Hey, I am Anna and I can’t help but write fluffy (and often smutty) stories about people. Hope you enjoy <3
Untitled, 2025. 🌼 (G-Dragon/ Kwon Jiyong x OFC)
It’s 2025 and the King of K-Pop is back. He and his music are everywhere. On the charts, all over social media and smack in the middle of Daisy’s work schedule. Sometimes she still can’t believe this is her actual job now - documenting the chaos behind the scenes and trying to make sure no one on his team gets lost, bruised or accidentally starts a viral scandal.
What’s even harder to believe? That she and Jiyong met five years ago. Actually… scratch that. They met ten years ago too. Time has a weird sense of humor like that and things get blurry when you're busy, nostalgic, and maybe just a little bit smitten. Also, life throws more daisies your way than you’d expect.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 // AO3
2014 // 2020 // 2025 // Yearning // That thin line between friendship and more // fluff // smut
2 hands 🌼 (G-Dragon/ Kwon Jiyong x OFC) One Shot
He’s always late, especially when it matters. Shows up with something expensive in hand and that infuriating, smug smile on his face. One day I really will stop opening the door when he shows up. But tonight is my birthday.
warnings: fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, swearing, alcohol, bad communication styles, flawed characters with flawed relationships, angst with happy ending, chanel can't fix everything, this is fiction - ditch men if they treat you badly <3
Nobodys’s Son 🌼 (G-Dragon/ Kwon Jiyong x OFC) One Shot
Whenever her heart gets broken she knows who to call. Her best friend Jiyong has cute cats and hugs and expensive wine to make it all better. Whenever her heart gets broken his breaks as well, every new idiot who doesn't deserve her a new crack.
warnings: protected sex, swearing, alcohol, friends-to-lovers, pining, female character is dramatic and Ji loves it, don't get me wrong - this is mainly fluff, so why did she buy that vacuum cleaner? Even I have questions.
Next Stop Christmas. 🔮 (Min Yoongi x OFC)
The way the snow swirls I feel like I am surrounded by dementors, the air is so cold my cheeks hurt. But if the storm is a dementor… then Yoongi is Lupin and he brought chocolate.
Imagine your train breaks down in a snowstorm on the way home for Christmas.
And somehow that guy on the other side of the aisle looks very familiar.
1 2 3 4 5 // AO3
Yoongi!NextDoor // Christmas // Fuck JK Rowling tho // Not so Strangers to Lovers // Small town Homecoming // Soft with bite
Honestly, I’d piss him off on purpose. 🖼️ (Kim Namjoon x OFC)
Mister Darcy has nothing on Kim Namjoon - that up-and-coming artist you probably already heard of (You haven't? How dare you? At least have the decency to pretend you have!). He is cold, serious, and rather good at making other people believe he is a prick. Especially Elizabeth Bennet - uh... Charlotte - is about to lose it because of him. Maybe in a good way. Man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 // AO3
Artist!KimNamjoon // Tension // Messing around in storage // OFC is a brat // Smut
Waiting for something. 🌸 (Kim Namjoon x OFC)
30+ chapters of Angst and Fluff sprinkled with Smut. This was my first fic and I couldn’t let go, still can’t. Music journalist Olivia and Namjoon flirt in front of cameras = lighthearted fun or big mistake? Or maybe the beginning of a five year back and forth.
AO3
Tour Life // eventually also Jin x another OFC // seriously, this has a bit of everything, but mainly slice of life and fluff // smut here and there
ngl, struggling a bit, but not in a bad way, just much too much going on. thanks for asking <3 I am still writing, just can't wrap my head around editing at the moment apparently.
Next Stop: Christmas. (Min Yoongi x OFC) Chapter 2: "Hey...isn't that... Yoongi?"
Pairing: Min Yoongi x OFC
Genre/Warnings: Christmas Fluff, Angst, eventual romance, eventual smut
In this chapter: =) tension builds
Imagine your train breaks down in a snowstorm on the way home for Christmas. Imagine Yoongi is there as well.
More on AO3
Hello everyone <3 Now that it is December I am reposting this edited story of mine that I intend to finally finish this Christmas, almost done. I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think. <3
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For a second, I’m completely stunned.
How does he know my name? I’m pretty sure I haven’t mentioned it at all.
“How… did you just…”
He smirks. Cheeky side grin, gummy smile. It suits him.
Meanwhile, I just stare at him, trying to figure out if I know him.
“You’ll figure it out.”
And with that, he starts walking up the street. Slowly, because of the snow. So I have no problem catching up once I finally kick back into motion. The crunch of snow under our feet is like real-life ASMR. Funny how snow dampens the sound of everything else when it falls, but the second you step on it, it’s so loud.
At first, I sulk a little. I still can’t place his face, but I eventually decide he must’ve overheard me say my name earlier. So I push the thought aside, pull my coat tighter around me, and just walk. Not sure why, but it feels right.
We have more booze.
It’s disgusting and super sweet and burns my throat until my eyes water, but I ignore it. It warms me, and somehow, even the taste fits the mood. We pass the bottle back and forth. Eventually, I take a cigarette even though I haven’t smoked in years. It really does feel like we’re teenagers-sneaking out of the house at night while the grown-ups sleep after a family gathering.
And for some reason, I feel more relaxed than I have in months.
Even though I’m snowed in, in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere.
We don’t talk much, but we finish the bottle and keep looking at each other when we’re not staring out at the stars.
And when it starts snowing again - calmly this time, no wind, just soft flakes around us - I let out a quiet but happy “Woah.” Yoongi smiles as he looks up. Now it really feels like we’re in a snow globe.
Wait.
He didn’t just know my name.
He also knew I liked snow globes.
Sure, a lot of kids probably used to like them. But I was snow globe girl.
My grandma brought me one back from vacation. It was sweet - glitter, a kissing couple on a frozen lake, ice-skating. So kitschy. And after that, I got obsessed. I asked for more every Christmas, every birthday, every time a relative traveled. At one point, I had around fifty in my room, but that first one was always my favorite.
I open my mouth a little. A snowflake lands on my lower lip. I see his eyes fixed on it as it melts. The colder it’s gotten, the closer we’ve subconsciously huddled.
“How… how do you know I used to like snow globes?”
“Used to?”
Yeah. Used to.
They make me sad now, sitting there in my childhood bedroom. But whatever, details.
“How do you know that?”
He smiles again, then shakes his head.
“I don’t. Coincidence. Every little girl likes snow globes, right?”
I get it. It wouldn’t have been a stretch. Most kids probably liked them at some point. But it still feels weird, and he still looks a little too smug. Was it really a coincidence?
“I don’t believe you.” I say.
“Good. Because I’m lying.”
And with that, he starts walking again.
Lost in my thoughts, I just stare into the snow. He said I’d figure it out eventually, but my slightly drunk and very cold brain is trying to get there right now. It’s not happening.
“Are you coming? We should really get back in.”
Yoongi’s already on the other side of the street, so I slowly start walking.
He won’t tell me. And I won’t figure it out tonight. So I just give up.
Yesterday, I wouldn’t have.
Yesterday, I would’ve pushed him - gotten annoyed until he told me. But weirder things have happened today, and I’m really starting to freeze, which finally makes me tired.
We get inside, and the warm air stings the skin on my cheeks just as much as the cold did before. Everyone’s still asleep. The only sounds are snoring and the crackling fire.
I sit down on my blanket and watch Yoongi grab another one and spread it out next to me. We both lie down.
Staring at the ceiling, I think about how he knew. But right before sleep, my thoughts drift somewhere else.
To snow globes.
The scenery of that first one and this snowy town start to merge in my mind.
Eventually, I fall asleep for two hours before the sun rises and people start to stir.
Yoongi is gone.
The blanket he used is folded up, but there’s no sign of him.
Probably out there confusing someone else.
Dec 23
The fire went out overnight and it’s cold. Someone’s trying to get it started again, but there’s more smoke than flames and we’re all coughing. Finally, someone comes in and says that now that everything has calmed down and the roads are cleared, vans will come to take us to the nearest big cities.
Who is “they.” I wonder. Big Train?
Doesn’t matter now.
I text my family and ask if they can pick me up. The vans are divided by destination, and I just think, Of course, when Yoongi ends up in the same one as me, appearing out of nowhere again. Without a word, I sit down next to him. I want to smile at him, but he barely seems to notice me. For some reason, that bothers me. So I look the other way, out at the endless white.
We drive for about half an hour. Snow, snow, and more snow.
Only slowly do I start to recognize things.
Everyone’s tired, so nobody talks.
From time to time, I glance at Yoongi, but I can’t see his face. His long black hair and hood cover it. His hair looks really soft.
“Romanticizing absolutely everything.” I hear my mother say in my head again, and I quickly look away.
When we reach the station, I spot my dad and sister next to a car. They must’ve just arrived. I wave and feel a rush of relief.
As much as I dreaded this trip… after a night like that, I want nothing more than to soak in my parents’ big bathtub and eat a home-cooked meal. I turn around to say goodbye to Cassandra, and when I look for Yoongi, he’s already walking off.
Okay. Bye, I guess… whatever.
So I head toward my family. They both hug me, ask a million questions. Everyone around us seems in a great mood now that their lost loved ones have finally reappeared. We load my suitcase into the trunk when my sister suddenly stops moving and raises her hand like she’s waving to someone.
“Hey… isn’t that…?” I look up and follow her line of sight.
“Yoongi?” she asks loudly.
He’s leaning against a bus stop, still by himself. Maybe whoever’s picking him up hasn’t arrived yet? Or he is actually waiting for a bus? But what’s more surprising is the fact that my sister seems to know him.
“Yoongs!” she screams this time.
“How do you know him?”
“That’s Yoongi. Don’t you remember him? He went to school with me.”
Oh. I think hard, but it doesn’t help. My sister is four years older than me, so I don’t remember everything the same way she does - but then again, our town isn’t that big, so I really shouldn’t forget anyone. He’s heard her and nods.
“Why is he just standing there? HEY! Do you need a ride?”
He doesn’t react right away. I don’t think he necessarily wants to drive with us, but if he really is waiting for a bus… that could take a while. Yes, the roads are usable again, but I doubt the bus to our hometown comes often, even in summer. Eventually, he walks over and greets my sister. They don’t hug, so I guess they can’t be that close. There are a million questions we have to answer in the car, so I never get to ask him whether he knew who I was because of my sister. Only when we’re driving into town does my dad ask Yoongi, sitting in the passenger seat, where to drop him off.
“Does your mom still stay at the military base?” my sister asks, and Yoongi shakes his head.
“No, but not far off.”
The military base.
The place is tiny. People come from all over the country to do a very specific truck repair course, stay for a year or two, and then disappear again. Usually.
We finally drop Yoongi off at a rundown place a couple houses from the base. I’ve never really been in this area much, unless we wanted to play in the nearby forest. Never even knew kids lived here. Well. I guess he’s neither a kid now nor a permanent resident.
“Well, good seeing you. Say hi to your mom and Merry Christmas.” my sister says.
Yoongi nods, thanks my dad, shoots me a short glance-and then hops out of the car and is gone.
“He’s changed a lot.”
“You think so? He still doesn’t talk much, that hasn’t changed for sure…” my father says as we drive off, and my mouth falls open because… even he remembers him? What the hell?
“True. But what I meant… the clothes and the hair…” Her fingers mimic Yoongi’s black fringe in front of her forehead. “…and the lack of braces and acne.”
I look back…Yoongi has almost made it across the short driveway when he turns around and grins at me. Raises his hand. Nobody but me notices, nobody but me would see - and my sister and dad are both on the other side of the car, so Yoongi wouldn’t see anyone but me. This goodbye is for me, and I just can’t help it. I start smirking - I think he can tell - lower my gaze and then raise my hand a little as well while we drive off.
Again, I feel like I’m 15 for a second. But not in a bad way. And let’s be honest here, feeling like a 15-year-old is hardly ever a pleasant experience.
This one… is.
When I get home, everyone is loud and super happy to see me and… fuck, I feel really important and loved all of a sudden, and I have to admit that I enjoy it. Nobody asks about the lack of boyfriend, glorious hair, or Christmas mood when you’ve been stranded in a snowstorm overnight. Everyone talks over each other, three different people make me a cup of tea, and someone even carries up my luggage. My dad takes my jacket, and when he hangs it up, I notice a piece of paper falling from one of the pockets. I pick it up, expecting it to be an old receipt or something.
My mom gently pushes me toward the couch, I guess I’ll have to tell the whole story again, but we “have to wait for Grandma, otherwise you’ll have to start all over again.” and Grandma has to tinkle (her words, not mine), so it’ll be a second.
Absentmindedly, I unfold the piece of paper in my hand and set my teacup down on the table. To my surprise, it isn’t a receipt. Or a ticket.
It’s a handwritten note and I scrunch my nose in surprise. What?
It’s kind of hard to read, but when I realize who it’s from - and that he must have somehow gotten it into my jacket without me noticing - I quickly shove it back into the pocket.
“Call me if you get bored over Christmas. Cherry liquor and cigs aren’t all my lips are good for.”
And a number under it.
Eyes wide, I stare at the candles in front of me, because I have to look somewhere, while I blush involuntarily. I still have my hand around the paper, so I can’t have imagined just reading that.
Next Stop: Christmas. (Min Yoongi x OFC) Chapter 1: Stranger on a Train
Pairing: Min Yoongi x OFC
Genre/Warnings: Christmas Fluff, Angst, eventual romance, eventual smut
In this chapter: just a very handsome stranger
Imagine your train breaks down in a snowstorm on the way home for Christmas. Imagine Yoongi is there as well.
More on AO3
Hello everyone <3 Now that it is December I am reposting this edited story of mine that I intend to finally finish this Christmas, almost done. I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think. <3
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Dec 21
It’s raining again.
I wake up to the sound of tires on wet asphalt, a distant honk a few streets over, and the hum of a coffee machine. His coffee machine. Funny how that’s the first thing I register as his - when I’m in his bed, in his apartment. Everything smells like him. Feels like him.
I take a deep breath. My head hurts.
So… here we are again. Same mistakes, all over.
I let out a quiet groan as I sit up. He’s probably in the shower. If I leave now, he won’t be happy about it-but I can’t remember the last time either of us was happy, so maybe I’ll at least avoid an awkward conversation.
As I get dressed, I wonder if we did it again. That thing where we say we love each other during drunk sex, only to realize in the morning-or even right after-that it’s not true. That we like the idea of being in love with each other, but we’re just not.
We never talked about it.
Ever since we broke up in the spring, we haven’t said anything like that while sober. That kind of says it all.
I’m about to sneak out, but then I feel like too much of an asshole.
“Hey, I’m heading out…”
“Uh… okay. You can stay for breakfast, if you want?”
“Thanks, but… I still gotta pack.”
On my way out, I wonder if I really just thanked him for offering me breakfast. Or maybe I just say “thank you” too often in general.
It’s cold outside. But that’s nothing compared to where I’m going tomorrow. New York can get brutal in the winter-when it snows, it really snows.
Home for Christmas. Fa la la la la…
But for some reason, I’m just not feeling it this year.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been in a bad mood for weeks and I can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s because I haven’t told my family that Eric-the guy whose apartment I just left-isn’t my boyfriend anymore, and he’s not coming home with me for the holidays.
Maybe it’s because, if I’m honest, I haven’t had a real conversation with anyone back home since I left the day before New Year’s… last year.
And they don’t deserve that.
I feel like I’m about to step into one of those snow globes I used to love as a kid.
But do I still love them?
Dec 22
My body aches.
I guess that’s what several hours on a plane will do to you. Being hit by the freezing cold as soon as I stepped onto Canadian soil didn’t help either. Oh, great-my connecting train is canceled? Merry Christmas to me…
Okay, I need to fix my attitude before I walk into a house full of family. My sister and her husband had their second baby four months ago, and I haven’t even met the little one yet. I bet my parents are in such a good mood that it’ll take everything in me not to explode into sarcastic comments.
The worst part is… they’d just smile and hug me. Be completely graceful about it.
When did I become like this?
When did the thought of going home for Christmas stop filling me with that childhood excitement about lazy days on the couch, tons of food (food!), and being close to the people I love… and turn into this?
This grim countdown to forced smiles and quiet dread.
This creeping sense of not being enough-even though no one ever makes me feel that way.
Right. This year.
After twelve months of being the daughter who never visits because she’s working too much, going through a terrible breakup, moving into an apartment that barely qualifies as one, and… even more work…
I feel bitter and resentful and honestly… if it weren’t for the elderly lady next to me, I’d probably be crying right now.
But she won’t let me.
She’s been talking nonstop since I sat down, and she. is. ready. for Christmas.
The people-pleaser in me keeps nodding, keeps smiling. I’m only half listening, but I don’t think she minds.
I once heard that this old train seating layout is called a “Club Four.” Sounds way classier than the reality. Makes me think of Kerouac. Stowaways. The California Zephyr.
I can almost hear my mom saying I romanticize everything…even slightly rundown train rides.
And maybe she’s right.
But in reality? My knees are jammed up against the guy sitting across from me under the table, and the smell of grandma’s lunch is somehow making me both hungry and nauseous.
I wish I could fall asleep like the guy. He’s got the other window seat. From time to time he shifts slightly, but other than that he hasn’t really moved. Headphones, hoodie, lights out.
Grandma offers me some chocolate, and all I can think of are dementors.
Outside, the storm has picked up. Now that it’s dark, you can barely see a thing.
And then, suddenly, the train stops.
What. The hell.
The stop is so abrupt that a few people shriek, and two seconds later, the lights shut off. Complete darkness.
Someone screams.
It’s not me, but my heart starts pounding.
Something shifts near my knees, and I flinch, but then I realize it’s just the guy waking up.
We all sit there in the dark for two minutes. Whispers rise all around us, until finally, the lights flicker back on.
You can almost hear everyone inhale at once.
Grandma’s panicking now, and she doesn’t hide it as well as I do. She’s talking fast and won’t stop, even when I try to calm her down.
She only quiets when the man next to her gently places a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s gonna be fine.” he says.
I look over - and when he turns to me, he almost seems surprised to see I’m there. Like he hadn’t noticed me before.
His eyes are dark. That’s the first thing I notice.
He looks right through me, and it takes a second before I can pull my gaze away.
Eventually, people start getting up, searching for a train employee, trying to figure out what’s going on.
Was the storm too intense? Did the train break down? Does that still happen in 2024?
Ten minutes later, word spreads: it’s a mechanical issue.
I try to stay calm. Not sure if the info is even true, but what can I do anyway?
It starts to get cold, so I pull my jacket tighter around me.
Outside, the snow is wild - but every now and then I spot a dark figure moving past the train, and it gives me chills.
