shiver down your spine, your toes curling in your heels. you arched your back, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.
“please—” the word tore from your throat, high and uneven. “please, daddy—i—oh fuck,”
he pulled out slow, almost to the tip, drawing a shudder from you, then slammed back in hard enough to skid your palms across the desk.
a broken moan escaped you, catching on a sob.
“you’re going to take every inch,” he murmured, his thrusts steady and brutal, “and stay right here until you’re shaking for me. understand?”
“y-yes—” your answer cracked into another moan. “yes, daddy, i understand—”
he let out on a rough exhale, the sound laced with possession. “that’s my girl.”
he didn’t falter, every thrust deliberate, drawing you higher, winding you tighter with a rhythm that left no room to breathe.
each stroke carried an intent you couldn’t escape, knowing exactly what your body would cling to, what would push you closer and closer to the edge.
“daddy, please,” you gasped, voice breaking under the strain. “i'm so close—please, let me—”
his fingers clamped harder into your hips, his answer a rough growl. “not yet. you lost it too soon last time—this time, you hold it.”
your breath stuttered, head shaking. “i can't—i can't hold it—”
“yes, you can,” he cut in, steady and unrelenting. “be good for me. prove that you know how listen, and maybe i’ll let you come.”
a helpless whine tumbled out from your lips, your whole body trembling, trying to hold back the unrelenting pressure of pleasure.
“that's it,” his voice rasped, rough but laced with praise. “you can do it, my girl.”
his rhythm faltered, breath catching, every word strained with control.
“now,” he growled, sharp and final. “now you can—come for me, baby.”
you broke with a cry, nails scraping the desk as your legs gave out slightly beneath you.
his groan followed, low and guttural against your back, his grip holding you firm as he drove through the last waves of his release, leaving nothing but the sound of the two of you unraveling together.
for a long moment, neither of you moved. the bass from the party was still thudding through the floorboards, but it was too faint to belong to the world you were in now.
he pulled out of you with a rough exhale, causing you to hiss at the sudden loss; your body still raw from the intensity of it all.
his hand moved quickly, tugging your underwear back into place, the torn fishnets stretched clumsily over the evidence he’d left behind.
it wasn’t a careful gesture, but more like a claim; a quiet way of keeping you his, even in the smallest details.
he let you go just long enough to yank his pants back into place, the harsh scrape of the zipper cutting through the muffled bass that rattled up from downstairs.
before you could move, his hand was on you again, gripping tightly at your hip like he had no intention of letting you go twice.
“we’re leaving. now.” he said, each word bitten off like he could barely hold them back.
you blinked, still bent against the desk, a laugh bubbling out of you, light and mocking. “leaving? we’ve been up here, what—twenty minutes? the boys are gonna wonder why hugh hefner disappeared with his bunny so fast.”
“let them wonder. i don’t give a fuck.” his words came fast, urgent, like he couldn’t get them out quick enough. “i can’t stand another second of this party, not with you like this. i need you out of here. with me.”
you pushed yourself upright on unsteady legs, turning to face him, your body swaying until you were pressed flush against his, the air between you gone before you even realized it.
“what if i say i want to go back downstairs? grab a drink, dance a little?” you teased, testing just how far you could push him when he was already strung so tight.
“always running that mouth,” he muttered, his breath brushing yours, eyes burning into you as he shakes his head. “trouble. you’re nothing but trouble.”
the laugh slipped out of you instantly, soft and breathless against his lips, your smirk curling as you tipped your chin higher. “mm, but you can’t get enough of it, can you, daddy?” you murmured, daring him to deny it.
his grip tightened, dragging you even closer, your chest pressed hard against his. his reply came fast, every syllable pronounced like he was hanging on by a thread. “you’re right—i can’t. that’s why we’re leaving.”
you opened your mouth to argue, or maybe to make another smart comment, but paused when he took a single step back.
without a word, his hands moved to the collar of his robe, sliding it from his shoulders in one slow, practiced motion.
“ji,” you started, confused, “what are you—”
he stepped in close again, though something in him had shifted.
the intensity that had driven every touch just minutes ago had softened; melted into something quieter, like the hush that follows a storm.
he reached for you without a word, settling the silk robe over your shoulders with a touch so careful it made your chest ache. his fingers ghosted along your collarbone as he adjusted it, smoothing the fabric down like he never wanted to let you go.
“covering you up,” he murmured like it was obvious. “your skirt’s riding up, and your tights are…” he let the sentence trail off with a breath. “yeah.”
you laughed, shaking your head at the memory of him aggressively ripping them a few moments ago. “and whose fault is that?”
his eyes met yours, something softer flickering behind the usual fire. “mine,” he said simply. “that’s why i’m fixing it.”
the robe was warm from his body, smooth against your skin, smelling faintly like cologne and something expensive you couldn’t quite name.
it settled heavily over your shoulders; not in weight, but in meaning.
you turned around, the fabric shifting with you, and spotted something of yours that was left on the floor earlier.
your bunny ears.
you walked towards the door and picked them up, turning back to him with a grin. “since i’m taking your clothes,” you said lightly, holding the ears up between you, “it’s only fair.”
before he could protest, you reached up and placed them on his head, adjusting them with exaggerated care.
he blinked at you, bunny ears crooked on his head, looking both ridiculous and completely unbothered.
“seriously?” he asked under his breath, shaking his head with the faintest smile.
you smiled, leaning up without thinking to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. “you love it,” you whispered, just close enough for him to hear.
his grin came boyish and lopsided, like he knew you were right and had no intention of pretending otherwise.
his hand found yours a moment later, fingers lacing tight with a grip that carried more urgency than words ever could.
“let’s go,” he said, already tugging you towards the door.
you followed, stepping over the mess he’d made; seunghyun’s monitor flat on its face, the mic stand snapped clean in half, the mix table halfway under the desk.
“you’re telling him about this,” you said, eyes sweeping the wreckage.
jiyong barely looked back. “he likes you more.”
you gave his hand a squeeze, shooting him a look. “that’s not how this works.”
“sure it is,” he grinned, tugging you along. “i cause the damage, you soften the blow. it’s a team effort.”
you were both laughing by the time you hit the hallway, hand in hand, trying not to trip over each other or the sheer chaos that the two of you had left behind.
the closer you got to the stairs, the louder the party became; bass thudding through the walls, voices bubbling up the stairwell, laughter spilling over the music.
you were almost halfway down when the three of them came into view.
seunghyun, youngbae, and daesung stood clustered at the bottom landing, drinks in hand, mid-conversation. their heads turned at the sound of footsteps, and all three sets of eyes landed on you instantly.
youngbae blinked first. “wait—what are you wearing?”
“is that his robe?” daesung tilted his head.
“why are you wearing her bunny ears?” seunghyun asked, genuine confusion laced in his voice.
jiyong didn’t even pause. “she gave them to me.”
the three of them froze, eyes flicking between you and jiyong like they were piecing together a puzzle they weren’t sure they wanted solved.
seunghyun seemed to be the one who connected the dots first, his gaze narrowing, cutting straight through the two of you.
“you better not have fucked in my bed,” he said flatly.
you didn’t even blink. “we didn’t,” you said, voice light with innocence.
for a moment, it almost worked. seunghyun’s shoulders loosened. youngbae raised a brow. daesung looked like he might believe you.
“but,” you added, like it was an afterthought, “he does sort of owe you a new studio.”
seunghyun’s voice went flat. “my studio. what the hell happened to it?”
“nothing happened,” jiyong said quickly, his hand tightening around yours as he started nudging you towards the door. “absolutely nothing. we’re leaving.”
“leaving?!” daesung shouted, stepping slightly in front of you. “you just got here.”
“you’re not even drunk yet!” youngbae added, almost offended.
“i made you a drink,” seunghyun said, holding out the glass like a peace offering. “a good one.”
you took it from his hand without missing a beat. “perfect. for the road.”
jiyong looked like he was about to combust. “baby—please.”
you grinned at the boys as you backed towards the door. “love you all. invest in locks for your doors, oppa. they would have saved you a lot of money tonight.”
“what did you do—” seunghyun shouted, but jiyong had already dragged you outside before you could answer.
the car door had barely shut behind you before he exhaled hard, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
you turned towards him, the buzz of chaos behind you replaced by something softer. “you okay?”
he didn’t answer right away. his eyes stayed fixed on the dark stretch of driveway ahead, the crooked bunny ears still clinging to his head like some sad attempt at comedy.
you reached across the middle console, fingers brushing his temple as you straightened them. “you look ridiculous.”
he let out a small breath, barely more than a sigh.“you look better in that robe than i ever did.”
the words came quiet, almost offhanded, but something in his tone made you pause. there was no teasing behind it; just honesty, laid bare.
your hand lingered near his face before falling to your lap, fingers curling slightly.
the shift in energy was subtle, but it settled heavy between you. whatever rush you'd both been riding earlier had finally begun to settle into something slower. something real.
you caught the way his jaw moved, slow and tense, like he was chewing on something he didn’t know how to say.
“what’s going on in that head of yours?” you asked gently.
he exhaled again, slower this time. “i just keep thinking about that night.”
you stayed quiet, allowing him the space to open up.
“the night of the concert,” he clarified. “when you left.”
your stomach turned. not from guilt, but from the way his voice shifted; like it physically pained him to think about it.
“you ignored every call. every text.” his eyes stayed on the driveway, unfocused. “i kept checking the side curtain like an idiot. like maybe you’d just walk back in.”
you swallowed, heart thudding against your ribs.
“i was supposed to be working. performing. everyone was screaming my name, and all i could do…” his hand lifted like it might explain something, but dropped again. “all i could do was stare at the empty spot where you should’ve been standing.”
you turned a little more towards him, silk pooling at your elbows, the scent of his cologne rising with the shift.
he still wouldn’t look at you.
“i don’t ever want to feel that again,” he said, his voice so low it barely reached you. “not the silence. not the distance. not you walking away like that. it felt like i lost the other half of me.”
his hand flexed where it rested near the gearshift, fingers twitching like they still remembered reaching for nothing. “i don’t care who’s watching, or what it looks like from the outside, or how messy it gets. i don’t care anymore. i just can’t lose you like that again, y/n.”
your chest ached in the quiet that followed. his words didn’t feel rehearsed; they felt scraped out from somewhere deeper.
honest. tired. a little scared.
you reached for him again, your fingers brushing his before lifting up to his face, coaxing him to look at you.
“you didn’t lose me,” you said gently. “not that night. not ever. i was mad, yeah. a little hurt too.”
his eyes stayed fixed on yours, searching for something in your expression.
“when you were outside my door that night,” you said evenly, almost like you’d been waiting to get the words out, “i heard you. every word. the knocking. the way you kept saying my name.”
you squeezed his hand, your thumb tracing slow over his skin. “i slept on the floor,” you admitted, “right up against the door—because it was the closest i could be to you without actually opening it.”
his gaze lingered on you for a moment, before a quiet laugh escaped him. “you’re so damn stubborn,” he said, shaking his head, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him.
the sound loosened something in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile. “maybe. but you stayed out there too.”
“of course i did,” the words came sure, without a flicker of doubt.
his thumb kept moving over your knuckles, slow and absent, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started.
“i’m done pretending,” he said quietly, the words steady but stripped bare. “done acting like you’re not the best thing in my life. i don’t want pieces of this anymore. i want the real thing. mornings. nights. shows. silence. all of it.”
your chest pulled tight at the certainty in his tone, a slow ache rising under your ribs. “so what does that mean for us?” you asked, your voice barely above a breath.
he didn’t waver. not even for a second. “it means i want everything,” he said. “whatever it takes. however messy it gets. i just want you.”
you leaned in until your forehead touched his, your breath mixing with his in the small space between you.
the bunny ears on his head brushed against your hair, ridiculous and perfect all at once, like a quiet promise neither of you needed to name.
“good,” you whispered, a smile curling at the edge of your lips. “because you’ve got me.”
he raised your hand slowly, brushing his mouth over your knuckles with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
your smile tugged softly at first, but it shifted as you leaned back into your seat, mischief sneaking into your voice. “now drive, g-daddy,” you said, biting back a grin. “round two’s not gonna start itself.”
summary: Your youngest daughter finally follows in her sister's footsteps as a troublemaker - terrifying you and your husband in the process
A/N: she's backkkkkk - revived by a night in paris with the hubby and wifey!! i'll probably share some content from the concert but my heart was longing for some gdad. so please enjoy xx
“What about this one?”
You turned, running a hand over the silk fabric as it rippled against your body.
“Hmm,” Jiyong tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you wearing any underwear?”
He was sprawled across the bed, hands folded behind his head, eyes fixed entirely on you. His phone buzzed against his stomach, screen lighting up over and over, but he hadn’t checked it once since you’d stepped out of the wardrobe in a bra begging for his help.
Which you were coming to realise wasn’t very helpful.
Your husband was renowned for his impeccable fashion choices, a trendsetter even when he’d show up to the school run in a dressing gown.
But he was easily distracted.
And when it came to you dashing around your bedroom in tight skirts or sheer dresses, he’d been unable to focus on the task at hand.
You scoffed and threw your hands down. “Ji, this is the one time I’m asking you for your brutal fashion criticism. Be mean. Tell me it looks bad.”
“But I can’t!” he laughed, springing his arms wide, “Jagi, I can’t help if you look good in everything.”
You shot him a scowl and stalked back into the wardrobe. “Go back to doomscrolling on Instagram.”
His chuckle followed you as you stared miserably at the rows of clothes. You’d been asked to perform for a charity show and it would be the first time you were appearing on stage since having Angel. The pressure of picking the right outfit pressed on you harder than the silk straps digging into your shoulders.
As your thoughts turned to your children you paused, ears tuning into the quiet atmosphere around you.
It was too quiet.
They’d left you and Jiyong alone for too long.
Diva was definitely up to something.
Right on cue a loud clang echoed down the hall and your shoulders dropped from their tense position.
Ah, there it was.
You could hear Jiyong and Diva talking, their voices growing louder as they appeared behind you. He was holding Diva under the arms like a misbehaving kitten, depositing her in the entrance to your wardrobe.
“Stay with Eomma,” he warned her with a pointed brow before looking up at you. “I’ve just got to clean something up... Oh, try that one on, Jagi!” He pointed at a hanging dress before fleeing.
You stared at Diva and she stared right back at you.
“So what’d you do then?” You finally asked with a sigh, pulling the dress from the hanger as you turned to face her.
She held onto the door handle, swinging back and forth as she puffed out her cheeks. “Nothing!” She huffed, jamming her fingers into the little keyhole. “It were Jemi.” She said with a mumble, as if the front of her top wasn’t covered with water.
You knew for a fact it wasn’t her sister - who was sleeping peacefully in her crib. But it was Diva’s new go-to-answer.
Who climbed the counter and ate all the cookies? Jemi.
Who tore all the houseplants out of their pots? Jemi.
And now, her current mission was filling the cat's water bowl herself. Even though you and Jiyong always asked her to wait for one of you to help her.
It seemed like her task was unsuccessful by the way she looked drenched in most of it.
“Jemi barely crawls yet, sweetheart.” You reminded her. “You’ll have to go back to blaming Zoa and Iye for now.”
She stopped swinging and threw her hand out. “But she’s walking!”
“Walking?” Your eyes widened. If she was walking you’d definitely know about it.
Jiyong got the chubby baby up every morning and put her on the living room carpet, trying to coax her into moving with trails of baby snacks and promises of teething toys.
She seemed content to just sit there and wait until he caved.
After all, why would she bother moving if he always carried her around anyway?
His favourite fashion accessory was a ridiculously expensive custom Chanel baby carrier. If those two were leaving the house, Angel was somewhere comfortably tucked beneath chiffon black and white bows.
Diva gave up her defense and wandered over to a pair of trousers hanging by the door, tugging at the string of diamonds stitched into the waist.
“Pretty,”
You softened, pulling them free. “I forgot I even had these…” you pressed the fabric to your leg, memories flooding back of Jiyong surprising you with a custom pair to wear on stage.
Of course, he had a matching set.
“Hmm,” you tilted your head and then looked at your daughter. “You know, maybe I should start taking your fashion advice over Appa’s.”
“I know!” She nodded with a grin and the two of you giggled.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
“Come on,” Jiyong cooed, crouched low with Angel balanced between his palms. “Just one step for Appa.”
From your seat in front of the mirror, you caught the scene over your stylist’s shoulder. She tugged your head this way and that, pins clinking into place, but it was impossible not to be entertained.
“She’s not going to,” you sang lightly as Angel drew her feet up again like the floor was lava. Or, more likely, just a lot colder than her father’s arms.
“Put your feet down,” he tutted gently. She kept her pink-socked toes hovering stubbornly above the ground. “Aish, you just want to be held all the time, don’t you?”
He scooped her back against his chest with a resigned little sigh, settling into the sofa and rubbing her back. You knew he loved it, though. The way his hand fussed with fixing her collar gave him away.
“Why the sudden rush to have her walking?” you asked, wincing when your hair was yanked a little too tight.
“I have plans,” he murmured in response.
“What plans?”