I know they’re not dementors, obviously, but that doesn’t make it any less creepy.
“Have some more chocolate.” the man says, and I look up, a little surprised.
Then I realize…he was talking to Grandma.
She wants to call her husband, but there’s no signal. She starts freaking out again.
“It really is going to be okay.” he says. “We’re just going to be a little late. What’s your name?”
“Cassandra.”
“I’m Yoongi.”
He glances at me, but I don’t realize he’s expecting me to introduce myself too.
Again, his eyes seem to linger just a moment too long. Or maybe it’s just in my head.
It is a weird situation, after all.
There’s something familiar about his face, but I can’t quite place it.
Another 20 minutes pass, and then a loud voice comes over the speakers: “We are experiencing technical difficulties. Unfortunately, it will take a while, so we are evacuating. Please remain calm. We are close to a station, so we will - one carriage at a time - help everyone get there quickly and safely. But again: please remain calm, speak up if you need help, and do not take heavy belongings with you.”
Wow. This is really happening. We wait, and eventually it’s our turn. Just carrying my little backpack, I make it out of the train and onto the slippery ground. We’ve come to a halt next to a narrow embankment. I turn around, and both Yoongi and I help Cassandra down. A police officer supports her while we make our way along the train and then across a snowy field. It takes forever - the snow is up to my shins. It’s so cold my cheeks hurt. When we’re finally ushered into a bar, Cassandra basically collapses onto a seat and I just stand there.
Finally. We made it.
I don’t even know where we are exactly. Somewhere in Alberta, in the middle of nowhere. We got so lucky that we were close to this town when the train broke down.
The bar smells like Christmas, which isn’t surprising considering all the fir branches used as decoration. It’s warm and cozy and around us, locals welcome the stranded train passengers. If it weren’t for the circumstances, it would all seem almost too lovely.
“Dear, can you help me out of my jacket?” Cassandra asks, and I quickly nod. I help her, then look around for Yoongi, but I can’t see him anymore. We’re handed coffee and tea, and I try to check my phone. From time to time, I get a single bar of reception, but it doesn’t last long. The locals tell us they lost internet an hour ago. I finally get a text through to my parents, explaining that I’ll be late-and that I have no idea how late exactly.
Over the next two hours, the snow gets worse. Even if they could fix the train, nobody could get here, roads are blocked. So someone bravely drives a truck to the train, and people start collecting as many suitcases as they can. Families and the elderly are divided up and taken in by locals for the night.
I say goodbye to Cassandra, who’s picked up by a friendly young woman, and take another sip of my tea.
About 40 people remain in the bar, now trying to make the best of the situation. Makeshift beds are built from sleeping bags that were brought over, and I think I just heard someone laugh for the first time in hours.
I’m incredibly tired, but my mind won’t calm down enough for sleep. Lying on the floor under three blankets with a view of a chimney that looks a hundred years old, I feel like I’m in some weird movie…something between The Hunger Games and a Netflix Christmas special.
Someone’s snoring. A teenager is sobbing.
Merry Christmas.
Around 4 AM, I can’t take it anymore. I get up and walk around quietly. Until a few minutes ago, the wind was still howling outside, but now it’s quiet. I figure it must have calmed down, but when I look out the window, I almost can’t believe it.
What lies in front of the house is a perfect winter wonderland. The wind has completely stopped, and it’s no longer snowing. Just smooth white snow stretching up the street, illuminated by street lamps.
I think about it for a few seconds, then can’t help myself. I know it’s crazy, but I want to step outside - just for a little bit. My jacket’s still damp, but who cares? I bundle up and head out.
It’s incredibly quiet. At first, the silence makes my ears ring. But then my body adjusts, and I take a deep breath. It’s so cold it almost hurts, but it also feels good. It smells like home.
This town is much smaller than the one I was heading to, but the air is the same. Crisp and fresh. We’re used to a lot of snow this time of year…even storms. But wow, that was a lot.
Under my boots, the snow crunches in that satisfying way, and I can’t help letting out a happy chuckle. The whole situation is absurd, but I’m enjoying myself. All that bullshit in New York is forgotten for a while.
“Please don’t start singing, yeah?”
I turn around quickly to see Yoongi walking up to me. I haven’t seen him since we got here - I figured he’d gone with one of the families. But his footsteps through the snow lead back to the other entrance of the bar. Maybe he had the same idea as me.
“Pardon?”
“Well… this is the stuff Disney movies are made of, right? Frozen, or whatever it’s called.”
“Okay, I’ll… contain myself.”
Just barely though. He’s right. It’s almost annoyingly beautiful.
I notice his jacket isn’t properly closed, one hand tucked beneath the fabric. He must’ve seen me looking, because he coughs, then pulls out a small bottle that looks like cherry liqueur.
I stare, not quite understanding why he looks kind of proud…we’re not teenagers.
Then I realize where I’ve seen that bottle before and start grinning.
“First you help her off the train and play the silent gentleman, then you steal her booze?”
He shrugs, glancing at the bottle like he’s debating something. Then he opens it and takes a sip. His face twists into a grimace, but he takes another sip and hands it to me.
Might as well. I’m chuckling again, but only until the liquid hits my mouth. It’s cold, but it warms my throat right away. Probably how drunk people die in the snow.
I hand the bottle back and watch him take another swig. Then I glance up…and my eyes widen.
The sky. It’s incredible.
There’s not a single cloud, and the stars shine so brightly that a little “wow” escapes my mouth.
Yoongi looks up too.
“Fuck me, that is… well, that’s really quite something.”
He’s right.
We just stand there and stare. And when it gets too cold, we start walking. Slowly, the snow is still deep. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I, and eventually I get used to the silence.
We wander through the town until I admit to myself that I’m too cold to stay out any longer. I tell Yoongi, and he just nods. We walk back.
As we reach the bar, it starts snowing again. Gently, this time. We both stop and look up. Under the streetlight, the flakes fall softly around us.
“I feel like I’m in a snow globe.” I say, still looking up.
“You like those though, right?”
What?
I turn to him…he’s right beside me, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
Pairing: G-Dragon/Kwon Jiyong x OFC
Genre/Warnings: In this one just a bit of tension and a whole lot of fluff.
It’s 2025 and the King of K-Pop is back. He and his music are everywhere. On the charts, all over social media and smack in the middle of Maddie’s work schedule. Sometimes she still can’t believe this is her actual job now - documenting the chaos behind the scenes and trying to make sure no one on his team gets lost, bruised or accidentally starts a viral scandal.
What’s even harder to believe? That she and Jiyong met five years ago. Actually… scratch that. They met ten years ago too. Time has a weird sense of humor like that and things get blurry when you’re busy, nostalgic, and maybe just a little bit smitten. Also, life throws more daisies your way than you’d expect.
Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
More on AO3
Hello my loves.
Thank you for your patience with this one. Finishing it felt impossible for a while because I didn’t want to let go. This was supposed to be a ten chapter story so I already overstayed my own plan and as much as it aches to release these two into the world, I don’t want to drag it out forever. A bit like Daisy in this chapter I had a “what if the ending isn’t good enough” moment and had to breathe through it. And then I realized… if you came here for chaos and explosions this was never the fic for you. It’s soft and more of a comfort piece than anything else so if it feels right then surely it will be good enough.
But for me personally it meant a lot, this story was the reason I crawled back into fanfiction after years of doing it half hearted and what a year with GD I had. From seeing him live in Paris to that absolute cunty walkby in Seoul I am truly grateful for the spark our tiny menace gave me. It reminded me to actually try my best instead of pretending the result doesn’t matter so I can’t be disappointed.
Anyway. Many words, much love. Before this turns into a novella of its own thank you for reading, really. Your comments meant so much. If inspiration strikes I might return to this story at some point but for now it feels right to move on. On to new things and a BigBangtastic 2026 to us all. <3 Stay in touch.
Anna
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I keep telling myself I am not avoiding him. Which of course is easy since for two days Jiyong is abroad and busy. We text, he sends a couple of images, I am at home spiraling. I show up at work on time. I do my tasks. I even smile when people talk to me. So technically I am functioning. But every time I stop for even one second I hear his voice, the voice that I had started connecting with all the good things in my life, music, stupid jokes, sweet nothings, moans… now repeating what haunts me. Somehow it makes me believe I am not good enough. And the most annoying part is that I know that is bullshit.
Even back then he said the song wasn’t really about me, the real Daisy. It was about some made up version of me and I don’t like that he tried to make fun of me towards the end of the interview to get stupid male colleague approval, gross, but even that wouldn’t make me spiral that much. But somehow this made everything real all of a sudden. It is like I have been living in a heart shaped bubble the last couple of months where everything is exciting and new and sexy and absurdly optimistic and that stupid interview from years and years ago burst it. The contents are still lying in front of me but the pink liquid around it is sticky and less attractive on the floor than in the bubble. Okay, enough bubble talk, even that annoys me now.
I want to go back. I miss it already. And I miss him. This shit is so confusing.
So I try to just not think. I push it all back into the back of my mind, knowing full well that is how you create problems.
By answering I’m fine when he is wondering if I am okay. By avoiding the answer when he asks if he can pick me up from my apartment to go to work the morning he arrives back in town. It pushes things back by hours maybe, but I just cannot face it because I would like to be the person who is above it, but turns out I am not.
I politely decline his offer, hide in my office as much as I can. Funny how I used to feel the safest next to him on those quiet night walks, now I am avoiding him in daylight. I shudder when someone mentions the talent is back in house and still melt away when he drops by. He greets everyone at their desks as if that is normal every time he is here - it is not - and smiles at me with the most subdued and beautifully excited smile. How the fuck is this the guy I have been dreading to talk to? He is wonderful and I think I love him. But I am also terrified. Of him. His life. And therefore my life. Our future. And how was I not until a second ago?
Jiyong must know something is off. It is impossible he doesn’t. Still he says nothing. He gives me space like he guesses I need air rather than answers. It makes me feel guilty in a way I can’t explain. Late in the afternoon he asks if we are on for tonight via text and I stare at the message for a second, sigh and then say yes. Because whatever I answer honestly will lead to the same conversation and I am not that far gone that I am going to keep this up much longer.
When the doorbell rings my pulse jumps so hard my breath stutters. I wipe my palms on my jeans then open the door.
But then, just by standing there, big bag in hand, all covered up but still big eyes and fluffy hair underneath, he makes me feel better. It is like the person I have been dreading to speak to is the person who now comforts me simply by looking at me as if he could not wait to be back by my side. And I know normally he would wrap me in the biggest of hugs but he has picked up on the vibe, even though he probably can’t place it fully yet, how could he. So instead he just comes in, takes his shoes off (good boy) and looks at me with a smile after lowering his mask. His lips are a bit swollen, they get like that when he travels sometimes. That tiny detail fills me with familiarity and something in me loosens. I am the one who steps forward to hug him. His sigh isn’t audible but I feel the breath leave his chest when he moves his arms around me and buries his face in my hair.
“Hi.” he says. Warm, a little raspy. Tired. Happy.
Eventually we let go and Ji places a paper bag on the kitchen counter and reaches inside. Out comes a tiny ceramic cat. The paint on the face is slightly crooked. It is adorable and weird.
“It reminded me of you.” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Crooked.”
“Lucky.” he corrects and his smile softens the way it does when he thinks he is being subtle but actually is not. “And cute.”
The word lands between us and hums in my chest.
I make tea mostly because moving helps me breathe. He wanders around my apartment like he always does, touching things lightly. When he sits on the couch I join him with the tea cups and leave a polite amount of space. Ji looks at it, then at me, then closes it without hesitation. His arm goes around my shoulders and pulls me in the laziest softest way. There is no question in it. Just comfort.
“You okay?” he asks in a way that tells me he already knows I am not.
“Yeah.” I lie.
He makes a little sound, somewhere between a hum and a huh, then presses his cheek to my temple for a second before lifting his head. His thumb draws a slow line over my shoulder, patient, steady. He doesn’t dig. He just stays.
“I’m really happy to see you.” he says.
Something in me folds. “Me too.” I answer and mean it, but my smile is still a little forced. He smiles back, softer and cups my jaw with his hand. His palm is warm and I lean into it without thinking. For a moment we just look at each other. His eyes have that glow to them tonight. Not the idol glow, not the stage glow. Something small, human, meant for me.
And it makes me kiss him.
It starts slow, easing back into it. His mouth soft and careful, then a little hungrier. His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers slipping into my hair. Ji is warm everywhere. I breathe in and he smells like perfume and that faint sweetness that clings to him after long flights. My hands curl into his hoodie and his breath catches just a bit. He laughs quietly against my lips, a small shaky laugh he cannot hold in. I feel the vibration under my hands and it pulls a laugh out of me too. I shift closer. Then closer again. Eventually I end up half on top of him, one knee between his legs, my hands sliding under the hem of his hoodie. His abs flex when my fingers brush them and a tiny amused sound leaves his throat.
“Oh” he murmurs. “I almost forgot how much I like when you do that.”
I ignore the way his voice dips lower. I kiss him again, deeper, slower, more certain. His hands explore my back, my waist, the curve of my hip. Every touch feels like something he saved up. This is good, right? I can do this. Push through, get over it, get back in my bubble.
„She wasn’t even that hot…”
Out of all quotes from that interview that one pops up. It annoys me. I don’t want to care.
But who said that? Which Jiyong? Idol G-Dragon? Scared Jiyong? Lonely Jiyong? The one I met one summer and fell for? The one who kissed someone else? The one who treated me like garbage at a party? The guy I met after his military service or the one I fell even harder for only on Zoom? The one I am kissing now?
My chest tightens and the kiss suddenly feels too good. Too easy. Too much like everything is fine, even though it’s not. And for a moment I still think I can ignore everything, but then, one second to another, I groan and sink down on him. I drop my face to his chest and try to hide there.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t sigh. After a moment of surprise he just brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and takes a deep breath.
“You could just… tell me?” he offers gently. Like there is still a choice even though it is obvious something is happening.
Because he says it like that I almost start crying. The words land in the center of my chest. Warm, gentle, impossible to dodge.
Why am I embarassed?
After a few deep breaths I tell him about the video. The interview. The words. The weird ache in my stomach. I don’t say every detail out loud but I give him the shape of it. He listens without interrupting, his expression tightening in little waves.
He sits a little straighter, though he keeps me on his lap, his arm locked around my waist. His brows pull together, not in anger, more disbelief.
“I said that?” he asks quietly. Not defensive. Just stunned. “It sounds like me back then but I don’t remember that interview at all.” He exhales. “Probably never aired.”
There is sadness in the way he rubs his thumb along my waist. A heaviness I don’t want to add to but cannot avoid.
He looks at me again. Really looks. His eyes wide and honest, a little glassy under the warm lamp light. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. I’m sorry it made you feel weird.”
I nod but there is more. “It’s not just what you said. It’s that the whole thing wasn’t actually about me. You said it yourself. You imagined things. And then years later you still called it my song. To my face. How am I supposed to understand that. It scared me. That maybe all this… it’s about the Daisy you made up, not really me.”
His lips part, close, part again. He sighs and pulls me closer like I am fragile but he wants me nearer. “It makes no sense.” he admits quietly. “You’re right.” His voice dips. “I wasn’t in a good place then. That whole time… I don’t know. I mixed things up in my head. I attached meaning to things to survive the mess I was in.”
He presses his forehead to my temple. “It says more about who I was than about you. And I’m sorry if I ever made it sound like you came from some fantasy. When I said it was your song… that was right after the first concert of the tour, right? I was… I’m not trying to justify it,okay?… I was just so hyped I probably said a lot of dumb shit. I know that is not you.”
There is a long beat. My throat tightens. “It gave me a reality check I guess.” I whisper.
He goes still. A different stillness. He pulls back enough to see me.
“A reality check?” he repeats slowly.
I nod. My eyes drop. “And I realised I’m a little scared.”
He breathes out long. Not annoyed. Just hit somewhere unexpected. It’s clear it’s more than a little.
“We can’t have that.” Ji murmurs eventually. Soft attempt at a smile, serious eyes. “You being scared because of me.”
“I’m not scared of you, yeah? I’m scared of… everything. The pace. The noise. The past. The future. The versions of you. The versions of me. I told you I wasn’t scared at the start but I think I said it too early. Maybe I didn’t want to see it. Maybe I didn’t see it. I am not sure. I like you so fucking much, you are really great… but the other day I realised that does not mean I am not also scared.”
His expression softens in a way that hurts my ribs. His thumb brushes my jaw. “You know what impresses me? How well we’ve done so far, you specifically. This is a lot. Being with me… around me… it really is a lot and I know that. I should have checked in more but you seemed happy.”
“Because I was…” I murmur.
“To me this feels right, okay? I don’t know any other way and probably won’t. Can’t. But if you need an out at any point, for any reason, say the word.”
My breath catches. He looks terrified but honest.
He keeps going. “I trust you, Daisy. But if you don’t feel the same yet because of me or my life or whatever, then we work on it. It’s not a dealbreaker.”
I blink fast. Something hot pricks behind my eyes.
He tilts his head, that little half playful half cautious thing he does. “And hey” he adds quietly. “I won’t run just because you tell me the truth. I’m a grown man. I can handle a conversation. I know in the past it wasn’t like that. Those versions of me scared me too. Now I think we all have them, I just wear mine more on the outside than most. I play with them. But none of them will come out and hurt you just because of my stupid ego, okay? Not that I am perfect, I can still be an asshole. But not like back then.”
A laugh slips out of me and I hide my face in his shoulder for a second. He hugs me tighter, laughing a little too. The tension cracks open. He gets it. He is probably right. Humans are complex. He has been praised for showing all his colors for so long he actually does it. Maybe I should too instead of fearing his.
When I lift my head he is looking at me again. That look that is far too soft for how sharp his features are. It makes me warm in the most dangerous way. It cracks me further, tension melting…so I start crying.
Relieved. Still scared. Realising I really was holding back a whole lot.
Somewhere deep inside I was so focused on hating myself for being avoidant that I slipped to the anxious side of the spectrum. I sugarcoated everything. I was scared of hurting his feelings or worse. But who does it help when I don’t share what is happening? Not him. Not me. It is not like I did anything wrong. Even he didn’t do anything that bad. That was years ago and came from anger and sadness. He trusts me. I want to trust him. Not being there yet does not mean he will leave. That idea alone makes me feel safer. So I cry more and he strokes my back and lets me.
Eventually Ji touches my cheek with two fingers. “For the record you are so much cooler than the girl I imagined.”
I blink. “What?”