“Nothing!”
He gave you a cheery smile in the mirror and you narrowed your eyes but let it go as Diva made her presence known, coming to stand beside you in the make up chair.
“When were I walking Eomma?”
She was pulling on the string of diamonds hanging from your belt again, twisting it and watching as they caught in the light.
“Oh gosh,” You laughed as you thought about when your eldest first found her footing. “You were up and running by nine months old. Appa and I couldn’t keep up with you.”
Diva grinned, clearly impressed with herself. “I were very fast.”
“Yes,” You and Jiyong answered at the same time, sharing a smile.
Although Angel was over a year old now, she’d get there eventually. Every baby was different.
The paediatrician called her simply “lazy” and your husband had bristled at the word, immediately rebranding her as “pampered”.
An assistant poked her head in to call you to the stage and you exhaled loudly. You squeezed Diva tightly, muting her protests with kisses before descending upon Jiyong and Angel.
“One more, one more,” Jiyong muttered, lips puckered and you obliged, giving him one last kiss before heading towards the door.
“Be good for Appa!” You called behind your back as you were ushered out.
“We love you!”
Jiyong then sighed and leaned back looking at Diva. She eyed the door you had just left through.
“Don’t even think about it.” he warned, “I still have your little harness bag. Don’t make me use it, Princess.”
“No!” She stomped dramatically at the light threat, running to hide behind a chair. She knew she should have cut the straps to that damn thing the last time she had her craft scissors.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
Despite keeping his two girls confined to your dressing room, Jiyong was finding it very hard to maintain his title of fun Appa, devoted husband, and famous idol.
His eyes flitted between the tv currently screening the performance, the baby laid out on the playmat, and Diva who kept lingering too close to the exit. It was like a revolving door, assistants and staff running in and out, grabbing and moving things, he was so close to just locking it and telling everyone else to just fuck off.
He wanted to watch you.
And god he was exhausted.
Jiyong had been known to sleep walk when he was anxious and with his tour ongoing, the two of you were waking periodically throughout the early hours of the morning to find Angel somehow wedged between you or on Diva’s carpet, fast asleep.
It was stressing him out to no end, worried about her safety but you reminded him she didn’t exactly move yet.
Although, the moment she did choose to finally start moving on her own, he’d have to strap himself to the bed to stop his unconscious Appa brain from picking her up in his sleep.
“No I can’t do that date,” he muttered into his phone, eyes glued to the monitor. “Mhm. Paris would be good. We like Paris,”
The girls were playing together behind him, his eyes turning back every so often to check on them.
Just then the door burst open and he jolted, spinning as a flash of light blinded him. A small gaggle of paparazzi descended, snapping all the photos they could as he shoved them out, throwing his arm up to shield their view from his girls.
“Hey!” He yelled at them, phone dropped to his side as he pushed their cameras back.
Fury burned through the exhaustion.
“Don’t you have any respect? Get the fuck away from my family!”
They backed off when he yelled for security and he watched them flee down the corridor with a scoff. He lifted his phone back to his ear.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine,” he muttered into the receiver at last, voice flat as he turned back toward the dressing room. “Let’s just make sure to increase security. I want at least two per family member.”
He slammed the door behind him, clicking the lock shut with a sigh and then looked to Diva who was on the floor, head down as she counted to herself.
Jiyong stared.
The phone fell to the floor.
“Where’s Jemi?”
Diva glanced up, wide-eyed, and gave the tiniest shrug.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
You returned to chaos.
Security swarmed your dressing room, walkie-talkies blaring, men and women darting in every direction.
And in the middle of it all - your husband sat on the sofa, crying. His arms locked around Diva like if he loosened his grip even slightly, she’d vanish too.
“It’s ok,” you whispered, crouching in front of him, clutching his knee.
“It’s not though, is it?” His voice cracked, muffled against Diva’s hair. “It’s my fault. You’re going to leave me, and then Jia will hate me and I’ll be some sad, lonely drunk... I just want my cuddly baby back.”
The words broke into a fresh round of sobs, and your lips trembled as you stared at him.
You wanted her back too.
The moment you’d come off stage, you’d been met with pale, anxious faces. You’d run, furious, through the halls as they locked down the venue. But when you saw your husband like this - crumpled and broken, clinging to your daughter - you knew blame could wait.
Right now, you had to hold each other up.
“We’ll find her,” You croaked, “She can’t have gone far,”
He lifted his head, eyes red, nose raw. “She can’t even crawl yet, Y/n.”
You shared a teary glance.
You knew what he was implying. The fact that no one had found her yet, even if it had only been mere moments.
Someone might have taken her.
There was no way she could have escaped that far by tummy shuffling.
His words made you choke on a sob and you stood, climbing forward and onto his other knee. His arm immediately wrapped around you as you silently cried into his neck, you didn’t want Diva to see her parents like this.
“You’re crying, Eomma,” Diva mumbled with a little frown and Jiyong drew her closer, hand cradling her head to his chest as he held both of you. “It were just a game,” She said, cheeks squished.
“A game?” You sniffed, wiping your face as you looked at her more clearly.
Diva nodded, trying to pull away from her father but he had a strong grip. “Hide and seek.”
You inhaled sharply, “W-what?” You sat straighter and gently grasped her hands in yours. “Jia, sweetheart, what do you mean? Where’s your sister?”
“I not found her yet! Appa grabbed me first. And she's kinda fast too…” Diva huffed, looking to the side with a pout.
“Baby, she can’t - ” Jiyong was shaking his head but you were already pulling out of his embrace, lifting Diva and setting her on her feet.
“Can you find her for me? Which way did she go?” You asked, kneeling in front of her, eyes wide with hope.
“That’s cheating Eomma. I have to find her.”
“Jia, Jia,” You smoothed down her hair. “Appa will buy you whatever you want. Show us which way she went.”
Diva smiled and then pointed to a vent on the wall. You stared at it in disbelief.
Are you kidding me?
Those Kwon genes really were dangerous.
Jiyong leaped to his feet, crashing to his knees in front of the metal grate. With the strength of a desperate father, he tore the thing straight from the wall, not bothering with unlatching it.
“Jiyong!” You snapped. “You can’t just go in there. You might make it collapse.”
“Our baby could be in there, Y/n!” He shot back, already crawling inside on his hands and knees.
“I’ll go,” Diva volunteered, tugging on your pants.
“Absolutely not.” You snatched her hand. “You’re glued to me.”
She sighed but didn’t resist.
Jiyong hadn’t gone far when he froze with a gasp.
Your heart plummeted. “W-what?!”
Then his voice softened into an awed coo. “My baby…look at you!”
“She’s in there?!” You ducked down, trying to see, but all you caught was the view of his generous backside in tight Levi jeans.
“She’s standing!” he laughed. “Oh, she’s walking! That’s it, come to Appa, Princess.”
“She’s walking? Move your big head!” you snapped, but he was already shuffling backwards.
You retreated, dragging Diva with you as he emerged. With a grunt, he toppled back onto the floor - and Angel stumbled out, tiny legs wobbly, before collapsing into his lap.
You surged forward, wrapping your arms around them both, Diva still tethered to your hand.
Angel was giggling as you peppered her with a thousand kisses, her Appa doing the same on the other side of her face.
Then a little throat cleared.
You glanced at Diva, who planted her palm on Jiyong’s shoulder with a solemn expression. “So… can I have a pony now?”
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
“I can’t believe we’re allowing this,” you sighed, thumbing through endless photos of horses on your phone.
Beside you in bed, Jiyong only nodded, eyes glued to the baby monitor balanced on his lap. Hours had passed since Angel’s dramatic escape, but he hadn’t let her out of his sight since.
He’d wanted her in the bed with you two but you reminded him she was safer tucked between her four wooden bars.
“Where are we even going to keep it?”
“The garden,” he shrugged, running a finger over his lip as he watched the monitor. Angel was lying down, occasionally kicking her blanket as she soothed herself to sleep. “I’ll have a stable built.”
You rolled your eyes.
As if Diva couldn’t be more of a Princess - she already had a real diamond tiara.
And now she was getting a horse.
“God, they’re so spoiled,” you muttered, saving a picture of a Shetland pony anyway.
“Yep,” Jiyong said proudly. “They’re my girls.” Then he looked over, smirk tugging his lips, and swept an arm around you, pulling you onto his chest. “You’re my girl too. Anything you want while I’m feeling sentimental and generous?”
“A vacation,” you mumbled into his shoulder, feeling your feet ache from hours in heels. “Somewhere with snow so they can’t run away from us.”
It still felt surreal - Angel was walking now.
Maybe she had been for a while.
Maybe Diva hadn’t been lying all those times she’d blamed her…
You felt his grin against your skin as he kissed your cheek, lingering. “Hmm. Not a bad idea. You’re clingier when you’re cold. And I can think of a few ways to keep you warm…”
His lips slid down your jaw to your neck. Your eyelids drooped, ready to melt, when something on the monitor made you bolt upright.
“Oh my god.”
“Jagi, I know I’m good, but I’ve barely touched you yet,” he teased, trying to pull you back down.
“Not you,” you hissed, snatching the monitor from his lap.
He shot upright. “What? What is it?”
The two of you watched a little figure storm into Angel’s room, the door flying open at her arrival. Diva came thundering through, dragging her enormous pink beanbag behind her, parking it right in front of the crib.
Angel seemed to be expecting this, slowly climbing to her feet and holding the bars for support.
You then watched with wide eyes as Diva launched herself over the side of the cot, landing ungracefully beside her sister.
“Is she - “ Jiyong cut himself off when he witnessed his eldest daughter grab her baby sister, heaving her up and out of the crib, dropping her straight onto the soft landing.
She soon followed with a roll and flop, and then the girls ran out of the room together.
You slowly turned your head towards Jiyong in disbelief. “So that’s how she’s been getting out…”
“Hmm.” He pressed his lips together, failing to hide a smile. “So it wasn’t me, then.”
“I guess not.”
He collapsed against the headboard, covering his mouth to muffle a giggle. You bit your lip, torn between disapproval and awe.
“Do we… tell them off?” he asked, listening to the faint thunder of little feet down the hallway.
“They’re probably going to play in Jia’s room.” You exhaled, checking the time on your phone. “...We’ll give them twenty minutes.”
“We’re good parents,” he said with a short nod, flicking the monitor off.
“Oh the best.”
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
the blue hair is just too good. i couldn't stay away. i have a few more posts planned and in the works!! i've missed you all. im sorry for being away for so long :((
this series is purely ridiculous, self-indulgent, chaos but i hope my delusions can make someone else smile <3
order 25 of moonqz record store a special - plus a regular request! !! thank you mls💫
pairing : kwon jiyong x fem!italian!reader (anyone can read)
genre : fluff, intimate, eventual smut (MDNI)
description : when you find out you’re in the same hotel as your idol, and the reason you were in Paris, you’re unsure to react, especially when the following night he takes you home from his concert, spending the night with you. what you find out a couple weeks later, of innocent talking, being without labels, makes everything a lot more difficult.
warnings / contents : fan-idol w benefits, eventual pregnancy, reader has a slight italian accent, eventual smut (unprotected sex, piv, soft praise, aftercare)
so i combined 3 different requests for this because they were similar so i hope you enjoy !! 🤍 and in honour of gd’s concert in paris i brought the requests forward slightly !! (im so envious, i cried the whole night </3) this is lowkey giving 2015 fanfic core, and IM SO SORRY for the inactivity the past few days :(
masterlist | taglist form
You originally came to Paris for your idols concert, the hotel lobby feeling too large, too empty on a restless night, full of anticipation and jet lag twining together.
The receptionist was half asleep behind the desk, leaving you alone with the soft hum of the vending machine and one of many couches you had allowed yourself to sit on.
The hotel was a nice one, not too over the top, but fancy enough for you to feel slightly out of place amongst the tall ceilings and artistic surroundings you weren’t quite used to.
Your outfit for the following night was hung up, idle, having being prepared maybe months before the concert.
He sauntered in half an hour later, outfit too fashionable for a middle of the night escapade, freshly dyed hair tucked under a cap.
His presence was guarded despite the fact that the overall scene of the hotel lobby was quiet, secluded.
You didn’t look at him at first, assuming it was just another random person hoping to get away from the overly cramped hotel rooms.
But an undeniable stillness in the air, a quiet gravity, pulled your eyes from the pages of your magazine.
Jiyong was there. Not on a screen, not a poster, not a figment of your imagination, but a person sitting just a few feet away, the sudden, stark reality of his presence hitting you like a tidal wave.
It felt impossible. The world around you seemed to mute, the sounds of the lobby fading into a distant hum.
All that existed was the space between you and him. You watched the subtle movements of his hands as he scrolled, the slight furrow in his brow as he focused on his phone, the way the light from the lamp caught the newly dyed strands of his hair.
It was a moment you had dreamed of, fantasized about, but now that it was real, it was terrifying.
A thousand conflicting emotions rushed through you. A desperate, almost painful joy to be so close, a feeling of disbelief that this was happening, and an overwhelming sense of inadequacy.
You were just another person in a hotel lobby. To him, you were nothing. To you, he was everything.
The weight of that settled heavy in your chest, a suffocating silence in a room filled with noise.
You wanted to cry, to scream, to laugh, to run away. Instead, you just sat there, frozen, a witness to your own heartbreak and wonder.
How were you meant to approach this? Considering it was late at night you could only guess that he wanted fresh air, or jet lag, not something that screamed ‘give me attention’.
You knew you’d regret it for the rest of your life if you chose to ignore his prevented. But then also, how could you just invade his space like this?
Your head turned back down to your phone, unsure of what to even do with yourself now that he was just a couple movements away from you.
Jiyong sat oblivious to the turmoil going on inside your head, or just blatantly ignoring it,
Suddenly, he stood and walked towards the lobby's small coffee bar. Your heart hammered against your ribs.
As he waited for his order, he glanced over, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, startling second.
He offered a small, polite smile before turning back, more like a moment in passing than anything.
You felt nervousness creep up your neck, but a voice in your head urged you to be normal, not a crazed fan whilst the man was simply trying to get a drink.
As he walked back with his coffee, he stopped at your couch, making your heart that was just beginning to settle slightly, leap back into your throat.
“Mind if I sit here?" he asked, his voice softer and deeper than you had imagined, charged with jet lag and a will to just exist for one.
It wasn’t a question you were meant to refuse, more like a polite formality.
You shook your head, unable to form words, your throat contracting at the sight of him in person.
Jiyong sat down, a comfortable distance away, the silence stretching between you for a little bit.
“are you looking forward to the concert?” he asked you after a few moments, and all you could think about was that he was talking to you.
But then also, did he just assume that everyone in Paris was going to his concert?
The thought, ridiculous and completely human, brought a small, private smile to your lips.
It was a good thing to remember, that he wasn't just a perfect idol on a stage, but a person who might have a moment of quiet arrogance.
“how do you know I’m going to the concert?” you questioned lightly, the slightest bit of an accent coming through your words.
Jiyong smiled, a genuine politeness, adjusting his hat, “you’re wearing the wristband” he pointed out, leaving you wanting to melt into the floor at the sound of his voice.
You had forgotten you were wearing it. You wanted to sink back into your chair at the sound of his voice and the casual way he had just dismantled your attempt at sounding nonchalant.
A blush crept up your neck, and you instinctively tugged on the sleeve of your sweatshirt to cover the neon fabric.
He didn't seem to notice your flustered state, his attention already shifting, he continued, leaning forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with a genuine interest that made your breath catch, "is this your first time seeing me live?"
“what, as in right now, or the concert?” you shoot back quickly, a hint of a grin tugging at your lips both from the moment and the fact you were convinced you were gonna wake up any moment now and it all be fake.
He huffed a small laugh, “the concert” he voiced, leaning back into his seat, the dark blue strands you weren’t expecting to see, peaking through the hat.
Your composure faltered slightly hearing his laugh in real time, directed at you, “yeah it is then” you speak, trying to contain the shakiness within your voice.
Jiyong looked at you then with a puzzled expression, making a sudden fear rush through your body, “what?”
“the accent” he told you, more like a question, and you almost sighed in relief, leaning back into your own chair, mirroring his previous action,
“what about it?” you asked softly, confused as to why he was looking at you like he was trying to figure you out, his sight on you making you feel insecure and strangely happy that he even noticed you.
“are you Italian?” he voiced finally, and you caught yourself grinning back slightly at his gummy smile, with a small, apprehensive nod of your head.
"That’s a long way to travel” he added lightly, his voice tinged with a note of genuine admiration, “I'm honored."
"It's worth it" you commented, your voice gaining a little more confidence as you looked at him properly, body in almost aftershock.
“What’s your name?” The G-Dragon was asking you your name and you could only hand him back splattered, nervous syllables.
The awkwardness was slowly melting away, replaced by a surreal, quiet comfort that you used to get through your headphone speakers.
You had been a fan for so long, and yet, sitting here, you realized you were just having a conversation with a person.
A famous person, yes, one who basically had a mini shrine in your room, but a person nonetheless.