He grins, teeth showing, eyes crinkling. “That baby version of me made up some delicate little dream girl. Pretty and so whipped for me. Like it was fate just because of a name or an idea.” He snorts. Almost shy. “You are not delicate like a flower, you are strong like one.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “You know what you want, you just get scared sometimes. Me too.” Another kiss. “You keep me in check.” A kiss to my cheek. “You don’t treat me like an idea.” Another to my jaw. “And you’re funny. Actually funny. And smart. And kind. And fucking sexy.”
“Okay, stop…” I laugh, overwhelmed. My face has heated and he grins wide.
Ji cups my face and holds it still. “But you do know how I feel about you, right?”
Quiet voice. Unquiet eyes.
My heart stumbles. I nod slowly.
“And I feel the same” I whisper and hesitate to organize my thoughts before speaking, that starts to be easier with every word we exchange. “I just don’t want to say it for the first time right now if that’s okay? I want to save it for when I am not crying.”
He laughs once, soft and sweet, the kind of laugh that lights up his whole face.
“There you go. See? Didn’t hurt my feelings. I get it.”
We look at each other for a long second, smiling like idiots. There is a bit of wonder in my gaze. As if I just met him. As if I just recognized him.
He is all of his sides at once, all are real and him. People change, us two included. We have both grown over the years. I always thought he was some sort of creative genius, something I admired. I knew he was good with words and charming and fun. Attractive as fuck, mostly sweet, often ridiculous, always entertaining. But he is now, right here, for me, someone to rely on also. Really.
He gets me when I don’t. He doesn’t only want me around when I am there for him. It is a two way street and not because that is fair but because he wants it to be. He wanted to take care of me when I was sick, he wanted to be someone I could confide in, he never once shied away from showing how much he cares since we started this.
Something settles between us right then and there. Not fixed, not finished, just steadier.
He guides me down until my head rests on his chest again. His hand finds my back under my shirt. Mine finds the steady beat beneath his ribs.
We stay like that. Quiet. Warm. Breathing together. Knowing something important just happened even if the world outside is still wild and loud and too much. Some things need time, but I know I would rather spend that time with him than by myself.
“Thanks for the cat.” I say eventually after minutes of just shared air.
He chuckles. “You are welcome, Dais.”
December 2025
Jiyong’s apartment feels like it is breathing tonight. Lights warm and golden, people drifting from room to room, the music low and nostalgic. There is a bit of festive spirit but not because of decorations or some suggested Christmas theme. It is just the end of the year and for many of us it is the first time we really get to relax.
It has been a week since Übermensch wrapped in Seoul, a fulminant encore to an incredible year. Someone brought wine from Jeju, someone else brought too many desserts. Jackets hang over chairs. It smells like mandarins and the sea salt candle Ji lights whenever he has guests. That minor detail, that silly candle, makes me stop while looking around.
I did not imagine my life like this.
The guy my parents hoped I would end up with would have scoffed at just the idea of a man having a favorite candle scent. And there was a time where I would have done the same, although luckily that girl is long gone.
But the thought makes me smile. Because it turns out the guy with the scented candles is making me very very happy.
I am squeezed between Daesung and Taeyang, both already in that mood where everything becomes hilarious if you tilt your head a little. They had exhausting years too. Even if we were not on tour together it felt like we were all part of the same project. Well, BigBang being that project perhaps.
We kept running into each other anyway, more and more outside of work like it used to be for me. Back then it wasn’t a project at all. It was just people I was starting to get invested in who then disappeared like so many during the pandemic.
“So…” Taeyang says and pulls me out of my nostalgic thought bubble. “When are you moving in?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “I am not moving in.”
“Yet.” Daesung adds, lifting an eyebrow. I am not sure if he is making a comment on a certain yet months ago or if he is just being an agent of chaos. They grin at each other like two deeply unserious men. I mean… they often are.
“Not for now.” I say. “Relax. I have a nice apartment and I plan to stay in it a bit longer.”
Daesung waves a hand like he is chasing off a fly. “Right. Sure. Totally believable.”
They both look at me like I am an adorable but confused puppy. My face warms. I am being honest though. I am not ready. Yet.
Taeyang leans in. “Then tell us this. BigBang tour next year. You joining. Staff badge and all. Us. The world…”
I shake my head slowly but still smiling. That actually surprises them.
“What do you mean…” Daesung says. “You survived Übermensch. You even looked like you were having fun. Why stop now?”
I take a breath and it comes out softer than I expect.
“Because it was wonderful. And exhausting. And fun. And too much. And not what I was supposed to do in the first place. I was never meant to be the social media person. I was supposed to sit in a room with spreadsheets and badly written emails.”
Taeyang snorts. “But you did a good job, people loved it.”
“It’s still not gonna work.” I say. Then I let the truth settle.
“If this between us is going to work long term… I don’t want to be his employee. I want to be his girlfriend. And I don’t want my whole life to orbit his.”
Daesung whistles low. “Oh but he loves when people do.”
There is truth in that. And when I talked to Ji he wasn’t thrilled at first either, which I get. It means we will see each other a lot less next year. But he eventually admitted I had a point.
“I know what I want. And I will really miss touring… and him… and even you idiots, alright? But it is the best thing for me. For us. It is worth it. I will still come for a couple of stops, so plan Paris because I want to go but… not like before…”
My eyes drift across the room.
Jiyong stands by the window with his cousin, head tilted like he is listening but he is not really listening anymore once he feels me looking. When our eyes meet he smiles that small boyish smile that softens everything in my chest.
I hear a groan from Daesung but Taeyang just smiles.
“Shame, but you are right. Fuck… you two really grew up this year, hm?”
Maybe.
I stand, ignoring both of them. My legs feel warm from wine and certainty. I weave through the room and the moment Jiyong sees I am coming his whole body shifts. His shoulders drop. His eyes brighten. His mouth curves before he can stop it. When I reach him he opens his arms without a word. I fall right in. He smells like cedar and stupid cigarettes. My cheek presses against the soft fabric of his sweater and he kisses the top of my head like he has been waiting to do that all night.
“Well, you look happy.” he says quietly. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
I nod and burrow closer. “Very. This party was a great idea.”
We lean against the big window watching our friends spill laughter. Someone puts on old Trot songs and the room erupts. Daesung dances immediately. Jiyong laughs into my hair. The vibe completely shifts but it doesn’t matter. Maybe the smell here is curated but the vibe is not. It feels like us. The people we hung out with all year, older friends who seemed surprised to get an invite from both of us together - even Cheungha is here -, some of my friends who haven’t met Ji yet and some close family of his. Mine is too far for spontaneity unfortunately. Next time.
He hums against my cheek, a little tipsy, a little loose. His arm tightens around my waist in that way he does when he is quietly proud but pretending he is just standing there.
Later, when the last friends leave with sleepy waves and the house exhales, he takes my hand and we stumble down the hallway with the lazy confidence of two somewhat drunk people who survived a long year.
After I flop onto the bed I debate if I am too tired and buzzed to even think about starting something, it’s not like I am not in the mood… but then I hear an amused “Come on children, bedtime” from Ji in the hallway. Okay, nevermind.
I am already laughing before he appears in the doorway wearing pyjamas and with a cat under each arm. They look far less enthused than him. He drops them onto the covers and they do not immediately escape which is a small miracle. I crawl under the blanket and he joins me. The cats remain sceptical. My brain feels soft and loopy.
I lie on my side facing him. His hair is messy in that late night way he gets. His eyes half closed but sparkling.
“We did it.” he says. And somehow I know he does not just mean tonight.
“We did.” I murmur and scoot closer.
“No more tour for a while.” “A while” is debatable considering what he has planned for next year, but I don’t start with that again, not tonight.
“No more anything for a while…” I agree and then let out a little yawn. “Just sleep. And you. And me.”
His hand finds mine under the blanket and squeezes. “I love you.” he whispers.
It hits me in the chest in that quiet sweet way it always does.
“I love you, too.”
He shifts closer until our foreheads touch. Big eyes, that stare will always challenge me.
“You know…” he murmurs. “That song… it is a really good song. And it did well. But I always struggled with the title because, that never felt right… well, you know why. That is why it ended up with what it is now. Messy messy…”
I wonder why he brings it up now but he must have been thinking about it.
I smile against his mouth when he kisses me. “I think the next one that is about me deserves one. A title.”
He thinks for a moment, lips brushed against my cheek. His fingers trace my cheekbone like he is writing something there.
“They will all be about you from now on, the real you. They will all be yours…”
Something tender and bright unfurls in me at once. I know he is exaggerating, not all his songs are love songs. But I hear him. He means it.
“Mine.” I say.
He nods slow and sure. “Yours. Titled or not.”
His breath is soft against my lips in the dark. The world outside is quiet for once.
I tell myself that for a few days there is only him and me. All of our sides included.
There is enough room in this bed for all of them.
Guys, I figured I would take my shot and drop by the National Theatre today and see if I can sneak a glimpse at Ji and… I‘ve been smiling ever since that car with the 8818 number plate pulled up. Holy shit…
Summary: Whenever her heart gets broken she knows who to call. Her best friend Jiyong has cute cats and hugs and expensive wine to make it all better.
Whenever her heart gets broken his breaks as well, every new idiot who doesn't deserve her a new crack.
Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, protected sex, swearing, alcohol, friends-to-lovers, pining, female character is dramatic and Ji loves it, don't get me wrong - this is mainly fluff, so why did she buy that vacuum cleaner? Even I have questions.
<3: Hello, long time no see. The GD Paris concert was five days ago and I am still completely overwhelmed. Whenever I try to talk about it I choke up... Cool, so this is life now. But at least it finally made me finish this one shot for @jiyongsangel Man's Best Friend writing challenge (Thanks for asking me, love doing those! <3) This is for the song Nobody's Son by Sabrina Carpenter which at first challenged me because I have... absolutely no interest in writing about toxic romantic interests but I think i found a way to incorporate the song into the story in another way nonetheless, let me know what you think. <3 I hope it won't be too long before the next update of one of my stories but I am going on vacation (Seoul<3) next month and before every weekend is chaotic. But I am trying my best.
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I am crying when Jiyong picks up.
“He broke up with me!”
No hellos. At first, no reaction either. Just silence on the other end while my blurry vision scans the rainy street in front of the dark, lonely bus stop where I sit.
“What? Weren’t you having dinner with his parents tonight?”
“I thought so too.” My voice almost hiccups from crying. “But then he showed up alone and told me we should take a break because he needs to grow emotionally instead.”
Ji curses under his breath. Apparently, he finds that reason just as pretentious as I do. When the words came out of my (now) ex’s mouth, I thought it was a joke for a second. His face said otherwise.
“What a… fuckface.” That’s one way to put it. “Where are you now?”
“I… I bought wine and gummy worms and a new vacuum cleaner and now I am sitting with all that in a bus stop and…”
“Okay, what… why… why did you buy a… ah, whatever. You want to come over?”
Obviously, I want to come over. That is why I called. That is why I always call.
It’s not like we only see each other when my heart breaks; Jiyong and I have been friends since our early twenties. We’ve shared the good times, even had a joint birthday party or two. Group vacations. If he weren’t usually busy being a superstar, I’d say he’s my best friend. Well… no, he is my best friend.
But I definitely always do call him when I get my heart broken. He’s nice to me, he has cats to cuddle and that huge bathtub in his apartment. It’s just good being around him when I feel bad. Everyone should have a comfort-Jiyong. And did I mention the huge bathtub?
“Yeah, is that okay?” I still ask and he scoffs, because it's a stupid question and hangs up. Rude?
I get an Uber. The driver looks a little confused at the mascara-stained woman with a vacuum cleaner box on her lap, headed to Hannam. He doesn’t ask. I lean back dramatically and stare out at the lights flashing past.
A bit later, I kick Ji’s door with my foot because my hands are full. Half with the box and the grocery bag of cheap wine and candy, half with my pride in shreds. Jiyong stares like I’ve tracked mud into his spotless apartment, which I probably have. His hair is messy in a way that says he didn’t plan for company, but I don’t care.
“You look like hell.” he says.
“I look like a woman scorned.” I kick off my shoes, shuffle past him and collapse on the couch. The cats follow me like I’m a human jungle gym, climbing onto my lap before I can even open the wine. “Your children missed me.”
“They like whoever feeds them.” He sets the bag on the table, pulls out the wine and raises a brow. “You brought screw-top Merlot. Truly the taste of heartbreak. I have better stuff here?”
“Don’t mock me in my time of suffering. And of course I couldn’t come empty-handed.” He scoffs again. I always invite myself over and pretend cheap wine makes us even. And then we usually drink his expensive stuff. Not sure what happens to my bottles actually.
I hold out my hands. “Pour it, servant.”
He ignores me, twists the cap and takes the first swig himself, straight from the bottle. I gasp like he just stole my firstborn.
“I needed that.” he groans, but when I reach for it, he lifts it higher.
“You’re supposed to comfort me.”
“I am comforting you. By saving you from drinking this.” Still, he hands it over. I take a huge sip. It’s gross. When I finally come up for air, he asks “So what did this one do?”
I fling myself dramatically against the couch cushion. “He was nobody’s son.”
Jiyong blinks. “And what the hell does that mean?”
“It means he was pretty, charming, sweet and absolutely allergic to commitment. It means I wasted six months on another guy who only wanted the honeymoon phase, but didn’t bother to tell me.”
“You mean he was an asshole.”
“Yes, thank you, Detective Obvious.” I pat Zoa, bury my face in her fur and mumble, “I just want someone who’ll love me forever. Is that so much to ask?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Ji watching me. Not laughing. Not teasing. Just watching with that unreadable expression he gets sometimes, like he knows something I don’t.
I swirl the bottle, watching the cheap red slosh. “He told me he was busy. All the time. Business trips, late nights, family dinners. Turns out…” I tip the bottle toward Jiyong like it’s a mic and pretend to be a game show host when I reveal the answer to it all. “…he was busy dating two other women. At the same time. Like a fucking group project.”
Jiyong freezes halfway into sitting down beside me. “You’re joking.”
“I wish.” I laugh, but it comes out cracked. “One of them DM’d me. Sent screenshots. Said she felt sorry for me. I confronted him and he said he didn’t realise we were THAT exclusive. For some reason, I said whatever, as long as from now on I’m the only one.” I look down, embarrassed. I do believe everyone should live the relationship model they want, but this was bullshit. We had talked about being exclusive when we… became exclusive? I knew he was lying, but I was sad and decided to turn a blind eye. “Et voilà. A couple of days later and he already decided I’m not enough. ‘Needs to grow emotionally’, my ass.”
Even now I am aware this is probably for the best… But he could have done it in a way that didn’t make me feel like I am the problem. Like I am too much and not enough at the same time.
Ji’s jaw tightens, sharp as glass. “Where is he now?”
I blink. “Why?”
“So I can have him buried in the mountains.”
Despite myself, I grin. “So you kill people now?”
Ji shrugs, ruffling his hair. “I wouldn’t get caught. Or at least the people I would pay wouldn’t get caught.” His eyes flick to me, the muscle in his cheek jumps. “He strung you along for months. Lied to your face. Made you think you were crazy for wanting more. Do you know how much I want to kill him right now?”
“Aw.” I coo, reaching out with the bottle like I might toast him. “You love me.”
Jiyong’s face twitches. “I do, which is why I’m angry.” He leans forward. “Why do you keep letting men like that near you?”
The smile fades. My heart sinks. “Excuse me?”
“You fall for the same type every single time. Pretty face, smooth lines, a little mystery and you jump headfirst like you’ve never been burned before. The next one will be different, sure. One was a chaebol heir, one was American, one was a lawyer. But inside they were all shit.”
I sit up, indignant. “So this is my fault now?”
“I didn’t say that.” His voice is tight, rising. “I’m saying you need to be more careful. You say you want something real, but you’re not even looking in the right direction.”
I shove the cat off my lap and set the bottle down too hard. “Thanks, Ji. Really supportive.” My voice a bit shriller than I would have liked it to be.
He drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. “I am supportive. I’ve been supportive for years. I’ve been here every time some idiot breaks your heart. Do you know how insane it drives me to watch you cry over men who don’t even deserve to know your name?”
The mood shifts. We always banter, sure. But this is different. He’s not play-annoyed. He’s actually annoyed. And it hurts.
My throat tightens. I fight it. “You think I like this? You think I enjoy getting wrecked every few months? I want something serious, Ji. I want flowers, anniversaries, a family one day. I want someone who stays and is crazy about me. It’s not like I’m asking for the moon.”
“You say that, but your actions don’t match.” His voice is sharp, almost a shout. “If you really wanted that, you wouldn’t keep choosing men who run at the first sign of responsibility.”
I push to my feet, heat flooding my face. So that’s what he thinks? Really thinks? That I’m some masochist who’d rather get my heart broken than date for real? Fuck him. Also: “And where the hell are these men you think I’m supposed to find, oh wise rapper GD? Point them out, please. I’ll go get one right now.”
At some point, he’s stood too. The air between us is heavy. His jaw flexes. We haven’t fought like this since the New Year’s fiasco in 2015. Then he jabs a finger at his own chest.
“Here. Right here. Open your damn eyes.”
I blink at him, stunned. “Very funny.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” His voice is low, rough. “You want someone who’ll stay? Who’ll give you family and flowers and big gestures? I would. I’d give you all of it. I’d love to make you happy. I’d love to have children with you.” His mouth twists into something like a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’d even enjoy the process.”
My heart stumbles. “Oh fuck off… you’re crazy.”
“No. I’m not.” His frustration is all over him: eyes sharp, shoulders tense, hands restless. “I’m just a good man you refuse to see. Because you’re too busy chasing idiots. And I would know… I used to be the biggest idiot. Still am often, actually. But not with you. For you, I’d be good.”
The silence that follows is unbearable. My pulse is thundering in my ears.
I grab my bag, because if I don’t leave right now, I’ll say something I can’t take back. “I need air.” I mutter, pushing past him. He doesn’t stop me.
…but outside, there’s not enough air to erase what I just heard.
“Clearly he’s doing harder drugs now.” I mutter in an Uber a couple of minutes later, even though he seemed perfectly sober. He was wearing pyjamas. Who does hard drugs in pyjamas? Ah, what do I know.
“What? Who is?” The cabbie looks confused, which is fair. These are the first words I’ve said to him.
“My best friend. Who just told me he wants to start a family with me. He must be using.”
Silence.
“Or… he wants to start a family with you?” the guy offers. I shoot him an evil look. He has a two-star rating coming his way.
At home, I sit by the window and feel like crying.
What the fuck happened tonight. Over the next couple of days, I try to convince myself he didn’t mean it. He MUST not have meant it. Maybe he was speaking figuratively. Like… good men like him. Not him. It’s not that I never thought about it, of course. Considering these things, especially when meeting someone new, is normal, right? And we even kissed once. Or twice? But it was a dare when we got drunk and we were basically babies. Okay, maybe twenty-four, but I can barely remember it and we never talked about it again and… well… does it even count if it’s been so long?