"What's your favorite part of the city so far?" he asked, shifting in his seat. It was a simple question, but it felt loaded with meaning, as if he was genuinely curious about the experiences of someone who had traveled so far to see him.
“i haven’t really had time to see much yet” you spoke, stammering over your words slightly, gesturing vaguely around the pristine hotel lobby, “So, this is the most exciting thing I've seen so far."
You immediately regretted the words. It sounded so cheesy. You braced yourself for a polite, practiced laugh, the kind he probably gave to thousands of fans. But instead, a genuine, warm smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes.
His grin lingered, softer than you had expected, not the rehearsal charm of a stage persona, but something unguarded, almost boyish.
“That’s cute” he commented finally, his voice somewhat quieter now, as if the walls of the lobby didn’t need to hear it.
Nerves buzzed in your chest, “not exactly the view i get every day from home” you voiced about the fact that he was sitting next to you, somehow having shifted a little closer to you than before, without you or him realising it.
There was a beat of silence, not an uncomfortable one, just a thought out one, “me neither” he added on, and suddenly the weight of the situation was pressing down onto every fibre of your body.
It was almost disarming, how direct he was, like he hadn’t learnt the art of polite distraction.
“Am i really the most exciting thing you’ve seen in Paris so far?” The words should’ve counted for cockiness, but his lazy grin made it impossible to take it in a bad light.
“I didn’t mean it like that-“ you sputtered out defensively, a hint of a playful something tugging at your own lips.
“Mm” he interrupted, tilting his head, pretending to think it over in that natural, Jiyong way that he does, “but that’s what you said”
Jiyong finished, his words mulling over in the air as teasing, something you did not expect, although who could expect their idol to be under the same roof as them as pure coincidence.
“You’re impossible” you speak, face heating as you covered it with your hands before you could stop yourself.
When you finally peeked at him, he was watching, smile gentler as he chuckled, like this was more fun than the tour he had been on, “you blush really easily”
It was just an observation, but the words, as simple as they are, landed with a apsara and a pit left in your stomach, “you can’t just say things like that”
“Why not? I like seeing what makes people react” he voiced like it was obvious, his tone quiet but edged with something you couldn’t placed, curiosity threading through his words.
You couldn’t hold his gaze for long, it was too steady, too much, like he could see through every layer and fan girl energy you tried to mask, desperately, as to not freak him out.
Jiyong glanced at his buzzing phone before turning back to you, and you already knew this moment was going to end whether you liked it or not,
“I’ll see you at the concert tomorrow?” He asked you, putting his phone back into his pocket, as if he was going to notice you tomorrow in the midst of thousands of fans.
You nodded, unsure of whether you should be relieved that he was going or not, mainly because you were certain that you were gonna combust if he smiled at you like that again.
“Thank you” he murmured sultry before he left back through to the elevator doors, the penthouse floor you assumed he was on, being clicked on the buttons.
You weren’t sure what he was thanking you for, you should be thanking him, for breathing in the same vicinity as you, let alone holding a conversation, which you were ninety nine percent sure you looked like an idiot the whole time.
Jiyong’s pent house hotel room was too quiet, Paris glittered outside of his window, but all he could think about was your voice and how you looked at him in the lobby.
You were wide eyed at first, flustered to the point you were stammering out sentences but more genuine in a way he didn’t see often anymore.
You didn’t scream at him or even ask for a photo or autograph or anything, which whilst he appreciated his fans, it was a relief to see someone who was more than content with just talking to him.
He tossed his phone between his hands, mindlessly, debating with himself before finally deciding to dial the number.
“Hyung?” A voice spoke, one of his closer staff members, voice tired but clearly not having been asleep, it seemed like the whole team was suffering from the jet lag of the trip, “everything okay?
“Yeah, fine” Jiyong hesitated, phone limp in his hands as he sat back against the headboard of the overly elegant bed frame before he continued,
“listen, do you think you could find someone on the guest list for tomorrow?” he pondered, eyes over the television screen although it wasn’t even on.
The man over the line hummed lightly for a moment, “is it a friend or something? what’s their name hyung?”
Jiyong ignored the first question before he answered shortly, “y/n” he voiced, and he could hear the man over the phone tapping away at something before he paused,
“Hyung..do you not have a last name?” he spoke, and Jiyong cursed mentally, shaking his head for a moment although the man couldn’t see him,
“no. can you just see what you find?” Jiyong asked, eyes fluttering shut out of tiredness but no willingness to sleep.
The man on the line spoke, “i’ll see what can do” making Jiyong thank him swiftly before the call cut dead, leaving him with the small sound if the hotel mini fridge and a small downpour outside the hotel room.
Jiyong dwelled on this, it could be the most stupid decision of his life trying to see a fan.
But as cliche as it sounded, you seemed genuine, not scrounging for clout or a picture, just a soothing, although nervous, presence.
He text back a couple minutes later, as the clock on the wall ticked to three am, ‘Hyung, I can’t find much without a last name, I’m sorry’
Jiyong sighed lightly, having expected it, although surely it couldn’t be that hard to find her himself?
They were in the same hotel, she was going to his concert.
He couldn’t ignore the tight feeling in his chest that night, anticipating the show tomorrow.
Although, his thoughts were never about the concert.
You left the concert the next night with a heavy heart, confetti under your shoes, tears cried into your skin and a phone with no storage left.
And yet, even in that stadium, where your throat was raw from screaming, you couldn’t deny the fact that you had convinced yourself that the other night didn’t happen.
Now you stood outside the venue, clusters of fans surrounding you, similar to how they were previously inside the building.
Except now everyone was just desperate to go home, rest achy feet and go through their now full camera er roll.
Red taillights blurred against the dark, drivers and security overwhelmed yet strangely collected amidst the range of fans.
You hugged your jacket tighter around yourself, until a deep voice, a shadow fell over you, “excuse me”
You looked up, not at another fan this time, but one of the men you saw near the stage earlier that night.
Slightly startled you smiled lightly in response before he continued, “I hope I’m not alarming you, but Jiyong ssi asked if you’d come with me”
Your mouth went dry confused, eyeing the daisies that subtly littered his uniform, clearly GD’s doing.
“If you’d be comfortable, we have a car waiting” the mans polite yet professional exterior made you nod, speechless yet also every fibre of your being on edge.
And before you could second guess yourself, your legs carried you forward, behind the man who wore Jiyong’s brand like it was something sacred.
The sleek black car idled just ahead. The guard opened the door for you, and when you glanced inside, your breath caught.
Jiyong. He sat in the backseat, cap pulled low, but his eyes lifted the instant you appeared.
For a heartbeat, he was unreadable, then the faintest, almost relieved smile curved at his lips.
“Come in” he said, voice warm but quiet, as though this moment belonged only to the two of you.
You slid inside, the door closing softly behind you. The noise of the crowd melted away, replaced by the low hum of the engine. Suddenly, the space felt impossibly small, the air charged.
“I don’t understand” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper as your hand clutched at your bag helplessly, trying to keep your composure.
He studied you, the passing streetlights painting him in fleeting strokes of gold and shadow, “We’re going the same place anyway” he spoke simply, “The hotel”
You blinked, heart stuttering, “That’s the only reason?”
His smile deepened, though it carried something unspoken beneath it. He leaned back, eyes never leaving yours, the pause before his words thick with meaning.
“No” he murmured, softer now. “Not the only reason”
The car rolled on through Paris, but the city felt far away. All you could feel was his gaze, steady and deliberate, as if he were daring you to believe this was real.
And for the first time, you wondered if fate hadn’t just crossed your path, if maybe, quietly, it had chosen you.
“are you gonna tell me what the other reason is?” you questioned but he just shook his head huffing a laugh, thankful he hadn’t let a secret saesang into his car.
You sat there stiffly at first, hands folded in your lap, hyper aware of the fact that Kwon Jiyong was less than an arm’s length away from you.
The very same Jiyong you’d watched command a stadium just hours ago. The very same Jiyong whose posters lined your teenage bedroom.
Now he was here, his cologne warm in the air, his voice low as he asked, “Did you enjoy the show?”
You blinked, nearly laughing at the absurdity. Did you enjoy the show? As if you hadn’t screamed yourself hoarse, as if you hadn’t just lived through the best two hours of your life.
“I mean, you were incredible. All of you. I’ve never-“ You stopped yourself, cheeks heating. Calm the fuck down.
He chuckled softly, not unkindly, tilting his head as if amused by your honesty. “That’s good to hear”
Jiyong spoke, his gaze lingering a little too long, like he was memorising your expression.
You shifted in your seat, trying not to stare but failing spectacularly. Every few seconds, your eyes darted to him, his profile against the Paris lights, the way his fingers tapped idly on his knee.
And every time, you caught yourself thinking, He’s real. He’s actually real and I’m in his car.
The ride slipped into a comfortable quiet, though your heart didn’t settle once. By the time the car rolled up to the hotel, you were almost dizzy with it all.
The driver pulled into the private entrance, and before you could fumble for the handle, Jiyong moved first.
He pushed the door open, stepping out with the kind of ease only he had. Then, shockingly, he turned back, extending his hand to you.
“Come on”
You froze for a beat too long before sliding your palm into his. His hand was warm, steady, grounding. You half expected the ground to swallow you whole.
As you stepped into the soft glow of the lobby, a surreal hush fell. The staff bowed politely, the marble floors gleaming beneath your shoes.
You stayed close, trying to take everything in, but mostly aware of how near he was.
You tried to play it cool. Tried. But every fiber of you screamed don’t trip, don’t squeal, don’t say something stupid.
Jiyong glanced at you as the elevator doors opened, a spark in his eyes like he could read every thought running through your head, “You’re quiet” he noted
You swallowed, managing a tiny smile, “I’m trying not to embarrass myself”
That earned you a real laugh, low and warm, his shoulders relaxing, “Don’t worry” he murmured, stepping inside the elevator, “kind of like it”
The doors slid shut, sealing you both inside, yet you stayed near the corner, still trying not to freak out.
The mirrored walls gave you away though, the way your eyes would dart to him as if questioning if he was even real.
Jiyong on the other hand leaned casually against the railing, like he hadn’t just gone against one of the numbers one rules of being an idol, not letting random fans into your life.
“you still nervous?” he asked, voice deep, tired from the long night of performing, except he looked different now to how he looked on stage.
“no” you reply small, but the statement sounded more like you were questioning yourself on whether you were in fact nervous or not.
“you are” he murmured, eyes catching yours, “it’s cute” he smiled almost playfully and you could’ve sworn you died and were in the afterlife.
He smiled, slow and knowing, and you swore your knees weakened, “I don’t bite” he murmured, eyes lingering on you longer than necessary.
You laughed nervously, heat creeping up your neck, “Easy for you to say. I don’t usually share elevators with” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely at him, “well, you”
“Me” he repeated, tilting his head, like he was testing how the word tasted on your tongue, “you could”
The way he said it made your stomach flip.
You shifted your weight, trying to look anywhere but at him, but he leaned just slightly closer, his voice softer now, “And you?” he asked, “What do you do?”
You blinked, “what do i do?” you repeated, unsure of what he meant exactly but also too distracted by the way he was so close to you.
“Mm” His gaze held yours, intent but not heavy, “Who’s the girl who caught my eye in a hotel lobby and ended up in my car?”
Your breath caught and for a second you forgot how to think, much less answer, “I don’t think there’s much to tell” you managed, “I’m just me.”
Something flickered in his eyes at that. “Just you” he echoed, almost to himself, as though he liked the sound of it.
The elevator dinged for a mid-floor. Neither of you moved. No one got on. Jiyong reached out casually and slid his key card, the panel lighting up all the way to PH.
Your heart stuttered. He noticed, he definitely noticed, because the corner of his mouth curved upward, “Don’t worry,” he said lightly, “I’m only stealing a little more of your time”
You swallowed hard, pulse hammering, “sure” you voice, as if trying to convince yourself of the fact that you were currently inside your teenage dream.
But the air in the small space was thick now, humming with something unspoken, and when the elevator finally glided open, you stepped out beside him without hesitation, like there was nowhere else you could possibly go.
The hallway to the penthouse was quiet, carpet muffling every step. You followed half a pace behind, nerves buzzing under your skin, until he slid the key card and pushed the door open.
“what do you normally do after a concert?” you ask him, half genuinely curious, half unsure of how else to carry on a conversation with him.
Jiyong hummed, “sleep” he spoke simply, keycard swiping across the door to his suite, but truthfully, as if he wasn’t living everyone’s dream and nightmare all at once.
The suite was impossibly large, floor to ceiling windows spilling Paris across the skyline, low lights glowing against sleek furniture.
“It’s” you searched for the word, “beautiful” you spoke, “but why am i here?” you question
“Is it?” Jiyong murmured, slipping his jacket off and tossing it onto a chair. His eyes didn’t leave you “i trust you not to kill me”
You turned, startled, and found him watching you, not the view, not the room. You.
Your pulse jumped, “You’re-“ you started, then stopped, glancing down for a mere moment with a nervous laugh, “You’re really bad at this”
Jiyong raised a brow, amused, “at what?” he pushed, stepping just a bit closer to you, the tiredness that would normally envelop his body after a concert non existent at this point.
“Pretending you’re not..” you waved a hand toward him helplessly before finishing, “you”
That earned you a real laugh, low and warm, and before you could recover from the sound, he closed the space between you. Not touching, just close enough that you felt the heat of him.
“You think I’m pretending?” His voice dropped, smooth and intimate, but also hiding the fact that he was loving the effect he had on you.
Your throat went dry, “aren’t you?” you pondered, but he simply shrugged lightly, shaking his head,
“No,” he said simply, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, “I don’t do that with people who interest me”
The words sank in, your face going hot, your body buzzing with disbelief, and interest together.
You took a shaky breath, trying to hold his stare, “You can’t just say things like that,” you spoke barely above a whisper when you realised just how close he was to you.
And the fact you didn’t back away.
“Why not?” he countered softly. He leaned in then, just enough that his breath skimmed your cheek, his voice almost conspiratorial, “It’s true.”
You felt yourself sway slightly toward him, and his hand finally lifted, hovering before settling lightly at your arm. Gentle. Grounding. Asking without words.
The silence between you stretched, heavy and electric, The room felt too quiet, every hum of electricity in the walls drowned out by the pounding in your chest.
You knew you should move, step back, put space between you, but his hand was warm at your forearm, his presence steady and disarming all at once.
Jiyong tilted his head, studying you like he was memorizing the hesitation written across your face, “You really are shy,” he said softly, not mocking, just observing.
Your laugh came out in a shaky puff of air. “I’m standing in Kwon Jiyong’s penthouse suite. I think I’m allowed to be a little unsteady”
That pulled a smile from him, faint but deliberate, the kind that made your stomach knot. He shifted even closer, his shoulder brushing yours now, a deliberate point of contact.
“I like it” Jiyong murmured, “do i make you nervous?” he voiced like it was an easy question to ask.
The words slid under your skin, sparking something you couldn’t contain. Your breath caught as his hand left your elbow and traced up, feather-light, until it rested at your jaw.
His thumb brushed your cheekbone, slow and careful, like he was testing how much you’d allow, “yes” you replied softly.
Your eyes fluttered shut before you could stop yourself, and you felt him pause, just long enough to make you ache with anticipation.
“is that because i’m me? or because im G-Dragon?” he asked, and you found yourself shaking your head incredulously.
“you”
“Tell me to stop” he whispered, the low heat in his voice pulling you in deepe rather than pushing you away.
You opened your eyes, heart hammering, and met his gaze head-on. You didn’t say stop. Couldn’t.
Instead, your voice came out smaller than you meant it to, “What if I don’t want to?”
Something flickered in his expression, relief, hunger, something more vulnerable underneath.
He leaned in slowly, his nose brushing yours, not quite closing the distance, until you thought you might combust.
But instead of kissing you, he pulled back just a fraction, lips curving, “Then don’t” he said, thumb stroking your skin once more before slipping away.
The space between you felt suddenly vast, though he was still right there. Your whole body buzzed, the echo of his touch lingering.
Jiyong stepped back half a pace, giving you room, but his eyes never left yours. “I’m not in a rush” he added quietly, “We have time”
And somehow, that restraint only made the tension coil tighter in your stomach.
You told yourself that this could just be who he was. One of those idols that mess with fans and forget about it the next day.
But the way he looked at you, spoke to you like this was something different compared to it.
You sank onto the edge of the sofa, partly because your knees felt unreliable, partly because you needed a second to breathe.
Your pulse was still running wild, but the weight of his words, we have time, softened the edges of it.
Jiyong crossed the room with unhurried steps, poured two glasses of water from a carafe on the table, and brought one to you, when you hesitated, he pressed it gently into your hands.
“Drink” he explained simply, as if he was giving you a foreign object.
You did, the cool water grounding you. Your fingers trembled slightly against the glass, and you prayed he wouldn’t notice. Of course, he noticed everything.
“Better?”
You nodded, lips quirking at his attempt, “A little”
He eased into the seat beside you, not too close, but close enough that the space hummed with awareness again.