I don’t text him. And he doesn’t text me either. A week later, while I’m at work, my phone finally buzzes.
Jiyong: Your vacuum cleaner is still here. Should I let someone bring it over to you?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help with the move.” I say, collapsing a box of kitchen utensils.
She takes it and drops it with the others. “I mean… you are right now, right?”
I shrug, then nod. “Well, yeah, but you know what I mean…”
She waves it off. “You were busy abroad, I get it. Also… what would that have looked like? You? Signing autographs in front of my ex’s apartment instead of helping?”
She touches my arm, teasing like I couldn’t carry much anyway. I swat her hand away and grab a heavy stack of plates, trying to lift it to the highest shelf like it’s effortless. It’s not, but my ego needs it.
She’s right, of course. Still, I’m here now.
Even I thought this relationship might last. After my usual jealous streak when she found someone new, I admitted the guy seemed decent. Should’ve known something was off. Tax evasion on the level of jail time? New. Cheating on her with his lawyer? That’s a new record, even for her. She’s so fucking unlucky with men, my god.
“Still, thanks for always being there, Ji. I promise the next one will be the last. So you won’t have to pick up the pieces again.”
I can’t help smiling at her. She still believes in the next one. The one true love. It’s always the next person she dates. She’s a hopeless romantic and after all the shit she’s been through, I admire her for it.
Break-up no. 7 – Five years ago
“And so… basically… It’s a good thing.” She says it like she almost believes it. I don’t, but who cares. My job is to listen. “I can finally concentrate on what’s important.”
We’re at a bar. She looks incredible, hair freshly cut, outfit perfectly styled. She needs to believe she’s fine with the breakup. And even though I told her he was bad news from the start, I can’t gloat. At least she isn’t crying or drunk. This could still be a good night.
“Good, I’m glad. Whatever makes you happy.” I smile at her.
She scans my face, suspicious, but I just keep smiling and nudge the shared starter platter toward her. She takes some, then looks down. Her shoulders sink and my heart cracks.
Of course, she has priorities outside her love life. But I know her. Her number one priority has always been love. Lover girl. I relate.
“Man, I can already tell this will be good for you. You’re glowing. You look so good tonight.” I blurt it out without thinking, just trying to make her feel better.
She looks up again, smiling, beaming almost. Exactly what she needed to hear.
I’m getting too good at this.
Break-up no. 1 – Seven years ago, four months after they met
She calls me in the middle of the night. If I’m honest, I half-hope it’s a drunk booty call. Instead, she’s crying so hard she can barely talk. Eventually, I get a location out of her. Not far, but it’s pouring, a Saturday night, people everywhere. I throw on a hoodie and a mask and hurry there.
I find her sitting on the sidewalk, clutching a soju bottle in each hand. Pathetic, but also a little funny.
“Aish… what’s going on, it can’t be that bad…”
She looks up, face a mess, lets the bottles drop and raises her arm like a toddler who wants to be picked up. I can’t lift her, but I can sit beside her and wrap my arms around her.
“What happened?”
“He… he left me and I didn’t know who else to call…”
Her head is on my shoulder, soaking it with tears.
Let’s be honest. I’m not used to being friend-zoned this hard. When we met a few months ago, I flirted. She thought I was joking, laughed, kept telling me about her boyfriend. The guy’s good-looking, sure, but I’m cooler. Didn’t matter. To her, I was the party buddy. Then the hangover buddy. Now? The emergency-contact buddy. A “good friend.”
Not sure I’m comfortable with that.
But her sobs are loud, people stare and my heart hurts because hers does.
“Hey, it’s gonna be fine, little one.” I say it softly, because I know how it feels. I just show it differently. Less crying, more angry lyrics.
“No, it won’t. I’ll never be happy again. There’s no one like him.”
I almost laugh. She’s so dramatic and I always liked that about her. That night we met at the club, she told me to remember her face, because meeting her would soon be one of my most cherished memories. I laughed, asked why and she just said Watch me, downed two shots and did the dumbest little dance under purple and yellow lights. Just ran straight to the by that time of the night emptied dance floor. No skill, no sex appeal, just pure fun. She indeed was unforgettable.
I think I fell for her right then and there.
So I hug her tighter, swaying. “Ah, bullshit. There are a million guys for you. All with great hair, dumb jokes, amazing in bed. It’s good he’s gone - you wouldn’t meet them if he was still around.”
She laughs a little, then cries again. But that’s okay. I’ll hold her until she stops.
I think I’ve been in love with her since that stupid dance. But she doesn’t love me back and being her friend is the next best thing.
HER
Two weeks later, I go to pick up the vacuum. It’s the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other, I guess. When he’s on tour, I sometimes don’t see him for months, but that feels different. I still get sleepy voice notes and cat pictures from his housekeeper. I’ve even hung out at his place when he wasn’t home - he thought it was weird, but I told him the cats shouldn’t be abandoned by me just because he did.
Every day, I had moments where I thought, I need to tell Jiyong about this. But I didn’t. It’s awkward. We both know it.
I’m low-key sweating in the elevator.
And then… It’s fine. Weird and different, but fine. He pretends nothing ever happened, so I do too. We chat. He tells me what he’s been up to. We eat ramen. I go home. Not how we usually are, but maybe we just needed to shake it off.
The next morning, I still feel weird. I miss my friend. I miss Ji.
My brain keeps circling. Maybe he only said it to prove a point. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe he lost his mind. But sometimes, sitting at work, I wonder. What if…?
Wouldn’t being friends first be a solid base for something real? That’s what people with healthy long-term relationships often say. Ignoring the chaos of his fame, he’d make a good boyfriend, right? A caring one. He can be charming…
And then I wonder what he’s like in bed and I blush so hard my co-worker asks if I’m okay. Honestly, I’m not sure.
That night, my head and heart and body form an alliance against me and I dream about him.
We are on his couch. My safe space. Comfortable, familiar. We’re having tea - ridiculous, because I never drink tea, only he does. Probably just my brain trying to keep it as wholesome as possible before everything tilts. Good dramatic effect, I have to admit.
Because suddenly I’m pulling his arm, dragging him down with me until we sink into the cushions like it is quicksand. Physically impossible, but in dreams, anything goes. He looks startled at first, then his face softens and suddenly we’re tangled, half on top of each other. Somehow I’m on his lap. Somehow, my hands are in his hair, tugging lightly and he closes his eyes like he’s savoring it.
His mouth twitches and I want to kiss it so badly, but the dream won’t let me. It’s like there’s a string pulling me close, but never close enough. I whimper in frustration and the sound makes his eyes snap open. What I see there wrecks me - frustration, yes, but also longing. Lust. I want him even more.
And then his hands are on me. Sliding up my sides, slipping lower, tracing my waist like he owns it. Unfair. He can touch me, but I can’t kiss him? His body is solid beneath mine, his cock hard against me, my own body aching wet for him. Please, just…
A noise cuts through. We both look up.
My mom is standing beside the couch.
His too, actually. Both unimpressed.
“So… just so you know… he actually isn’t Nobody’s Son. He is mine.”
Oh god, there is nothing as scary as pissed momma Kwon.
And then I wake up.
I try to compartmentalize the whole following day. File it under random dream nonsense. Doesn’t work.
Because I get more the next night…
One moment I’m falling asleep, the next I’m watching him across a golden-tinted room that feels surreal. Makes sense, it’s a dream after all. He’s leaning back in a chair that looks more like a throne, one hand curled over the backrest, legs spread in that careless sprawl he does when he forgets anyone is watching. Except that he knows my eyes are on him. His grin is sly, slow, the kind you want to slap off - or kiss until you can’t breathe.
This dream is nothing like the other. The other one at least started cozy. This is… fae-smut-romance territory. Because somehow… he has a crown and wings and I should stop reading that shit, clearly.
He stands and even that is unfairly elegant. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, the sharp line of his ass in black tight leather pants.
My throat goes dry. His grin sharpens into something dangerous. Half-promise, half-threat.
He doesn’t need to move closer, but of course he does. Each step is deliberate. Eyes locked on mine.
Then his hands are on me again - slim fingers skating over my sides, dragging across my ribs before sliding higher to cup my breast. Uhm, why am I naked? Unfair.
His thumb brushes my nipple and I gasp, embarrassingly needy. He laughs, low and delighted, then bends his head, lips pressing to my collarbone, tongue circling lower, slower.
I arch into him, already aching. His mouth lingers over the swell of my breast, teeth grazing, lips closing around my nipple until I moan. He knows. Of course, he knows. His palm drags lower, resting just above where I need him. Cruel. He kisses down over my ribs, my stomach, pausing to breathe hot against my skin until I clench around nothing while he kneels in front of me.
“Please” I whisper, though I don’t remember deciding to speak.
Instead of giving me what I want, he kisses the inside of my thigh. Wet, open-mouthed kisses that get closer, then retreat. His hand spreads my legs wider, thumb pressing just beside where I throb. He’s too good at this, every second orchestrated to make me ache harder.
I want his tongue, his fingers, his filthy voice. I can almost feel it, but the dream refuses. He stays maddeningly slow, teasing bites on my inner thigh.
I can’t take it. I push my hips up, chasing his mouth, but he only chuckles. Shakes his head. His tongue flicks once, fast, infuriating. I let out a sound that’s more growl than moan, but he just smiles, elegant and smug, as if he knows exactly how undone I am.
And then I wake. Sheets twisted around me, skin damp with sweat.
It feels like his mouth is still on me, his laugh still low in my ear. I don’t even think before my hand slides under the sheets, slipping between my thighs.
I’m soaked. My fingers glide over my clit too easily and I moan into the pillow, embarrassed even though I’m alone. My body doesn’t care. It rocks into my touch like it’s his, like he’s finally giving me what I begged for.
When the orgasm crashes through me, I’m left panting, heart racing, the dream dissolving, but his face still sharp in my mind.
That grin. That deliberate teasing. I press my palm to my face, half-laughing, half-mortified.
What the hell was that?
Except I know exactly what it was. I just got myself off thinking about my best friend.
--------------
So, there we are.
I kind of hate myself after I start wondering if I only like him because he suddenly gave me attention. Or maybe not so suddenly. I don’t know. Either way, it’s not a good reason to want someone, right?
But the next time we’re at a bar with friends, about three weeks after the incident, I look across the table at Ji and wonder how I didn’t see him before. Just like he said.
If I think about it… all those things he says I’m into - “pretty face, smooth lines, a little mystery” - he’s all of that. And I know he isn’t some innocent little angel; he messed up in the past. Sometimes badly, however, he left that behind him in recent years. But at the same time, he’s the guy who loves nothing more in the world than his cats and his parents and his friends. The one with a collection of cuddly blankets on the couch, who’ll watch a drama with you if you ask nicely, who remembers random details from things you told him ages ago and organizes amazing cakes and flowers for my birthday and…
…fuck.
Turns out Kwon Jiyong is fucking dreamy.
I realise it in the middle of this lively crowd. From one moment to the next, I know this isn’t a fluke.
I’ve loved him for the longest time.
But maybe I also… like… love love him.
Because right now I want to circle his name with a heart, just because he’s leaning over a napkin, sketching something no one else can see. Tongue sticking out a little as he concentrates. Around him, it’s drunk people, loud music, a whole dinner table. But he’s off in his own world. Only to snap out seconds later and rejoin the circle he built around us over the years, laughing, telling stories, cheeks flushed from the drinks and totally present. I love both those sides of him.
I don’t think he notices my stare, but then his head turns and his eyes find mine nevertheless. He looks surprised, like this is something he always does, but usually I’m not there glaring back.
I almost look away. But I don’t. We just keep staring and I can’t help but smile. He smiles too. My eyes flick toward the hallway and then I get up.
Waiting there, I start to get nervous. Maybe he didn’t understand. But then he appears, confusion written all over his face.
“You good?” he asks.
His cheeks are red, his eyes spacy. He’s drunk and so am I. Not the only reason this isn’t a good idea.
I nod. Don’t speak at first, just stare until he slows down, frowning a little.
“What?”
“Can I try something?”
He shrugs, then nods hesitantly.
And then I just kiss him.
Let me say this again. Not a good idea.
Maybe realising I like someone like him is, but throwing caution to the wind and just trying something with your best friend? Really not a good idea.
But it doesn’t matter.
No, screw that. It’s a great idea.
He tastes of soju and cigarettes. It doesn’t sound romantic, but in the moment, it’s perfect. Even before he reacts, his lips feel right on mine. I kiss into him, press him back against the wall. Ji freezes for a second, then jolts into action.
His arms wrap around me, not my waist exactly, more like a hug over my back. It feels like he’s holding on now that I’ve finally made it into his arms. And when he kisses me back - firm and determined and perfect - I lose my mind. Forget where I am. Forget who I am.
We stumble sideways into the wall, one of his palms now warm against my cheek, stroking my hair. His tongue gentle against mine.
It’s so good, it feels like I’ve been playing kissing on an easy level my whole level and now finally get to advance.
“How long…” he finally gets out between kisses “do you need to try before you have a verdict?”
I shut his mouth with mine and he chuckles into my lips.
I don’t know… Except for maybe that I don’t want to stop.
We move further away from the light, deeper into the hallway and eventually he does halt us. His hand on my back steadies me, the other one gently pushes me away. I growl. But try to stand on my feet without needing his support, looking up at him a little pouty. A little embarrassed, a little upset, a little horny.
“Not like this…” he finally gets out and there are so many things visible in his eyes that I get overwhelmed as well. Hunger, but also a little sadness.
“Like what?” I ask, breathless. My hands reach for him, wanting him back close.
“Like a drunk mistake.”
That halts me. Well, nah, don’t call me a mistake…
I guess he didn’t; he did the opposite. He sees me pouting more and I can tell he is having a hard time resisting not at least hugging me. Instead, he moves a hand across my hair, putting a couple of strands where they belong.
I let my shoulders slump.
Jiyong leans in, whispers an almost apologetic, somewhat soothing. “I’m gonna head home…” into my ear.
But instead of acknowledging that he is being good, I hold onto his shirt for a second. “Can I come?”
“Oh my god, you are the devil.” he says, laughing, creating distance between us again, but at the same time clearly enjoying that I am being that needy. “No, you can’t. But you can call me tomorrow when you are sober again, alright? No matter what the verdict of the trial was.”
He lets go and smiles and disappears. And I stand there for a second, then I go back to the table and decide to get absolutely shitfaced.
----------------------
The hangover the next morning feels like a movie one. I wake up disoriented with a headache from hell. Cry a little, moan a little, only leave the bed because I have to pee and drink at least two bottles of water. Feeling strangely accomplished because I even manage to brush my teeth and stand under the shower long enough to call it a shower, though just barely.
That is when I remember. The headache eases for a second, leaving room for the flash of Jiyong. Close and far away at the same time. At first, I thought it was another dream, but it wasn’t. That happened.
My heart rate spikes, my headache slams back into me and I crawl into my bathrobe, then into bed.
With every pounding throb behind my eyes, I squeeze them shut tighter. Oh god. What did I do? Regret floods me, but not entirely. The memory is too good. Still, I’m terrified. At some point, I remember him telling me to reach out, but I can’t bring myself to. It takes an eternity to grab my phone, battery almost dead, screen lit up with notifications.
No texts from him though. No calls. :///
Maybe he’s waiting for me to wake up. Maybe he wants to give me time to recover. Maybe… he changed his mind, maybe…
The doorbell rings. I think I might faint from how badly my head protests. Moving slowly, I shuffle to the door and then freeze, because it’s him.
I sigh, let him in and try to steady myself against the wall. When Jiyong steps into the frame, my heart does something weird, slowing and quickening at the same time. He just stares at me.
“Hey… I just wanted to see if you are… lucid?”
“Barely.” I groan, watching him close the door behind him. “I think I drank a lot after you left.”
“Yeah, you did.”
His hair is a mess, sticking out in all directions, clearly he is not what I would consider well rested and I can’t help but stare at him.
“How would you know?”
“The voice messages you left me were really hard to understand.”
“I did… no…”
Tears threaten immediately. Why do I always overdo everything?
“Did I really?”
He smiles, shoulders sinking deeper into his jacket as his hands slide into the pockets. “Nah, just kidding.”
“What? Don’t mess with me like that…”
“It was just the one.”
That’s all it takes. A couple of seconds later, I’m crying. My headache rages.
“Oh, hey, no…” he says, half laughing, half concerned and moves toward me, wrapping his arms around me. “I didn’t mean to… It’s fine. Don’t cry over this, okay? You were being kinda cute, actually. It was just obvious you had a bit too much, so I figured I’d check on you.”
I sink into him right away, hiding my face against his jacket. The light still hurts my eyes, but in his arms, I feel a bit better.
He smells good. He feels even better. Warm and real and steady.
“That bad?” His voice is right by my ear as he strokes my head.
I nod and sob a bit more. “Was I actually cute in the message?”
“Super cute.” His grin is audible.
“Did I tell you any secrets?”
He chuckles. “You want to listen to it?”
“Absolutely not. Just tell me what I said.”
“That you were walking home. That you really want to visit Spain at some point next year. And that I’m a very good kisser.”
Embarrassing, but not as bad as it could have been. I could have mentioned how dreamy he is. Or worse, the dreams. If I did, he’s keeping it to himself.
“Let’s get some hangover cure into you, hm?” he says eventually, swaying me gently. I nod.
A few minutes later, I’m back in bed, painkillers and herbal medicine downed. Ji stands over me like he pities me and I find myself enjoying the attention if I'm honest. I open my arms lazily, an unspoken plea for cuddles. He looks relieved, slides in beside me and holds my hand. Strokes my hair.
“You know…” I mutter after I have hidden my face a little. “You really are a good kisser.” It comes out soft, uncertain.
Ji grins. “I know.” The grin isn’t wicked, just full of quiet happiness. If I had the strength, I’d make sure he understood I wasn’t just drunk last night, but my thoughts move too slowly. For now, this is enough.
This and clinging to him. My hands bunching his shirt, my face buried in the crook of his neck. I’ve known him long enough, seen him with women. He loves that shit; he is a cuddler. Love boy.
And the best part is… so am I. Maybe it really should have been obvious all along. Maybe I’ve been blind.
“Go back to sleep, okay?” he says gently. I want to protest, but don’t. I doze off instead, drifting in and out. Whenever I jolt awake, he’s still there, smiling at me, one hand resting on me while the other scrolls his phone. He soothes me back to sleep every time.
When I wake up properly, it’s almost evening. My headache has calmed down. At some point, he must have pulled a blanket over us both.