Jiyong’s arm hooked lazily over the back of the sofa, ironically behind your head, his forearm brushing against your hair.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The city lights spilled in through the window, painting his features in soft gold. It was strange, seeing him like this, not larger than life on a stage, but quiet, thoughtful, entirely real.
He caught your stare, of course he did, and smiled faintly, “You keep looking at me like I’m going to disappear”
You flushed, twisting your fingers together, “I’m just, trying to make sure this is real.”
He turned his head, studying you with an openness that made your chest ache, “It’s real” he voiced simply.
Something about the way Jiyong said it settled you. The buzz of nerves didn’t vanish, but it softened, making space for something else, a fragile, glowing warmth.
“Do you always bring strangers up here?” you teased lightly, testing the air between you now that it wasn’t as thick.
His laugh was quiet, a low rumble, “No” he said, shaking his head, then, more deliberate, “you’re not a stranger.”
That pulled you up short. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, because what could you possibly say to that?
You looked down quickly, but he noticed, he always seemed to notice, and reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist where it rested on your knee. Light. Testing.
“Still shy?” he asked softly, almost teasingly, his voice so close to you that your heart tightened within your chest.
“Still trying not to combust” you admitted before you could stop yourself, earning you a low laugh, and his thumb swept a slow line across your pulse point.
“I like that you’re honest” he spoke, his gaze never leaving yours, “most people, they give me what they think I want to hear. You just give me you”
The way he said it made your stomach tighten, a heat curling low that you tried desperately to ignore.
You shifted, tucking your leg beneath you, which only brought you closer. His hand slipped from your wrist to your knee, warm through the fabric of your jeans, not pushing, just there.
“Careful,” you teased, though your voice betrayed you with its softness. “You’ll give me ideas.”
He smirked, leaning just slightly closer, his words brushing your ear, “Maybe that’s the point.”
The air thickened instantly, your skin prickling under the nearness of him. You swallowed hard, gripping your glass tighter.
“You’re very…” you faltered, cheeks hot.
“Forward?” he offered.
You shook your head quickly, “not exactly. Intentional” you voiced, your voice setting something in him.
Something softened in his expression, like you’d said exactly what he wanted to hear. His hand squeezed lightly at your knee, grounding you even as your heart raced.
“I told you” he murmured, voice low, velvet, “I don’t waste my time pretending”
You pondered, trying desperately to ignore the fact his hand on your knee wasn’t overly distracting, “You’re very distracting” you admitted, trying to laugh it off, though your voice came out hushed.
His smirk deepened, deliberate, “Good” he muttered quietly, making you furrow your eyebrows slightly.
You blinked, confused at his lack of denial, “Good?” you questioned,
He leaned in, so close the faintest brush of his shoulder touched yours, “Mm. Means I’ve got your attention.”
You laughed nervously, but it broke when his fingers slid higher, just a few inches, careful, stopping mid thigh.
He didn’t kiss you, not yet, but the heat in his eyes made it clear how badly he wanted to, his breath fanning against your mouth as he spoke.
“If I start,” he said lowly, “I won’t want to stop” it was almost like a pre warning, Jiyong’s hand flexing on your thigh.
The words left you trembling, torn between fear and want, and when you whispered, “Maybe I don’t want you to” you felt his restraint snap like a taut string.
He pressed closer, lips just grazing yours, not quite sealing the kiss, but enough to ignite you from the inside out.
His hand slid further along your thigh, possessive without pushing, while his other held your jaw like you might disappear.
Every inch of him radiated heat and intent, and when he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your wide eyes, his smile was wrecked and knowing.
“don’t rush it” he rasped, brushing his lips against your cheek in something far too intimate to be casual, “I meant it when I said we have time”
The promise in his tone made your whole body ache, frozen when he finally sealed the kiss between you, his lips against yours addictive.
Jiyong’s hand on your thigh used it as leverage to pull you towards him, making your leg swing subtly over his until you were straddling him.
He led the kiss, deepening it whilst letting you be able to pull away at any point, although his touch on your jaw didn’t suggest that he wanted to stop any time soon.
The slightly muffled noise that left your lips when he adjusted you on his lap surprised him as much as it urged him on, his hand moving from your thigh to your hip.
His touch grounded the both of you, and you were truthfully an able to comprehend the fact that you were kissing your idol, letting alone on his lap.
Jiyong pulled away, his forehead against yours as he spoke, breathing slightly ragged now, “stay, just a while longer” he spoke more like a pleading, rather than a request.
And you found yourself nodding to his words with a shaky breath as he smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear before his lips were back on yours.
This time it was softer, like a promise to make the moment last, his other hand going to your hips, “steady” he murmured against you, never pulling away fully.
Jiyong’s words confused you but you didn’t have time to dwell on it before he was standing up, you in his arms, making you squeal in surprise.
You wrapped yourself around him, to brace yourself but he didn’t let your lips leave his for bother couple moments.
And when he pulled away, his hand gently cradled your hair, to bury your face in his shoulder before he was walking off to the bedroom, lips gazing over your jaw in a featherlight motion.
“You’re trembling” he commented and your face heated up, “not because you’re scared are you?” He teased playfully and before you could comprehend it, you were dropped onto the bed with such care that you weren’t used to.
Your eyes didn’t meet his until he coaxed you to lie down, his body hovering over yous, “I shouldn’t be doing this” he muttered although his hand was still on your hip with a bruising grip.
And you felt your heart sink at Jiyong’s words, “are you gonna stop” you asked quietly, trying not to let your disappointment show through your words.
But he shook his head before you even finished the question, “not unless you want me to” he proposed finally, lips hovering near yours once again.
And this time you were the one shaking your head.
That was enough for him to pull your lips back onto his own, careful not to put too much of his weight on top of you, yet also grounding you with the promise of him being there.
In all honesty, he had no clue why he was doing this, it was something that he couldn’t explain, something that washed over him.
Maybe it was because you were one of the only people that didn’t practically bow at his feet when you met.
Maybe it was the fact he couldn’t get over the way you talked, the light accent hurdling into your words, the way your hair fell over your shoulder and you carried yourself in a light different to most others he’d met.
But for now he can pretend that this is just a one moment thing in his life, something hell forget about after his flight back.
And as Jiyong felt your hands steady over his chest, letting his lips trail down to your jaw, he wasn’t sure whether he was okay with letting you walk away after this.
“You’re so pretty” he muttered, more to himself than anything as he littered kisses down to the curve of your neck.
He felt your moment of hesitation, the way your breathing sputtered as your hands fell to the hem of his shirt and he quickly silenced your thoughts, “it’s okay”
He assured, letting you pull the shirt off his skin, slowly, not rushing, like he had told you, the dark strands of his hair falling over his face slightly as he looked down at your already flushed expression.
“Stop being shy with me” he teased as you tried not to let your eyes wander, your heart sputtering at his words,
“It’s hard not to when you’re this close- i mean not too close, but you are” you manage out, but his hands simply lead your own back to his chest, this time bare, uncovered.
“Can i touch you?” He asked, ignoring your words, his eyes glued to your own with his gentle ways.
You nodded, unable to form words again suddenly but he shook his head, “words, jagi”
The way the nickname slipped out so out of nowhere yet it felt right falling from his lips somehow, and you found yourself sputtering out a yes.
Jiyong huffed a small laugh, his hands finding home on your waist, one hand tracing small circles a with his thumb, “there we go”
And when his lips met yours once more, it was charged now, hands clawing at fabric until you were both down to just your lingerie and his boxers.
“I’ll ll take care of you, can I jagi?” He asked you gently, sitting back on his heels, making you nod up at him almost hurriedly,
“Yes jiyong” you murmured quietly and he swore it was better than any other fan he had heard scream his name previously that night.
His lips went to the hollow of your throat then, letting his lips trail further down, slowly, almost teasingly, but more to himself than to you.
Your body arched up into him the more he moved, and it was his favourite thing to see, your pretty voice whispering out curses when his tongue ran over the sensitive parts of your body.
It almost made him forget about the fact he was going back to Korea the next night.
Your hands clawed at each other’s remaining clothes, the fabric slipping off without ripping surprisingly, the two of you too desperate to think about anything else.
Nothing other than the way your skin felt against his, his length pressing against you in a manner that was so addictive your hips were bucking into his for relief.
And Jiyong wasn’t one to deny someone what they want.
He gently coaxed your legs open, making your breath hitch at both the vulnerability and the feeling of his nails digging into your thighs so gently.
When your legs instinctively tried to shut, he kissed the corner of your mouth until you relaxed slightly under him, “don’t overthink, just let it happen” he reassured.
“I haven’t got a condom” he thought out loud, looking at you as if to silently ask what you wanted to do.