“Feeling a bit better?” Ji asks and I pause as if checking. Then I nod. I do. Still tired, but not in pain. The painkillers must have helped but so did having him here. I just know it. And I’m not ready to let go, leaning into his side until he turns to face me, no longer on his back but on his side as well.
As cheesy as it sounds, looking at him now feels different. Things I always knew about him suddenly stand out sharper, brighter. He is so fucking beautiful.
My hand drifts up his chest without thinking, resting against his cheek. Stubble rough under my fingertips, skin warm, the faint smell of his cologne tangled with my detergent in the sheets. It’s good. Too good.
“Do you need to try something again?” he asks, smiling gently, his thumb stroking my arm. I nod.
Before I can second-guess myself, I lean in and press my lips to his. A peck, soft and careful, like testing the weight of something precious. He freezes, almost forgets to breathe, so I do it again - this time with the tiniest smile tugging at my mouth. It’s nothing like the messy, drunken kiss at the bar. This one feels deliberate. Sober. A choice.
He exhales slowly, eyes lingering on mine as if he needs a second to come back to himself. Then he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and lets out a quiet laugh, almost to himself. He shifts upright. “You should sleep more. And I should head home.”
He’s probably right. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave and I don’t want him to. But it’s better that way and I do need the rest. Only…
“Without… without kissing me back?”
It comes out more desperate than I meant, but once the thought slips out, I can’t take it back.
His brow arches, amused. “What?”
“You… you’ve never…” I trail off, suddenly too awkward to finish. I pull the blanket higher, hiding in it, which is ridiculous because normally I never shut up. But right now, everything is too much.
A few seconds pass. Then he tugs gently at the blanket until I let go.
His grin could kill me. “Sorry, you’re right. I can’t go without kissing you back.” He cups my cheek and leans down, finally doing it.
Soft and careful, but insistent. He doesn’t stop, not until the moment stretches into forever. When he finally lets go, he sighs against my mouth.
“There’s food in the fridge. Eat later, okay?”
I mumble something that might be a yes, still lost in the kiss. I want to pull him back, make him stay, but my arms are heavy and he’s already done so much. He leaves and I don’t stay awake for long. Just long enough to realise that if this is a bad idea, it’s already too late. And somehow I don’t think it is.
----------
A couple of days later - ugh, busy guy, always busy - I’m standing in the elevator up to his place. Waiting to see him again has driven me half-crazy. Sure, we texted and it was… cute. But not enough. I may not have waited as long as he has, but he’s clearly better at it than I am. Because when he opens the door, my coat is already undone and underneath I’m wearing nothing but a black underwear set.
Ji was about to pull me into a hug, but then stops. Then he bursts out laughing. Hard.
My brows knit immediately, because hello, this is supposed to be curves-curves-curves, not comedy hour. I push inside quickly, the door shutting behind me.
He’s still laughing, hand over his face.
“What the hell - you can’t - stop, you -” He can’t even finish through his laughter. My ego stings, so I toss my purse down, kick my shoes off and stalk past him.
“No, oh god, noooo. You look amazing.” he gets out between laughs, following me. He tries to slide an arm around me. I resist, then give in with a pout.
“It’s just… you surprised me, okay? I need a second to catch up. Oh my fucking god, you look so good. I can’t believe I—”
His eyes roam down my body and at least that soothes the sting. “
“Missed me THAT much?” he finally teases, cocky as ever.
I did miss him that much. But I wanted him flustered, not smug. Then again, this is Jiyong. Of course, he’s teasing.
Doesn’t mean he won’t crack eventually. He can do both. He is both.
“And here I thought we needed to have a serious talk.” he says.
“We can talk instead, if that’s what you prefer.” I shoot back, shrugging.
His grin only widens. He closes the distance, fingers gliding across my hips, pulling me in. Goosebumps rise instantly. His hands shake though and that makes my pout soften.
“If it helps…” he murmurs “I missed YOU a lot.” Then he kisses me like he means it. No hesitation, no awkwardness - like this is what we should’ve been doing all along. My arms wind around his neck and for the first time, it feels less like crossing a line and more like finally stepping onto the right side of it.
I drop the coat and go full drama. He stumbles a little, wordless, like he’s trying to put thoughts into sentences and they keep slipping away. I grin because I can see him unravel.
“Well, shit” he finally murmurs, looking up at my face. “Fucking finally.” He kisses me hard, then pulls back to grin. “Have you met my bed? You should. You two would get along.”
I laugh and let him herd me toward his bedroom. By the time we reach the bed, it’s chaos. Hands everywhere, his clothes half-removed, his laughter hot against my neck. The mattress swallows me and he’s on top of me. It’s not careful, not sweet. It’s everything that’s been waiting. He takes my lower lip between his teeth, groans when I arch up and grind. I can feel how much he wants this and it makes my head spin.
His hand slips between my legs and for a second, I can’t believe it’s real. It is real. It feels impossibly good. And the smug grin reappears when he realizes how damp my panties got simply from the thought of all this happening. Hands fumble my bra open, the little dimple appears when he smiles in the corner of his mouth because he has an idea… and then he pushes me onto my stomach, palm pressing into the small of my back. The change in position makes me gasp. I glance at the white sheets in front of me, wide-eyed and surprised, his fingers back between my legs, rubbing me until thighs shake.
His lips are at my ear. “I know you. I know how you like it.”
My eyes go even wider. Oh, good god. He does.
We’ve teased, we’ve joked, we’ve overheard each other’s stupid secrets for years. He knows the corners of me. He knows the way to make me melt and apparently even my favourite position. He moves my arms to lie beside my head, firm but careful, like he’s settling me in. Then he pulls my panties down, slides between my legs and I feel his cock press against my thighs.
“Shit, Ji… I…” The words fall out of me, jagged and useless.
“If you don’t want it, say it. That’s fine.” he murmurs, one hand gliding between the sheets and my stomach, then up to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple. His touch is patient for a beat, then intent.
“No. I want it. I want it so bad.” I try to tilt my pelvis and meet him, but he pushes me back down with a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. He reaches for the bedside table and its contents.
When he pushes in, it’s deep, right away, an angle that steals my breath and punches the world to white noise but slow at the same time. My cheek presses into the sheets. I clamp one hand around a pillow as he finds a slow, hungry rhythm. God. He was right. I do love this. The angle, his weight, the fact that it’s him - it scrambles me.
Each thrust drags over every place that makes me clench. His hand fists at my hip, the other slides up my spine in lazy, claiming strokes. He leans close enough that his breath hitches across the back of my neck. “Good?”
I answer him with a sound, a needy, raw moan. My hips tilt back without thinking, chasing him. He groans louder and drives harder until the bed creaks. The friction builds until I’m tight and trembling and soaked.
Then I turn my weapon on him. I know him as well. I know what makes him lose it. He is into good old fashioned blowjobs. And maybe a bit of risky semi-public hand stuff. But he fucking loves a dirty mouth.
“You’re so good at this.” I gasp, breath shaking. “You’re fucking me so well.”
He stutters, hips stalling for the briefest second. “Don’t-” he breathes.
I keep going, breathy and taunting. “God, you knew exactly how badly I needed it, right?”
He growls now, the sound equal parts laughter and hunger. “You little shit.” he says, realising what I am doing, then thrusts harder.
I smirk into the sheets. “What’s wrong, can’t take a little praise?” The last word ends in a moan because he is so deep inside of me and one of his hands grasps my wrist.
“Fuck you” he mutters, laughing now, though he doesn’t stop moving.
“You are” I shoot back, breathless and grinning, turning my head as far back as I can.
And that’s it - we both crack. Actual laughter, bubbling up between us, ridiculous and hot and so us. He’s still inside me, still moving, but the giggles shake through our bodies until finally he stills, forehead pressed to my back as he catches his breath. Why are we doing this? Just because we know each other so well doesn’t mean we HAVE to skip that slow close first time?
“I want to see you.” I manage, voice thick. I turn my head and he slides out, then rolls me over, easing me onto my back with the kind of slow care that makes my knees weak. He moves above me, hair falling into his face, eyes dark and searching. “Better?” he asks with that crooked grin, one hand on each side of my head. I nod and gently touch his face. He leans into the touch for a second.
So much better. Ji kisses me, mouth urgent and soft at once. When he pushes in this time, it’s even slower, more deliberate, a rhythm that makes everything feel like it’s aligning. Our mouths find one another between thrusts, messy and hungry. His hands cup my face, my nails drag his back until he groans. He traces lazy circles with his tongue across my chest and every noise I make summons a low groan from him.
It’s imperfect at times. Knees bump. We laugh into moans. His hair tickles my neck. It’s messy. It’s real. It’s gorgeous.
When I come undone, it is less fireworks and more of a long, building wave. It hangs between us, warm and endless and somehow more satisfying because it is not sharp and quick. I shake beneath him. He collapses over me, breath hot against my collarbone, kissing the hollow under my ear.
My eyes open. He’s looking at me with that soft intensity that makes me feel cradled. Ji presses a thumb against my temple, tracing slow, lazy lines. I have never felt so seen. I think he loves me.
Panic bubbles up in me, old habits twitching, doubts spitting their rehearsed lines. What if this burns out? What if he leaves? My chest tightens.
He reads it in my face, then shifts, easing out and pulls me into a sideways hug.
“Don’t… don’t get over me now that you have me, okay?” The words come without plan. I wasn’t even aware of that fear myself, but now that I can see how fucking happy I could be with him, the thought of losing that again is terrifying. Not sure if this is the moment I would like to do this… I wanted to bask in afterglow…
Jiyong looks surprised, his eyebrows move around in all sorts of emotions. “Are you really worried about that?” I shrug a little and then nod. Because… yo, even I think I am annoying. Fun as well. Even funny sometimes. But fucking annoying!
“I can’t… I can’t be too much this time. Not with you.” I murmur, scenes flooding my brain of exes telling me different versions of the same story, so I close my eyes again. Ji looks at me for a second. Then he uses his arms to push up, detangling our bodies. Only to then lean farer over me so I have to look at him.
“Okay. I need you to really hear this, yeah? You are… dramatic as fuck. You are so loud and… sometimes crazy annoying, I am not gonna lie.” I pout. Great. “But that is my favourite thing about you. And you are my favourite person. So basically it is what I like best ever… ever ever.” My face is hesitant, so he keeps going. “You’re a fucking weirdo. Why do you always have to drink so much when you know you can’t handle it. And why… why have you kept on dating these idiots? Why the hell did you buy that vacuum cleaner? Like… I am serious. That was so weird. None of that makes sense, but I love it… You have… passion for everything you do and I could never ever think you are too much. You showed up in underwear and a coat? That was so cool and random? And we just had like… fantastic sex, but also laughed during that? I… love… everything about you…” His face is so close to mine, Ji is pressing his lips gently against the corner of my mouth. “I have loved everything about you for years, so please don’t ever be scared of that. Not with me. You were looking for the one? The person who will be the last? Fucking hell, let it be me…”
My mouth twitches. I want to believe him with my whole body. The old scripts about being left whisper like ghosts. I push them down because he would not say this if he did not mean it. I know his coffee order, his kinks, his offbeat habits. And that he would not lie about this.
“Okay” I manage at last, a small sound that feels huge.
He laughs, delighted. “Okay? That’s it? I finally made you speechless?”
I nod and trace his cheek with my finger. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
He squeezes me close. “It’s fine. You’ll be in love with me in no time, I am just giving you time to catch up.” He winks, cockily sure, moving in for another kiss.
Maybe he’s joking to lighten the mood. But I think I won’t need very long.
Actually… I am probably already there.
<3
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Weeeeee, how are we feeling?
Other writers in the challenge, check them out: @gdinthehouseee @slut4kwon @moonqz @gds-daisy @wcnderlnds @igorluvr @gggtabi @seungsjo @steponupbabe <3
WOOOOOOW.. OMFG THIS WAS INSANE!!! Hands down the best thing I ever read on this fucking app. Credits to my girl @serenadeonacanoe! You are an AMAZING writer like it’s actually insane. Like the way you write keeps me entertained af like I wasn’t bored or skipped a part which is impressive because I get bored so easily 😔💔. All jokes aside you are amazing. Followed you the SECOND I finished reading this masterpiece. Can’t wait to read more of your art girl!
@y00n-cha3 woah, now i am actually speechless, thank you so much! Especially for also voicing it, that feels so fucking good, makes me wanna cry and... well, write both at the same time :D I won’t be around much for a few weeks bc I am going in vacation in a couple of days but gonna come back from Korea full of fresh ideas I hope :3 Hope you are doing so so well <3
Summary: Whenever her heart gets broken she knows who to call. Her best friend Jiyong has cute cats and hugs and expensive wine to make it all better.
Whenever her heart gets broken his breaks as well, every new idiot who doesn't deserve her a new crack.
Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, protected sex, swearing, alcohol, friends-to-lovers, pining, female character is dramatic and Ji loves it, don't get me wrong - this is mainly fluff, so why did she buy that vacuum cleaner? Even I have questions.
<3: Hello, long time no see. The GD Paris concert was five days ago and I am still completely overwhelmed. Whenever I try to talk about it I choke up... Cool, so this is life now. But at least it finally made me finish this one shot for @jiyongsangel Man's Best Friend writing challenge (Thanks for asking me, love doing those! <3) This is for the song Nobody's Son by Sabrina Carpenter which at first challenged me because I have... absolutely no interest in writing about toxic romantic interests but I think i found a way to incorporate the song into the story in another way nonetheless, let me know what you think. <3 I hope it won't be too long before the next update of one of my stories but I am going on vacation (Seoul<3) next month and before every weekend is chaotic. But I am trying my best.
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I am crying when Jiyong picks up.
“He broke up with me!”
No hellos. At first, no reaction either. Just silence on the other end while my blurry vision scans the rainy street in front of the dark, lonely bus stop where I sit.
“What? Weren’t you having dinner with his parents tonight?”
“I thought so too.” My voice almost hiccups from crying. “But then he showed up alone and told me we should take a break because he needs to grow emotionally instead.”
Ji curses under his breath. Apparently, he finds that reason just as pretentious as I do. When the words came out of my (now) ex’s mouth, I thought it was a joke for a second. His face said otherwise.
“What a… fuckface.” That’s one way to put it. “Where are you now?”
“I… I bought wine and gummy worms and a new vacuum cleaner and now I am sitting with all that in a bus stop and…”
“Okay, what… why… why did you buy a… ah, whatever. You want to come over?”
Obviously, I want to come over. That is why I called. That is why I always call.
It’s not like we only see each other when my heart breaks; Jiyong and I have been friends since our early twenties. We’ve shared the good times, even had a joint birthday party or two. Group vacations. If he weren’t usually busy being a superstar, I’d say he’s my best friend. Well… no, he is my best friend.
But I definitely always do call him when I get my heart broken. He’s nice to me, he has cats to cuddle and that huge bathtub in his apartment. It’s just good being around him when I feel bad. Everyone should have a comfort-Jiyong. And did I mention the huge bathtub?
“Yeah, is that okay?” I still ask and he scoffs, because it's a stupid question and hangs up. Rude?
I get an Uber. The driver looks a little confused at the mascara-stained woman with a vacuum cleaner box on her lap, headed to Hannam. He doesn’t ask. I lean back dramatically and stare out at the lights flashing past.
A bit later, I kick Ji’s door with my foot because my hands are full. Half with the box and the grocery bag of cheap wine and candy, half with my pride in shreds. Jiyong stares like I’ve tracked mud into his spotless apartment, which I probably have. His hair is messy in a way that says he didn’t plan for company, but I don’t care.
“You look like hell.” he says.
“I look like a woman scorned.” I kick off my shoes, shuffle past him and collapse on the couch. The cats follow me like I’m a human jungle gym, climbing onto my lap before I can even open the wine. “Your children missed me.”
“They like whoever feeds them.” He sets the bag on the table, pulls out the wine and raises a brow. “You brought screw-top Merlot. Truly the taste of heartbreak. I have better stuff here?”
“Don’t mock me in my time of suffering. And of course I couldn’t come empty-handed.” He scoffs again. I always invite myself over and pretend cheap wine makes us even. And then we usually drink his expensive stuff. Not sure what happens to my bottles actually.
I hold out my hands. “Pour it, servant.”
He ignores me, twists the cap and takes the first swig himself, straight from the bottle. I gasp like he just stole my firstborn.
“I needed that.” he groans, but when I reach for it, he lifts it higher.
“You’re supposed to comfort me.”
“I am comforting you. By saving you from drinking this.” Still, he hands it over. I take a huge sip. It’s gross. When I finally come up for air, he asks “So what did this one do?”
I fling myself dramatically against the couch cushion. “He was nobody’s son.”
Jiyong blinks. “And what the hell does that mean?”
“It means he was pretty, charming, sweet and absolutely allergic to commitment. It means I wasted six months on another guy who only wanted the honeymoon phase, but didn’t bother to tell me.”
“You mean he was an asshole.”
“Yes, thank you, Detective Obvious.” I pat Zoa, bury my face in her fur and mumble, “I just want someone who’ll love me forever. Is that so much to ask?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Ji watching me. Not laughing. Not teasing. Just watching with that unreadable expression he gets sometimes, like he knows something I don’t.
I swirl the bottle, watching the cheap red slosh. “He told me he was busy. All the time. Business trips, late nights, family dinners. Turns out…” I tip the bottle toward Jiyong like it’s a mic and pretend to be a game show host when I reveal the answer to it all. “…he was busy dating two other women. At the same time. Like a fucking group project.”
Jiyong freezes halfway into sitting down beside me. “You’re joking.”
“I wish.” I laugh, but it comes out cracked. “One of them DM’d me. Sent screenshots. Said she felt sorry for me. I confronted him and he said he didn’t realise we were THAT exclusive. For some reason, I said whatever, as long as from now on I’m the only one.” I look down, embarrassed. I do believe everyone should live the relationship model they want, but this was bullshit. We had talked about being exclusive when we… became exclusive? I knew he was lying, but I was sad and decided to turn a blind eye. “Et voilà. A couple of days later and he already decided I’m not enough. ‘Needs to grow emotionally’, my ass.”
Even now I am aware this is probably for the best… But he could have done it in a way that didn’t make me feel like I am the problem. Like I am too much and not enough at the same time.
Ji’s jaw tightens, sharp as glass. “Where is he now?”
I blink. “Why?”
“So I can have him buried in the mountains.”
Despite myself, I grin. “So you kill people now?”
Ji shrugs, ruffling his hair. “I wouldn’t get caught. Or at least the people I would pay wouldn’t get caught.” His eyes flick to me, the muscle in his cheek jumps. “He strung you along for months. Lied to your face. Made you think you were crazy for wanting more. Do you know how much I want to kill him right now?”
“Aw.” I coo, reaching out with the bottle like I might toast him. “You love me.”
Jiyong’s face twitches. “I do, which is why I’m angry.” He leans forward. “Why do you keep letting men like that near you?”
The smile fades. My heart sinks. “Excuse me?”
“You fall for the same type every single time. Pretty face, smooth lines, a little mystery and you jump headfirst like you’ve never been burned before. The next one will be different, sure. One was a chaebol heir, one was American, one was a lawyer. But inside they were all shit.”
I sit up, indignant. “So this is my fault now?”
“I didn’t say that.” His voice is tight, rising. “I’m saying you need to be more careful. You say you want something real, but you’re not even looking in the right direction.”
I shove the cat off my lap and set the bottle down too hard. “Thanks, Ji. Really supportive.” My voice a bit shriller than I would have liked it to be.
He drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. “I am supportive. I’ve been supportive for years. I’ve been here every time some idiot breaks your heart. Do you know how insane it drives me to watch you cry over men who don’t even deserve to know your name?”
The mood shifts. We always banter, sure. But this is different. He’s not play-annoyed. He’s actually annoyed. And it hurts.
My throat tightens. I fight it. “You think I like this? You think I enjoy getting wrecked every few months? I want something serious, Ji. I want flowers, anniversaries, a family one day. I want someone who stays and is crazy about me. It’s not like I’m asking for the moon.”
“You say that, but your actions don’t match.” His voice is sharp, almost a shout. “If you really wanted that, you wouldn’t keep choosing men who run at the first sign of responsibility.”
I push to my feet, heat flooding my face. So that’s what he thinks? Really thinks? That I’m some masochist who’d rather get my heart broken than date for real? Fuck him. Also: “And where the hell are these men you think I’m supposed to find, oh wise rapper GD? Point them out, please. I’ll go get one right now.”
At some point, he’s stood too. The air between us is heavy. His jaw flexes. We haven’t fought like this since the New Year’s fiasco in 2015. Then he jabs a finger at his own chest.
“Here. Right here. Open your damn eyes.”
I blink at him, stunned. “Very funny.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” His voice is low, rough. “You want someone who’ll stay? Who’ll give you family and flowers and big gestures? I would. I’d give you all of it. I’d love to make you happy. I’d love to have children with you.” His mouth twists into something like a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’d even enjoy the process.”
My heart stumbles. “Oh fuck off… you’re crazy.”
“No. I’m not.” His frustration is all over him: eyes sharp, shoulders tense, hands restless. “I’m just a good man you refuse to see. Because you’re too busy chasing idiots. And I would know… I used to be the biggest idiot. Still am often, actually. But not with you. For you, I’d be good.”
The silence that follows is unbearable. My pulse is thundering in my ears.
I grab my bag, because if I don’t leave right now, I’ll say something I can’t take back. “I need air.” I mutter, pushing past him. He doesn’t stop me.
…but outside, there’s not enough air to erase what I just heard.
“Clearly he’s doing harder drugs now.” I mutter in an Uber a couple of minutes later, even though he seemed perfectly sober. He was wearing pyjamas. Who does hard drugs in pyjamas? Ah, what do I know.
“What? Who is?” The cabbie looks confused, which is fair. These are the first words I’ve said to him.
“My best friend. Who just told me he wants to start a family with me. He must be using.”
Silence.
“Or… he wants to start a family with you?” the guy offers. I shoot him an evil look. He has a two-star rating coming his way.
At home, I sit by the window and feel like crying.
What the fuck happened tonight. Over the next couple of days, I try to convince myself he didn’t mean it. He MUST not have meant it. Maybe he was speaking figuratively. Like… good men like him. Not him. It’s not that I never thought about it, of course. Considering these things, especially when meeting someone new, is normal, right? And we even kissed once. Or twice? But it was a dare when we got drunk and we were basically babies. Okay, maybe twenty-four, but I can barely remember it and we never talked about it again and… well… does it even count if it’s been so long?
I don’t text him. And he doesn’t text me either. A week later, while I’m at work, my phone finally buzzes.
Jiyong: Your vacuum cleaner is still here. Should I let someone bring it over to you?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help with the move.” I say, collapsing a box of kitchen utensils.
She takes it and drops it with the others. “I mean… you are right now, right?”
I shrug, then nod. “Well, yeah, but you know what I mean…”
She waves it off. “You were busy abroad, I get it. Also… what would that have looked like? You? Signing autographs in front of my ex’s apartment instead of helping?”
She touches my arm, teasing like I couldn’t carry much anyway. I swat her hand away and grab a heavy stack of plates, trying to lift it to the highest shelf like it’s effortless. It’s not, but my ego needs it.
She’s right, of course. Still, I’m here now.
Even I thought this relationship might last. After my usual jealous streak when she found someone new, I admitted the guy seemed decent. Should’ve known something was off. Tax evasion on the level of jail time? New. Cheating on her with his lawyer? That’s a new record, even for her. She’s so fucking unlucky with men, my god.
“Still, thanks for always being there, Ji. I promise the next one will be the last. So you won’t have to pick up the pieces again.”
I can’t help smiling at her. She still believes in the next one. The one true love. It’s always the next person she dates. She’s a hopeless romantic and after all the shit she’s been through, I admire her for it.
Break-up no. 7 – Five years ago
“And so… basically… It’s a good thing.” She says it like she almost believes it. I don’t, but who cares. My job is to listen. “I can finally concentrate on what’s important.”
We’re at a bar. She looks incredible, hair freshly cut, outfit perfectly styled. She needs to believe she’s fine with the breakup. And even though I told her he was bad news from the start, I can’t gloat. At least she isn’t crying or drunk. This could still be a good night.
“Good, I’m glad. Whatever makes you happy.” I smile at her.
She scans my face, suspicious, but I just keep smiling and nudge the shared starter platter toward her. She takes some, then looks down. Her shoulders sink and my heart cracks.
Of course, she has priorities outside her love life. But I know her. Her number one priority has always been love. Lover girl. I relate.
“Man, I can already tell this will be good for you. You’re glowing. You look so good tonight.” I blurt it out without thinking, just trying to make her feel better.
She looks up again, smiling, beaming almost. Exactly what she needed to hear.
I’m getting too good at this.
Break-up no. 1 – Seven years ago, four months after they met
She calls me in the middle of the night. If I’m honest, I half-hope it’s a drunk booty call. Instead, she’s crying so hard she can barely talk. Eventually, I get a location out of her. Not far, but it’s pouring, a Saturday night, people everywhere. I throw on a hoodie and a mask and hurry there.
I find her sitting on the sidewalk, clutching a soju bottle in each hand. Pathetic, but also a little funny.
“Aish… what’s going on, it can’t be that bad…”
She looks up, face a mess, lets the bottles drop and raises her arm like a toddler who wants to be picked up. I can’t lift her, but I can sit beside her and wrap my arms around her.
“What happened?”
“He… he left me and I didn’t know who else to call…”
Her head is on my shoulder, soaking it with tears.
Let’s be honest. I’m not used to being friend-zoned this hard. When we met a few months ago, I flirted. She thought I was joking, laughed, kept telling me about her boyfriend. The guy’s good-looking, sure, but I’m cooler. Didn’t matter. To her, I was the party buddy. Then the hangover buddy. Now? The emergency-contact buddy. A “good friend.”
Not sure I’m comfortable with that.
But her sobs are loud, people stare and my heart hurts because hers does.
“Hey, it’s gonna be fine, little one.” I say it softly, because I know how it feels. I just show it differently. Less crying, more angry lyrics.
“No, it won’t. I’ll never be happy again. There’s no one like him.”
I almost laugh. She’s so dramatic and I always liked that about her. That night we met at the club, she told me to remember her face, because meeting her would soon be one of my most cherished memories. I laughed, asked why and she just said Watch me, downed two shots and did the dumbest little dance under purple and yellow lights. Just ran straight to the by that time of the night emptied dance floor. No skill, no sex appeal, just pure fun. She indeed was unforgettable.
I think I fell for her right then and there.
So I hug her tighter, swaying. “Ah, bullshit. There are a million guys for you. All with great hair, dumb jokes, amazing in bed. It’s good he’s gone - you wouldn’t meet them if he was still around.”
She laughs a little, then cries again. But that’s okay. I’ll hold her until she stops.
I think I’ve been in love with her since that stupid dance. But she doesn’t love me back and being her friend is the next best thing.
HER
Two weeks later, I go to pick up the vacuum. It’s the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other, I guess. When he’s on tour, I sometimes don’t see him for months, but that feels different. I still get sleepy voice notes and cat pictures from his housekeeper. I’ve even hung out at his place when he wasn’t home - he thought it was weird, but I told him the cats shouldn’t be abandoned by me just because he did.
Every day, I had moments where I thought, I need to tell Jiyong about this. But I didn’t. It’s awkward. We both know it.
I’m low-key sweating in the elevator.
And then… It’s fine. Weird and different, but fine. He pretends nothing ever happened, so I do too. We chat. He tells me what he’s been up to. We eat ramen. I go home. Not how we usually are, but maybe we just needed to shake it off.
The next morning, I still feel weird. I miss my friend. I miss Ji.
My brain keeps circling. Maybe he only said it to prove a point. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe he lost his mind. But sometimes, sitting at work, I wonder. What if…?
Wouldn’t being friends first be a solid base for something real? That’s what people with healthy long-term relationships often say. Ignoring the chaos of his fame, he’d make a good boyfriend, right? A caring one. He can be charming…
And then I wonder what he’s like in bed and I blush so hard my co-worker asks if I’m okay. Honestly, I’m not sure.
That night, my head and heart and body form an alliance against me and I dream about him.
We are on his couch. My safe space. Comfortable, familiar. We’re having tea - ridiculous, because I never drink tea, only he does. Probably just my brain trying to keep it as wholesome as possible before everything tilts. Good dramatic effect, I have to admit.
Because suddenly I’m pulling his arm, dragging him down with me until we sink into the cushions like it is quicksand. Physically impossible, but in dreams, anything goes. He looks startled at first, then his face softens and suddenly we’re tangled, half on top of each other. Somehow I’m on his lap. Somehow, my hands are in his hair, tugging lightly and he closes his eyes like he’s savoring it.
His mouth twitches and I want to kiss it so badly, but the dream won’t let me. It’s like there’s a string pulling me close, but never close enough. I whimper in frustration and the sound makes his eyes snap open. What I see there wrecks me - frustration, yes, but also longing. Lust. I want him even more.
And then his hands are on me. Sliding up my sides, slipping lower, tracing my waist like he owns it. Unfair. He can touch me, but I can’t kiss him? His body is solid beneath mine, his cock hard against me, my own body aching wet for him. Please, just…
A noise cuts through. We both look up.
My mom is standing beside the couch.
His too, actually. Both unimpressed.
“So… just so you know… he actually isn’t Nobody’s Son. He is mine.”
Oh god, there is nothing as scary as pissed momma Kwon.
And then I wake up.
I try to compartmentalize the whole following day. File it under random dream nonsense. Doesn’t work.
Because I get more the next night…
One moment I’m falling asleep, the next I’m watching him across a golden-tinted room that feels surreal. Makes sense, it’s a dream after all. He’s leaning back in a chair that looks more like a throne, one hand curled over the backrest, legs spread in that careless sprawl he does when he forgets anyone is watching. Except that he knows my eyes are on him. His grin is sly, slow, the kind you want to slap off - or kiss until you can’t breathe.
This dream is nothing like the other. The other one at least started cozy. This is… fae-smut-romance territory. Because somehow… he has a crown and wings and I should stop reading that shit, clearly.
He stands and even that is unfairly elegant. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, the sharp line of his ass in black tight leather pants.
My throat goes dry. His grin sharpens into something dangerous. Half-promise, half-threat.
He doesn’t need to move closer, but of course he does. Each step is deliberate. Eyes locked on mine.
Then his hands are on me again - slim fingers skating over my sides, dragging across my ribs before sliding higher to cup my breast. Uhm, why am I naked? Unfair.
His thumb brushes my nipple and I gasp, embarrassingly needy. He laughs, low and delighted, then bends his head, lips pressing to my collarbone, tongue circling lower, slower.
I arch into him, already aching. His mouth lingers over the swell of my breast, teeth grazing, lips closing around my nipple until I moan. He knows. Of course, he knows. His palm drags lower, resting just above where I need him. Cruel. He kisses down over my ribs, my stomach, pausing to breathe hot against my skin until I clench around nothing while he kneels in front of me.
“Please” I whisper, though I don’t remember deciding to speak.
Instead of giving me what I want, he kisses the inside of my thigh. Wet, open-mouthed kisses that get closer, then retreat. His hand spreads my legs wider, thumb pressing just beside where I throb. He’s too good at this, every second orchestrated to make me ache harder.
I want his tongue, his fingers, his filthy voice. I can almost feel it, but the dream refuses. He stays maddeningly slow, teasing bites on my inner thigh.
I can’t take it. I push my hips up, chasing his mouth, but he only chuckles. Shakes his head. His tongue flicks once, fast, infuriating. I let out a sound that’s more growl than moan, but he just smiles, elegant and smug, as if he knows exactly how undone I am.
And then I wake. Sheets twisted around me, skin damp with sweat.
It feels like his mouth is still on me, his laugh still low in my ear. I don’t even think before my hand slides under the sheets, slipping between my thighs.
I’m soaked. My fingers glide over my clit too easily and I moan into the pillow, embarrassed even though I’m alone. My body doesn’t care. It rocks into my touch like it’s his, like he’s finally giving me what I begged for.
When the orgasm crashes through me, I’m left panting, heart racing, the dream dissolving, but his face still sharp in my mind.
That grin. That deliberate teasing. I press my palm to my face, half-laughing, half-mortified.
What the hell was that?
Except I know exactly what it was. I just got myself off thinking about my best friend.
--------------
So, there we are.
I kind of hate myself after I start wondering if I only like him because he suddenly gave me attention. Or maybe not so suddenly. I don’t know. Either way, it’s not a good reason to want someone, right?
But the next time we’re at a bar with friends, about three weeks after the incident, I look across the table at Ji and wonder how I didn’t see him before. Just like he said.
If I think about it… all those things he says I’m into - “pretty face, smooth lines, a little mystery” - he’s all of that. And I know he isn’t some innocent little angel; he messed up in the past. Sometimes badly, however, he left that behind him in recent years. But at the same time, he’s the guy who loves nothing more in the world than his cats and his parents and his friends. The one with a collection of cuddly blankets on the couch, who’ll watch a drama with you if you ask nicely, who remembers random details from things you told him ages ago and organizes amazing cakes and flowers for my birthday and…
…fuck.
Turns out Kwon Jiyong is fucking dreamy.
I realise it in the middle of this lively crowd. From one moment to the next, I know this isn’t a fluke.
I’ve loved him for the longest time.
But maybe I also… like… love love him.
Because right now I want to circle his name with a heart, just because he’s leaning over a napkin, sketching something no one else can see. Tongue sticking out a little as he concentrates. Around him, it’s drunk people, loud music, a whole dinner table. But he’s off in his own world. Only to snap out seconds later and rejoin the circle he built around us over the years, laughing, telling stories, cheeks flushed from the drinks and totally present. I love both those sides of him.
I don’t think he notices my stare, but then his head turns and his eyes find mine nevertheless. He looks surprised, like this is something he always does, but usually I’m not there glaring back.
I almost look away. But I don’t. We just keep staring and I can’t help but smile. He smiles too. My eyes flick toward the hallway and then I get up.
Waiting there, I start to get nervous. Maybe he didn’t understand. But then he appears, confusion written all over his face.
“You good?” he asks.
His cheeks are red, his eyes spacy. He’s drunk and so am I. Not the only reason this isn’t a good idea.
I nod. Don’t speak at first, just stare until he slows down, frowning a little.
“What?”
“Can I try something?”
He shrugs, then nods hesitantly.
And then I just kiss him.
Let me say this again. Not a good idea.
Maybe realising I like someone like him is, but throwing caution to the wind and just trying something with your best friend? Really not a good idea.
But it doesn’t matter.
No, screw that. It’s a great idea.
He tastes of soju and cigarettes. It doesn’t sound romantic, but in the moment, it’s perfect. Even before he reacts, his lips feel right on mine. I kiss into him, press him back against the wall. Ji freezes for a second, then jolts into action.
His arms wrap around me, not my waist exactly, more like a hug over my back. It feels like he’s holding on now that I’ve finally made it into his arms. And when he kisses me back - firm and determined and perfect - I lose my mind. Forget where I am. Forget who I am.
We stumble sideways into the wall, one of his palms now warm against my cheek, stroking my hair. His tongue gentle against mine.
It’s so good, it feels like I’ve been playing kissing on an easy level my whole level and now finally get to advance.
“How long…” he finally gets out between kisses “do you need to try before you have a verdict?”
I shut his mouth with mine and he chuckles into my lips.
I don’t know… Except for maybe that I don’t want to stop.
We move further away from the light, deeper into the hallway and eventually he does halt us. His hand on my back steadies me, the other one gently pushes me away. I growl. But try to stand on my feet without needing his support, looking up at him a little pouty. A little embarrassed, a little upset, a little horny.
“Not like this…” he finally gets out and there are so many things visible in his eyes that I get overwhelmed as well. Hunger, but also a little sadness.
“Like what?” I ask, breathless. My hands reach for him, wanting him back close.
“Like a drunk mistake.”
That halts me. Well, nah, don’t call me a mistake…
I guess he didn’t; he did the opposite. He sees me pouting more and I can tell he is having a hard time resisting not at least hugging me. Instead, he moves a hand across my hair, putting a couple of strands where they belong.
I let my shoulders slump.
Jiyong leans in, whispers an almost apologetic, somewhat soothing. “I’m gonna head home…” into my ear.
But instead of acknowledging that he is being good, I hold onto his shirt for a second. “Can I come?”
“Oh my god, you are the devil.” he says, laughing, creating distance between us again, but at the same time clearly enjoying that I am being that needy. “No, you can’t. But you can call me tomorrow when you are sober again, alright? No matter what the verdict of the trial was.”
He lets go and smiles and disappears. And I stand there for a second, then I go back to the table and decide to get absolutely shitfaced.
----------------------
The hangover the next morning feels like a movie one. I wake up disoriented with a headache from hell. Cry a little, moan a little, only leave the bed because I have to pee and drink at least two bottles of water. Feeling strangely accomplished because I even manage to brush my teeth and stand under the shower long enough to call it a shower, though just barely.
That is when I remember. The headache eases for a second, leaving room for the flash of Jiyong. Close and far away at the same time. At first, I thought it was another dream, but it wasn’t. That happened.