You shook your head, “i don’t care, I’ll figure it out”
And this time when his lips were on yours and his practically leaking cock pressed against your already soaked entrance until you twitched for more, you weren’t shy about it.
Your hands went to his hair, in desperate need of somehow bringing him closer to you, although that deemed impossible.
The pretty noises that spilled from your throat and into his, he was sure you were going to be his cause of death.
Jiyong pulled away just enough so that your noses brushed against each other, and he gently pressed himself inside you, the stretch delicious enough to make you whimper.
“There you go, not shy on me anymore?” He murmured, lips grazing against yours as his one hand held yours down against the mattress, not exactly to pin it but to hold, to ground you.
Your body tensed slightly as he pushed deeper, and you tried to contain whatever filth was brewing up in your mouth.
“Relax, I’ve got you” he assured you, letting your free hand tug lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck, earning a small, almost grunt from the man.
Jiyong bottomed out, his head dropping to your shoulder as he let you adjust, although the feeling of you clenching around him this early on had him biting gently into your skin to control himself somehow.
“Jiyong” you spoke, an almost whimpered voice, your chest against his, a thin layer of sweat and arousal coating between the two of you.
He huffed a small breathy laugh against you before composing himself enough to speak, and press his lips to the spot behind your ear,
“So you can scream my name in an arena with thousands of other people, but when I’ve got you to myself, you’re down to this”
His words were more teasing then degrading, but you couldn’t help the way your back arched into him again at his words, breathing ragged.
“Shh, shh, stay still, you’re already shaking and i haven’t even moved yet” you felt the curve of his lips against you, grinning in a way that went past politeness.
You whined lightly, “Jiyong, i swear to god” you practically pleaded, begging him to move.
And he listened. He pulled out just enough to slam back in, hard, hips against yours, but he wasn’t rough about it.
He just knew what you needed apparently, better than any other man had.
“Fuck- you’re so tight around me jagi” he shakily spoke, but eh was more composed than whatever was happening to your right now.
Your hand was clutching onto his with each thrust he started to pick up, your eyes had fluttered shut when the angle hit just right to the point your legs wrapped around him.
And Jiyong was liking the fact you weren’t being shy and modest anymore.
You whined, “right there” and he didn’t change his movements, letting you milk the moment of his cock pressed so deep inside you, hitting that spot just right.
“Yeah, that good baby?” He questioned, more rhetorically, but he shouldn’t be talking right now considering he was that close to finishing already just by the feeling of your walls around him.
His lips sealed against yours again, this time messy, and you kissed back with the same, starving passion, your bodied practically becoming one.
Jiyong’s thrusts timed perfectly, as well as the angle of his length that had you seeing stars, moans travelling from your mouth to his.
His hand dug into your hip, keeping you down for him to abuse that spongy spot inside you until your legs trembled around him.
This time when the kiss broke, your lips were on his neck, and jiyong swore he’d never gotten so close to release this quick before.
And apparently, he wasn’t the only one considering the way you writhed lightly against him and your moans turned into higher pitched whines.
“You close baby?” He asked you it you couldn’t answer in words, instead nodding into his neck, hand desperately around his shoulder, nails raking down his back so deliciously.
He groaned, low, an almost moan, and his hand on your hip trailed to circle your clit, with enough pressure for it to make your hips buck.
Because no way was jiyong about to let you see him break first.
“You can cum, jagi, i’m right here” he assured you, his thrusts almost deemed as punishing if they weren’t so damn good.
and you did, hard, legs clamped around his torso, moans of his name leaving your lips, he never wanted to forget about the way you sounded, milking him dry.
“I’ll pull out baby” he told you, voice stammered slightly as he let you ride out the events of your high, but you whined in protest.
“No, please- please, it’s okay” your reassurance along with your not so quiet pleading had his hips stagger for less than a moment, before he dropped his forehead to yours, with a low curse.
“I really think you’re gonna kill me” he muttered in between kisses as you pressed them to his lips to urge him on, your hands raking down his back again until his hand flushed at the pristine bed sheets.
He finished, inside you, deep enough for you to feel each movement from him, twitching inside of you to the point where you could have sworn you heard Kwon Jiyong whimper against you.
And when he pulled out a moment later, breathing more unsteady then when he was performing back to back songs on stage, the dark blue strands of hair fell against his forehead, damp.
“Fuck, you’re amazing” he whispered, “such a pretty girl” he played another kiss to your lips before sitting back onto his heels, “cmon”
He ushered gently, letting you prop yourself up on your elbows confused before his hands were around you waist, pulling you to his chest as he rose from the bed.
“Clean you up okay? And maybe get you messy all over again” he spoke against your ear until you lightly tapped his chest, letting him carry you to the bathroom.
Damn the penthouse suite was so much nicer than whatever room you were staying in.
Though what else should you expect from someone who made a company for his cat?
“You okay?” He asked softly when you didn’t speak for a while, still catching your breath and the feeling of your evidence of your night together against your thighs.
“More than okay” you assured, dropping on to slightly shaky feet as he stood in front of you in the slightly cramped, yet luxurious shower.
When the water was warm enough for the both of you, but not too warm considering you were both already hot and sweating based on multiple reasons, the events of the night barely registered into your head.
You let his hand cradle the back of your neck in an almost sacred motion, his other hand on your hip as he kissed you once more, both of your lips swollen from how much he couldn’t get enough of you.
You let him wash away the evidence of your night together, yet kiss the soft, wet skin like a promise not to forget it.
You let him carry you back to his bed, and hold you against his chest until you fell asleep.
And you let him go home the next night after a plan b pill and a bitter sweet breakfast in bed together because he was a gentleman and didn’t want you feeling gross or anything after the night before.
And you apparently also let another piece of him stay inside you for a long time.
You stared at the two pink lines one test, eyes drifting between that and the other one that read pregnant.
Your hands were over your stomach like you didn’t know what to do, because you didn’t.
Jiyong’s number sat idle in your phone, the two of you texting back and forth every so often, mainly for something more than simple messages.
And now you were torn between the decision of telling him, potentially ruining his career, or maybe even his life, and the weight of carrying this whole thing on your own.
Keep him in the dark, he never had to know.
Except Jiyong always knows.
When your messages became shorter, more distance, they weren’t out of disinterest, Jiyong could see that much for a fact.
But there was something about the way you spoke differently to him than before made him ask the burning question ‘are you okay?’
Your phone buzzed again, Jiyong’s name lighting up the screen like it has so many nights before.
And it was crazy to you that this life became the new normal.
That you just so casually had an almost sex benefits agreement silently made between you and your biggest idol, and the fact that his baby was growing inside of you as we speak.
‘You’ve been quiet. Are you okay jagi?’
You bit the inside of your cheek, tears brimming your eyes, out of fear or realisation you weren’t sure, but the bathroom floor wasnt doing anything to help your nerves anymore.
You couldn’t hide this from him.
How could you hide the child you knew he’d wanted his whole life, away from him?
No matter how unconventional or messy it may be.
His message was simple, gentle, nothing like the little lines he usually sends when he wants you breathless.
He probably thinks you’re losing interest, that you’ve moved on. The truth feels too heavy, too life altering to fit in a text bubble.
You type, delete, type again. Finally, your thumbs still.
‘I don’t know how to say this. I wasn’t expecting it. but i’m pregnant. you don’t have to be involved, i know it messes things up for you, and im sorry. but you should know’
The dots appear almost instantly. Then disappear. Then appear again. You imagine him somewhere in his house in Seoul.
Phone in hand, jaw tight, cats oblivious at the end of the bed, trying to find the right words the same way you just did.
Finally, his reply comes,
‘You’re serious?’
You swallow hard, the tears stinging your eyes as you whisper to yourself, “Yeah, I’m serious” Your fingers confirm it on screen.
‘yes jiyong. i’m sorry, i know it’s probably not what you wanted to hear’
There’s a longer pause this time. Long enough that you set the phone down, pressing it into the mattress like you can muffle the weight of his silence.
Long enough that you almost regret sending anything at all.
‘Where are you right now?’
Your breath catches. The question is simple, but there’s an urgency under it, the same way there was the night he pulled you into his car like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You don’t know if he’s angry, if he’s panicking, or if, just maybe, he’s trying to close the distance that suddenly feels impossible.
‘i’m at home?’
‘i’m getting the next flight, be there as soon as i can’
Jiyong’s words made you still, a horrible feeling crawling up your throat, what was he on about?
Was he coming here? to tell you to get rid of it? to tell you that he’s not ready to be a father or he can’t with his lifestyle?
But his further words made you unsure of whether this was worse or not.
‘You don’t have to do this alone. That’s our baby, you hear me? Ours’