My heart rate spikes, my headache slams back into me and I crawl into my bathrobe, then into bed.
With every pounding throb behind my eyes, I squeeze them shut tighter. Oh god. What did I do? Regret floods me, but not entirely. The memory is too good. Still, I’m terrified. At some point, I remember him telling me to reach out, but I can’t bring myself to. It takes an eternity to grab my phone, battery almost dead, screen lit up with notifications.
No texts from him though. No calls. :///
Maybe he’s waiting for me to wake up. Maybe he wants to give me time to recover. Maybe… he changed his mind, maybe…
The doorbell rings. I think I might faint from how badly my head protests. Moving slowly, I shuffle to the door and then freeze, because it’s him.
I sigh, let him in and try to steady myself against the wall. When Jiyong steps into the frame, my heart does something weird, slowing and quickening at the same time. He just stares at me.
“Hey… I just wanted to see if you are… lucid?”
“Barely.” I groan, watching him close the door behind him. “I think I drank a lot after you left.”
“Yeah, you did.”
His hair is a mess, sticking out in all directions, clearly he is not what I would consider well rested and I can’t help but stare at him.
“How would you know?”
“The voice messages you left me were really hard to understand.”
“I did… no…”
Tears threaten immediately. Why do I always overdo everything?
“Did I really?”
He smiles, shoulders sinking deeper into his jacket as his hands slide into the pockets. “Nah, just kidding.”
“What? Don’t mess with me like that…”
“It was just the one.”
That’s all it takes. A couple of seconds later, I’m crying. My headache rages.
“Oh, hey, no…” he says, half laughing, half concerned and moves toward me, wrapping his arms around me. “I didn’t mean to… It’s fine. Don’t cry over this, okay? You were being kinda cute, actually. It was just obvious you had a bit too much, so I figured I’d check on you.”
I sink into him right away, hiding my face against his jacket. The light still hurts my eyes, but in his arms, I feel a bit better.
He smells good. He feels even better. Warm and real and steady.
“That bad?” His voice is right by my ear as he strokes my head.
I nod and sob a bit more. “Was I actually cute in the message?”
“Super cute.” His grin is audible.
“Did I tell you any secrets?”
He chuckles. “You want to listen to it?”
“Absolutely not. Just tell me what I said.”
“That you were walking home. That you really want to visit Spain at some point next year. And that I’m a very good kisser.”
Embarrassing, but not as bad as it could have been. I could have mentioned how dreamy he is. Or worse, the dreams. If I did, he’s keeping it to himself.
“Let’s get some hangover cure into you, hm?” he says eventually, swaying me gently. I nod.
A few minutes later, I’m back in bed, painkillers and herbal medicine downed. Ji stands over me like he pities me and I find myself enjoying the attention if I'm honest. I open my arms lazily, an unspoken plea for cuddles. He looks relieved, slides in beside me and holds my hand. Strokes my hair.
“You know…” I mutter after I have hidden my face a little. “You really are a good kisser.” It comes out soft, uncertain.
Ji grins. “I know.” The grin isn’t wicked, just full of quiet happiness. If I had the strength, I’d make sure he understood I wasn’t just drunk last night, but my thoughts move too slowly. For now, this is enough.
This and clinging to him. My hands bunching his shirt, my face buried in the crook of his neck. I’ve known him long enough, seen him with women. He loves that shit; he is a cuddler. Love boy.
And the best part is… so am I. Maybe it really should have been obvious all along. Maybe I’ve been blind.
“Go back to sleep, okay?” he says gently. I want to protest, but don’t. I doze off instead, drifting in and out. Whenever I jolt awake, he’s still there, smiling at me, one hand resting on me while the other scrolls his phone. He soothes me back to sleep every time.
When I wake up properly, it’s almost evening. My headache has calmed down. At some point, he must have pulled a blanket over us both.
“Feeling a bit better?” Ji asks and I pause as if checking. Then I nod. I do. Still tired, but not in pain. The painkillers must have helped but so did having him here. I just know it. And I’m not ready to let go, leaning into his side until he turns to face me, no longer on his back but on his side as well.
As cheesy as it sounds, looking at him now feels different. Things I always knew about him suddenly stand out sharper, brighter. He is so fucking beautiful.
My hand drifts up his chest without thinking, resting against his cheek. Stubble rough under my fingertips, skin warm, the faint smell of his cologne tangled with my detergent in the sheets. It’s good. Too good.
“Do you need to try something again?” he asks, smiling gently, his thumb stroking my arm. I nod.
Before I can second-guess myself, I lean in and press my lips to his. A peck, soft and careful, like testing the weight of something precious. He freezes, almost forgets to breathe, so I do it again - this time with the tiniest smile tugging at my mouth. It’s nothing like the messy, drunken kiss at the bar. This one feels deliberate. Sober. A choice.
He exhales slowly, eyes lingering on mine as if he needs a second to come back to himself. Then he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and lets out a quiet laugh, almost to himself. He shifts upright. “You should sleep more. And I should head home.”
He’s probably right. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave and I don’t want him to. But it’s better that way and I do need the rest. Only…
“Without… without kissing me back?”
It comes out more desperate than I meant, but once the thought slips out, I can’t take it back.
His brow arches, amused. “What?”
“You… you’ve never…” I trail off, suddenly too awkward to finish. I pull the blanket higher, hiding in it, which is ridiculous because normally I never shut up. But right now, everything is too much.
A few seconds pass. Then he tugs gently at the blanket until I let go.
His grin could kill me. “Sorry, you’re right. I can’t go without kissing you back.” He cups my cheek and leans down, finally doing it.
Soft and careful, but insistent. He doesn’t stop, not until the moment stretches into forever. When he finally lets go, he sighs against my mouth.
“There’s food in the fridge. Eat later, okay?”
I mumble something that might be a yes, still lost in the kiss. I want to pull him back, make him stay, but my arms are heavy and he’s already done so much. He leaves and I don’t stay awake for long. Just long enough to realise that if this is a bad idea, it’s already too late. And somehow I don’t think it is.
----------
A couple of days later - ugh, busy guy, always busy - I’m standing in the elevator up to his place. Waiting to see him again has driven me half-crazy. Sure, we texted and it was… cute. But not enough. I may not have waited as long as he has, but he’s clearly better at it than I am. Because when he opens the door, my coat is already undone and underneath I’m wearing nothing but a black underwear set.
Ji was about to pull me into a hug, but then stops. Then he bursts out laughing. Hard.
My brows knit immediately, because hello, this is supposed to be curves-curves-curves, not comedy hour. I push inside quickly, the door shutting behind me.
He’s still laughing, hand over his face.
“What the hell - you can’t - stop, you -” He can’t even finish through his laughter. My ego stings, so I toss my purse down, kick my shoes off and stalk past him.
“No, oh god, noooo. You look amazing.” he gets out between laughs, following me. He tries to slide an arm around me. I resist, then give in with a pout.
“It’s just… you surprised me, okay? I need a second to catch up. Oh my fucking god, you look so good. I can’t believe I—”
His eyes roam down my body and at least that soothes the sting. “
“Missed me THAT much?” he finally teases, cocky as ever.
I did miss him that much. But I wanted him flustered, not smug. Then again, this is Jiyong. Of course, he’s teasing.
Doesn’t mean he won’t crack eventually. He can do both. He is both.
“And here I thought we needed to have a serious talk.” he says.
“We can talk instead, if that’s what you prefer.” I shoot back, shrugging.
His grin only widens. He closes the distance, fingers gliding across my hips, pulling me in. Goosebumps rise instantly. His hands shake though and that makes my pout soften.
“If it helps…” he murmurs “I missed YOU a lot.” Then he kisses me like he means it. No hesitation, no awkwardness - like this is what we should’ve been doing all along. My arms wind around his neck and for the first time, it feels less like crossing a line and more like finally stepping onto the right side of it.
I drop the coat and go full drama. He stumbles a little, wordless, like he’s trying to put thoughts into sentences and they keep slipping away. I grin because I can see him unravel.
“Well, shit” he finally murmurs, looking up at my face. “Fucking finally.” He kisses me hard, then pulls back to grin. “Have you met my bed? You should. You two would get along.”
I laugh and let him herd me toward his bedroom. By the time we reach the bed, it’s chaos. Hands everywhere, his clothes half-removed, his laughter hot against my neck. The mattress swallows me and he’s on top of me. It’s not careful, not sweet. It’s everything that’s been waiting. He takes my lower lip between his teeth, groans when I arch up and grind. I can feel how much he wants this and it makes my head spin.
His hand slips between my legs and for a second, I can’t believe it’s real. It is real. It feels impossibly good. And the smug grin reappears when he realizes how damp my panties got simply from the thought of all this happening. Hands fumble my bra open, the little dimple appears when he smiles in the corner of his mouth because he has an idea… and then he pushes me onto my stomach, palm pressing into the small of my back. The change in position makes me gasp. I glance at the white sheets in front of me, wide-eyed and surprised, his fingers back between my legs, rubbing me until thighs shake.
His lips are at my ear. “I know you. I know how you like it.”
My eyes go even wider. Oh, good god. He does.
We’ve teased, we’ve joked, we’ve overheard each other’s stupid secrets for years. He knows the corners of me. He knows the way to make me melt and apparently even my favourite position. He moves my arms to lie beside my head, firm but careful, like he’s settling me in. Then he pulls my panties down, slides between my legs and I feel his cock press against my thighs.
“Shit, Ji… I…” The words fall out of me, jagged and useless.
“If you don’t want it, say it. That’s fine.” he murmurs, one hand gliding between the sheets and my stomach, then up to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple. His touch is patient for a beat, then intent.
“No. I want it. I want it so bad.” I try to tilt my pelvis and meet him, but he pushes me back down with a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. He reaches for the bedside table and its contents.
When he pushes in, it’s deep, right away, an angle that steals my breath and punches the world to white noise but slow at the same time. My cheek presses into the sheets. I clamp one hand around a pillow as he finds a slow, hungry rhythm. God. He was right. I do love this. The angle, his weight, the fact that it’s him - it scrambles me.
Each thrust drags over every place that makes me clench. His hand fists at my hip, the other slides up my spine in lazy, claiming strokes. He leans close enough that his breath hitches across the back of my neck. “Good?”
I answer him with a sound, a needy, raw moan. My hips tilt back without thinking, chasing him. He groans louder and drives harder until the bed creaks. The friction builds until I’m tight and trembling and soaked.
Then I turn my weapon on him. I know him as well. I know what makes him lose it. He is into good old fashioned blowjobs. And maybe a bit of risky semi-public hand stuff. But he fucking loves a dirty mouth.
“You’re so good at this.” I gasp, breath shaking. “You’re fucking me so well.”
He stutters, hips stalling for the briefest second. “Don’t-” he breathes.
I keep going, breathy and taunting. “God, you knew exactly how badly I needed it, right?”
He growls now, the sound equal parts laughter and hunger. “You little shit.” he says, realising what I am doing, then thrusts harder.
I smirk into the sheets. “What’s wrong, can’t take a little praise?” The last word ends in a moan because he is so deep inside of me and one of his hands grasps my wrist.
“Fuck you” he mutters, laughing now, though he doesn’t stop moving.
“You are” I shoot back, breathless and grinning, turning my head as far back as I can.
And that’s it - we both crack. Actual laughter, bubbling up between us, ridiculous and hot and so us. He’s still inside me, still moving, but the giggles shake through our bodies until finally he stills, forehead pressed to my back as he catches his breath. Why are we doing this? Just because we know each other so well doesn’t mean we HAVE to skip that slow close first time?
“I want to see you.” I manage, voice thick. I turn my head and he slides out, then rolls me over, easing me onto my back with the kind of slow care that makes my knees weak. He moves above me, hair falling into his face, eyes dark and searching. “Better?” he asks with that crooked grin, one hand on each side of my head. I nod and gently touch his face. He leans into the touch for a second.
So much better. Ji kisses me, mouth urgent and soft at once. When he pushes in this time, it’s even slower, more deliberate, a rhythm that makes everything feel like it’s aligning. Our mouths find one another between thrusts, messy and hungry. His hands cup my face, my nails drag his back until he groans. He traces lazy circles with his tongue across my chest and every noise I make summons a low groan from him.
It’s imperfect at times. Knees bump. We laugh into moans. His hair tickles my neck. It’s messy. It’s real. It’s gorgeous.
When I come undone, it is less fireworks and more of a long, building wave. It hangs between us, warm and endless and somehow more satisfying because it is not sharp and quick. I shake beneath him. He collapses over me, breath hot against my collarbone, kissing the hollow under my ear.
My eyes open. He’s looking at me with that soft intensity that makes me feel cradled. Ji presses a thumb against my temple, tracing slow, lazy lines. I have never felt so seen. I think he loves me.
Panic bubbles up in me, old habits twitching, doubts spitting their rehearsed lines. What if this burns out? What if he leaves? My chest tightens.
He reads it in my face, then shifts, easing out and pulls me into a sideways hug.
“Don’t… don’t get over me now that you have me, okay?” The words come without plan. I wasn’t even aware of that fear myself, but now that I can see how fucking happy I could be with him, the thought of losing that again is terrifying. Not sure if this is the moment I would like to do this… I wanted to bask in afterglow…
Jiyong looks surprised, his eyebrows move around in all sorts of emotions. “Are you really worried about that?” I shrug a little and then nod. Because… yo, even I think I am annoying. Fun as well. Even funny sometimes. But fucking annoying!
“I can’t… I can’t be too much this time. Not with you.” I murmur, scenes flooding my brain of exes telling me different versions of the same story, so I close my eyes again. Ji looks at me for a second. Then he uses his arms to push up, detangling our bodies. Only to then lean farer over me so I have to look at him.
“Okay. I need you to really hear this, yeah? You are… dramatic as fuck. You are so loud and… sometimes crazy annoying, I am not gonna lie.” I pout. Great. “But that is my favourite thing about you. And you are my favourite person. So basically it is what I like best ever… ever ever.” My face is hesitant, so he keeps going. “You’re a fucking weirdo. Why do you always have to drink so much when you know you can’t handle it. And why… why have you kept on dating these idiots? Why the hell did you buy that vacuum cleaner? Like… I am serious. That was so weird. None of that makes sense, but I love it… You have… passion for everything you do and I could never ever think you are too much. You showed up in underwear and a coat? That was so cool and random? And we just had like… fantastic sex, but also laughed during that? I… love… everything about you…” His face is so close to mine, Ji is pressing his lips gently against the corner of my mouth. “I have loved everything about you for years, so please don’t ever be scared of that. Not with me. You were looking for the one? The person who will be the last? Fucking hell, let it be me…”
My mouth twitches. I want to believe him with my whole body. The old scripts about being left whisper like ghosts. I push them down because he would not say this if he did not mean it. I know his coffee order, his kinks, his offbeat habits. And that he would not lie about this.
“Okay” I manage at last, a small sound that feels huge.
He laughs, delighted. “Okay? That’s it? I finally made you speechless?”
I nod and trace his cheek with my finger. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
He squeezes me close. “It’s fine. You’ll be in love with me in no time, I am just giving you time to catch up.” He winks, cockily sure, moving in for another kiss.
Maybe he’s joking to lighten the mood. But I think I won’t need very long.
Actually… I am probably already there.
<3
------------------
Weeeeee, how are we feeling?
Other writers in the challenge, check them out: @gdinthehouseee @slut4kwon @moonqz @gds-daisy @wcnderlnds @igorluvr @gggtabi @seungsjo @steponupbabe <3
do you plan on finishing waiting for something?? 👀
Hey 💛 I do really hope so. I literally haven’t written for it for years but I think about it all the time. Not gonna lie, I tried a couple of times and it just wasn’t flowing and I think that’s because I’m not sure how to end it. But I really hope that once bangtan has comebacks again I will get back into it. Miss writing for namjoon :) thanks for asking, it’s so nice to think people still care
Hey angels, in honour of me hitting 200 followers I’ve gathered some of my favourite bigbang writers to take part in this writing challenge based on Sabrina carpenters new album !!
Im so so grateful for every single one of you who has followed me and enjoys my writing, it truly means a lot. I started this account thinking it wouldn’t go anywhere but people actually like my writing and I’ve made some amazing, what I’d like to think, are my friends.
I also love love love this album it’s so perfect, with that said please show these writers some love they’re truly incredible.
And tysm to the writers who took part in this, I absolutely cannot wait to see what all of you have come up with !!
If you want to be on the taglist for the fics on this event comment on this post !!
Master list is below !!
Manchild ✦ ( @gdinthehouseee )
☆Kwon Jiyong
Tears ✦ ( @slut4kwon )
★Kwon Jiyong
My man on willpower ✦ ( @moonqz )
☆Kwon Jiyong
Sugar talking ✦ ( @gds-daisy )
★Kwon Jiyong
We almost broke up again last night ✦ ( @wcnderlnds )
Summary: He’s always late, especially when it matters. Shows up with something expensive in hand and that infuriating, smug smile on his face. One day I really will stop opening the door when he shows up. But tonight is my birthday.
Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, swearing, alcohol, bad communication styles, flawed characters with flawed relationships, angst with happy ending, chanel can't fix everything, this is fiction - ditch men if they treat you badly <3
<3: This was written as part of the lovely @slut4kwon's so close to what writing event. Thank you for asking me, Hailey <3 I only just realized I've never written a one shot before! Using a song as inspo (2 hands by Tate McRae) was a challenge at first but then pink haired Ji popped into my head and I just went from there. :D
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The apartment looks like someone’s Instagram story threw up - empty champagne flutes on the coffee table, silver balloons tied to chair backs, a rogue party hat on the floor next to a stain when the neighbor dropped some salsa. I’m barefoot, tiptoeing through glitter while tossing crumpled napkins into a trash bag. My dress is draped over the arm of the couch, its zipper halfway undone before I gave up and let it fall, leaving me in just the black silky little slip I wore underneath. My makeup is smudged but in that good way, like I danced hard, laughed harder and for a few hours actually believed this was going to be one of my best birthdays yet.
Except it’s past three in the morning now. Everyone’s gone home, the music’s long stopped and my phone screen is full of birthday messages, but they stay ignored.
I keep telling myself I had too much champagne or that I am still fresh enough to tidy at least a little and that’s why I’m still awake. But that’s a lie and I know it. I stayed up because I was hoping he’d show. Still. Because some stupid, traitorous part of me thought maybe he’d remember that today actually mattered. That it mattered that he said he come - on time. But no, he didn’t. And he didn’t call to cancel or apologize or explain, not even a damn text. And yet I am waiting on him. Maybe it’s not the best birthday after all if I am letting him do this to me.
“Fuck you, Kwon Jiyong.” I murmur and dump the trash bag on a counter, move towards the bathroom. And of course, that is when the doorbell rings.
I don’t need to check the CCTV to know who it is, don’t need to see that smug little crooked grin he gives the camera. When I don’t open right away, his face changes, trying to look cute, innocent, like a kid who just broke a vase. I know all his faces - we’ve known each other too long for him to surprise me. They are all cute and annoying at the same time, ugh!
There was a time I thought we would end up together. When we had just met. There was a time we fucked like it was an Olympic sport. A time we pretended the other didn’t exist. Whatever this is now has been going on for months. It’s intense and fun when it works and just plain maddening when it doesn’t. My friends stopped feeling sorry for me ages ago. Now they’re just annoyed at me when I even mention him and I can’t blame them.
Eventually, I buzz him in when he starts singing Happy Birthday loud enough to wake my neighbors. The little shit knows I like this apartment and don’t want everyone hating me. I leave the door ajar and go back to tidying while he rides the elevator up. I hear the creak, then footsteps. I glance up only when he stops in front of me: pink hair hidden beneath a baseball cap, hoodie pulled up, big Chanel bag dangling from his hand.
“Surprise…” he says with a wide smile. Ji looks tired, but stupidly handsome, like always - I hate that.
He’s cautious, approaches me like a wild animal. Good instincts. I walk right past him without a word, suddenly very busy ferrying glasses to the sink.
“Babeee…” he half-laughs behind me, which only makes it worse. Like I’m a joke. “Happy birthday?”
“Oh, whatever…My birthday was literally yesterday by now.” I mumble. “If you’re gonna be here, at least help.”
He drops the bag and the hat and joins me. We move silently between the living room and kitchen until eventually he turns around.
“Come on… let me give you a hug. I’m sorry I’m late, babe, but I’m here now, right?” He steps in close enough that my back meets the counter, but doesn’t touch me. I cross my arms, leaning against the fake marble. “And I’m supposed to be grateful for that? Seriously?”
He looks wrecked. I’ve seen his face in every stage of life and this is a Jiyong who’s jetlagged, drained from an entire week, not just today.
Stupid tour. Stupid music. Stupid… me… for caring.
Of course, I understand. Also, we are not dating. But I am mad because he told me he would be here for the party, not because I just expect him to know that I want him there.
If I wanted a sweet, always-home boyfriend… I would see someone else. But understanding doesn’t stop me from feeling like he’s taking advantage though. He could’ve just called.
His eyes trail over me, slow and blatant. “Is this all you wore?”
I arch a brow. “Would it be a problem if it was?”
He shrugs. “No. Just surprised.” His two hands settle on my hips, feeling the chiffon.
I sigh. “I wore a proper dress earlier. You should’ve seen it. I looked amazing.”
His fingers drum against the counter in a lazy rhythm while he watches me, the faint scrape of his rings forever scratched into my memory.
“You still do.” he says softly. “And I see you wore something nice underneath… a little present for me?”
One hand slides up, playing with the electric blue strap of my bra. Betrayal burns my cheeks because, of course I picked it hoping he’d take it off me later. I smack his hand away, refusing to admit it.
“You make me feel cheap.” I blurt out, all pretence gone. My voice is small now, not pouty - just tired. Even though we’re standing close, his body shifts. The smugness vanishes, replaced by something more serious.
“Cheap?” he asks, reaching for my hand, gentle this time. Saying it out loud feels like ripping off a band-aid. A rush floods through me, so I pull my hand back before he can lace our fingers.
“Yes. Like you think you can buy me off with gifts and sweet talk. I’m not asking for much… just not to be treated like I’ve got a price tag.”
His eyes widen, he is silent for a moment.
“You saying I treat you like a hooker?”
I press my lips together for a second and avert my gaze. I’m not a shy person. I do overthink at times but often I just blurt everything out. But feeling vulnerable is something I’ve never been good at and I just shown a lot more insight into my feelings than I had planned..
“Maybe not a hooker, but I get mistress vibes. And that doesn’t even make sense because there’s no wifey at home we’re hiding from.”
“I thought you liked the gifts.” he eventually says. I roll my eyes.
“Well, Jiyong, Chanel doesn’t fix everything. You could’ve just texted me that you were running late. I know it’s not as sexy as staring at me like I am prey and using sex to patch everything up… but it would make me hate myself a little less after you leave.”
There.
There it is.
And then something shifts in me. Saying it out loud felt good for a second, but now I feel exposed, raw in a way I hate. It’s not like he’s the only one stuck in old patterns - I’ve got my own. And perhaps they aren’t exactly the same as his. But some definitely are.
I get frustrated, push him away and when it feels like he might actually hear me, like right now? I get scared and shut down… By going all in.
“Just… at least… give it to me hard, yeah?” My voice is low, steady, like a dare.
He blinks, surprised, but doesn’t move until I grab both his hands and drag them down my stomach.
This is what I need. I tell myself. His two hands on me. He knows how to make me forget. Even if not for long, that’s better than sitting in this mess of feelings.
At first, he hesitates - makes sense, after what I just said. But his body betrays him fast. His hands tighten on my hips, sliding over the thin slip, fingers bunching the fabric as his head dips closer. Our eyes don’t meet, but our mouths do and the kiss is instantly deep, desperate.
I’ve been addicted to kissing him since the first time I did and like any addict, I’ve lied to myself. Told myself I was done with it countless times, that I could quit anytime. But whenever his tongue slides against mine, every time he grabs my face - gentle and possesive at the same time - I remember - I hate and love it all at once and I’m never really over him.
He backs me into the kitchen counter, one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my ass hard. The kiss is all teeth and wet heat, like we’re trying to devour the frustration right out of each other. He smells good. He feels good. I want to forget all I’ve been feeling and just… feel him.
I gasp when his fingers slip under my clothes, nails grazing my thigh and he groans against my mouth.
Before I can think, he’s on his knees in front of me, hands sliding up to hook my panties down. My breath hitches, my hands gripping the counter behind me, leaning back to give him everything he’s asking for. He pushes the dress up around my hips and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along my inner thighs until I’m twitching, desperate.
I moan and his grip tightens. Then his mouth is on me - licking, sucking, tongue moving just right. My head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, chasing the feeling. Nothing exists but his mouth, his hands anchoring me to the counter, the wet sounds filling the otherwise quiet kitchen.
Whatever ugly truth I just began to uncover there… I want to forget it. Quickly.
When I finally force myself to look down, ready to watch him ruin me, I freeze. He’s looking back at me, lips still wet and his eyes… aren’t hungry anymore. They’re sad. The sight knocks the breath out of me.
“What?” I rasp, confused, hands twitching at my side.
He pulls back slightly, thumb brushing my thigh, steadying himself while crouching down.
“I can’t do this if it hurts you.” he says softly, voice breaking the charged silence. “I didn’t know. I thought all this was just as fun for you. If it’s… if I’m making you feel bad, like you said… I don’t want to do that.”
While he speaks I can feel his breath on my core still.
My heart is pounding. My eyes widen. Is he breaking up with me while I am still smeared all over his face?
He exhales hard, running a hand down his face before meeting my gaze again, this time with something raw and almost terrified flickering there. Ji gets up slowly, until we are almost at eye level again, him looking down at me.
“You know I’m in love with you, right?” he asks, his eyes big, piercing right through me.
Or not breaking things off?
My jaw nearly hits the floor. Skirt still bunched around my hips, panties halfway down my thighs, I just gape at him because - no. Clearly, I did not.
Honestly, I just blink like I went into standby.
“Nooo…?” My voice goes up at the end like I’m asking a question. Not sure why. Probably because I’m not convinced I heard him right.
We stare at each other, totally silent. The kitchen feels like a crime scene. Did he really just say that while he was… yeah, no, I’m officially losing it.
“Well, I am. I thought you knew.”
“How would I know that?”
My heart kicks harder than before and I swear it’s audible.
“You’re not in love with me, Ji.” I say eventually, before he can answer, my tone certain.
This is classic Jiyong, messing with my head. A new way to keep me unbalanced. I push him away, yank my panties back up in the most ungraceful way and stomp into my bedroom. The door stays open, but he doesn’t follow.
Apparently, my body switches to autopilot when my brain malfunctions. I strip down and pull on pyjamas. Later, I’ll have no memory of deciding to do that - it’s just something for my hands to do while my mind spins like a slot machine. At least my body wants to wear something comfortable apparently. A few minutes pass. I even separate my clothes into darks and lights. Eventually, I freeze mid-sort and stare at the floor like it has answers.
I don’t think he is lying. Or… lying to himself. He meant that.
Not sure why I am now standing in front of my wardrobe, maybe I just ran away from the truth again.
But he isn’t lying.
Slowly, I walk back to the living room and stand in the doorway.
Jiyong’s still here, perched on the back of the couch, wide-eyed. Normally, his phone would already be glued to his hand, it usually is if there is silence for a second. Now he’s just staring at empty fingers until his gaze flicks up to me.
“You’re in love with me?” I ask, my tone different now. Milder. Still doubtful though.
He blinks, clearly thrown off by my sudden wardrobe change and probably the fact that he admitted it out loud.
“Yeah… for a while now.” he says, looking down again.
“Fuck…” I mutter, crossing the room to sit next to him. We both stare at the same random spot on the floor. It’s not helpful, but it’s either this or I start doing a 10-step skincare routine or cleaning the shower drain out of the need to do something. Anything.
And then i feel it. My stupid traitor heart. It is racing because… because…
“I think I’m in love with you too.” slips out of my mouth.
Oh.
Oh.
“What?” he says, sounding like he’s caught between disbelief and mild horror. Like he thinks I’m screwing with him.
Fair - two minutes ago, I had the same reaction.
Actually, this is news to me as well.
But I am. Maybe always have been. Fucked others, dated others. But the person I wanted to celebrate my birthday with, the person I care about, the guy next to me… he was the one I always come back to.
I shrug. “Didn’t realize it until just now… I mean, I was years ago, but I figured it passed.”
It hasn’t. Clearly, it hasn’t. It’s not a good idea but that doesn’t seem to be relevant…
He mutters a string of swear words under his breath. I can relate. This is a lot.
We’ve always been great at passion, at chaos, at make-up sex that could probably end wars. Feelings have always been there, but not like this. This is different. This is heavy.
Other people would probably look up now, meet each other’s eyes, smile, kiss, fall into each other’s arms. Not us. The fuckboy and the party girl need a second to process.
“But why the hell…” I pause, searching for words. “Why did you never just… stick around? I mean, everyone’s different, sure, but normally people don’t show they like someone by being late all the time or ditching them or disappearing for weeks.”
“I wasn’t trying to show you.” he says quietly. “Actually, I tried to really not do that. I thought you just… wanted fun. So I kept myself from hoping for more.”
He runs a hand through his over-dyed hair, messing it up into perfect bedhead. Combined with his words, the sight of it makes my shoulders sag. He wasn’t careless - he was careful. Jiyong tried to stay away…
“So… now what?” I ask after a long pause. Somewhere behind us, pieces of leftover lametta flutter in the AC breeze like it’s mocking us. Not so confident now, hm, you two fools?
He sighs, shoulders slumping as well. “No clue. I think I haven’t been good at… relationships.” There is a shudder in both of us because what the fuck, how are we talking about this? How did that word just suddenly come up? “I always fucked them up in the past.”
“I usually don’t even have them in the first place.” I mumble.
I am so very confused. But what I do know… things can’t stay the way they are anymore.
And that is good. Must be good? The truth must be better than playing games…
But I am also so terrified. And how could I not? I care for him so much, but we are both very bad at showing that, clearly.
But then his hand slides from his knee onto my hand, fingers threading through until they’re locked tight. Gently, he lifts it, kisses the back of it and lets them settle between us again. Neither of us moves. Neither of us looks up. We just sit there, the silence stretching so loud it’s almost deafening. Our eyes are unfocused, stuck on nothing. At least we’re overwhelmed together.
Eventually, my head tips onto his shoulder like gravity made the decision for me. Ji shifts slightly, trying to see my face, then lifts his free hand to brush his fingers softly along my cheek.
“I’m sorry.” he whispers quietly, but incredibly close. “The last thing I wanted was to make you feel bad. Everything was delayed today and I just wanted to get to you, I should have told you… I knew you would be pissed, so I didn’t, but that was dumb…. and so not helpful.”
I nod. The apology was still needed, but knowing now that he wasn’t - just - being some arrogant pop star changes everything. Hearing him say he did want to be here… helps as well.
My brain flashes through memories - me drunkenly introducing him as my boy toy to friends, me sneaking out of his bed without saying goodbye, me pretending I didn’t care every time he left town. I can see why he’d think I was never interested in more. I couldn’t even admit it to myself.
“I’m sorry too.” I say, leaning more into him.
“For what?” He whispers.
“For… pretending I didn’t care about you. I did. I do. A lot.” The panic rises again, but this time I have his hand to hold on to. It keeps it at bay.
He shifts a little, like he wants to see my face better and suddenly we’re closer - close enough that his breath hits my temple. My hand tightens instinctively around his. The moment stretches, thick and warm, until I can’t take it anymore. I tilt my face just slightly, just enough to brush my nose against his jaw.
Ji inhales sharply. That’s all it takes. He turns his head and kisses my hairline, tentative at first.
I don’t think. I just turn into it, lips finding the corner of his mouth. He exhales, shaky and then we’re kissing properly, softly, like it’s the first time all over again.
It’s slow for a long time… until it’s suddenly not. The tension snaps.
One second we’re leaning in, the next his hand is on my waist, tugging me sideways into his lap. The couch dips and we laugh breathlessly into each other’s mouths before it shifts again, his hand pressing against my back, guiding us above the backrest we are on and then down until I’m lying flat on the seat, Ji hovering above me. Fuck, his face is so beautiful as it is, light pink hair framing it. But the way he is looking at me right now is something else. It feels different, too. For once, this isn’t a way to avoid a tough conversation. Right? We want this, we want to be close to each other.
The fingers of one of our hands stay laced, even as his other hand runs up my side, bunching the soft fabric of my pyjamas. We kiss slowly at first, like neither of us wants to scare it off. My fingers tangle in his hair and he groans softly, deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against mine until my breath hitches.
“Can I make you feel good, please?” he eventually asks against my lips, voice low, almost reverent.
I nod, not even sure what exactly I agree to, my throat too tight to speak. In this moment… honestly… whatever he wants, he can have.
He unbuttons my pyjama top, kissing every inch of skin he reveals, slow and deliberate. My chest heaves, anticipation coiling low in my belly. Both of his hands tremble slightly when they cup my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples. I arch into his touch, a breathless moan escaping before I can stop it. Ji groans in return, kissing down my throat, teeth scraping lightly as he mutters “Fuck, you sound so good.”
I grab at his hoodie, pulling it over his head, desperate to feel his skin on mine. The second it’s off, my hands roam his chest, nails dragging down his ribs. He hisses, hips grinding down against my thigh, already hard.
Swear words form on my lips, but he catches them with his mouth. Rougher this time, tongue sliding against mine, one hand gripping my thigh to hitch my leg around his waist. The movement grinds us together and I gasp, clutching at his shoulders. He kisses me through it, swallowing every sound I make.
Ji pulls back just long enough to strip my pyjama bottoms off, tossing them somewhere behind him. His gaze drops, eyes dark and hungry as they trail over me. He was there mere minutes ago, but it feels very different now.
His mouth is on me - first my breasts, kissing and sucking until my back arches, then down my stomach, leaving a wet trail of kisses.
“Ji…please.” I gasp.
“Yeah.” he breathes, settling between my thighs. “I got you, baby.”
The first swipe of his tongue has me crying out, hips jerking against his face. He groans, holding me down with strong hands on my thighs as he licks deeper, sucking my clit just right. I fist a couch cushion, panting, head thrown back.
I just whimper, right back where I was during the abruptly ended round #1, voice breaking when he moans against me, like he’s just as wrecked. His fingers join his mouth, pumping into me hard and fast, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me steady.
It’s overwhelming, white-hot pleasure ripping through me. My body tightens, legs shaking and then I’m coming, loud and desperate, riding his fingers, crying out his name. He doesn’t stop, licking me through it, kissing the inside of my thighs as I twitch and whimper. When he finally climbs back up my body, I can barely think. He kisses me deeply and I taste myself on his tongue, the filth of it making me moan into his mouth. It’s so much, I need to take a breath, I need to…
“Need you.” I breathe against his lips.
He growls low in his throat, pulling his sweats down just enough to free himself. He’s hard, flushed, leaking and the sight makes my mouth water. Ji kisses me again, slower this time, forehead resting against mine.
“You want this, right?” he whispers.
“I want you.” I say without hesitation. “All of you.”
Something breaks in his expression - softens and darkens at the same time. His hands leave me, but only to rummage around his sweats, until he finds a condom. I would have rolled my eyes about him being so prepared a mere hour ago.
But when he pushes into me slowly, stretching me until I gasp, clutching his shoulders… yeah, I am rolling my eyes, but in a very different way.
“Fuck.” he groans, burying himself so slowly inside of me, it seems to go on forever.
And then he opens his eyes again and looks at me and it takes my breath away. For longer than is good, until we are gasping against each other's lips. His eye contact is so intense and for some reason… I just know he feels the same way. This is very different. It was always good. But I feel like I am with him for the very first time. Fully.
We move together slowly at first, bodies grinding, kisses messy and deep. His hand cradles my face while the other grips my hip hard, guiding me against him. It’s still rough, still intense, but laced with something gentler. He looks at me like he’s memorizing every expression I make, like he’s scared to miss even one.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, moaning into his neck. Shit. One of the reasons I always ended up forgiving him, no matter how pissed I was… is because he is incredible at this. I’m not a pillow princess, but I could easily be with him. He would do all the work and I would still come undone. Even better when we both give it our all.
Like he read my thoughts, the thrusts are growing sharper, hips slamming against mine. The couch creaks beneath us and I cling to him, nails digging into his back. He fucks me like he can’t help going harder and harder but keeps whispering sweet, broken things against my ear at the same time. That he can’t believe I am real. That he has been wanting this for so long. That he wanted to be mine the first time he saw me.
When I come again, it’s with a choked cry, nails clawing down his spine as my body convulses around him. My mouth is against his ear, the tip of my tongue just touching the shell, my eyes glassy, wimpering with every thrust.
Suddenly, he stops moving, we collapse together, sticky and breathless, tangled up in the mess of couch cushions and discarded clothes. Ji’s forehead pressed to mine now, hands cupping my face like I’m fragile.
“Don’t move.” he whispers, but it doesn’t sound like a demand. More a plea.
In my post-orgasm haze, I look at him, his face, while he barely holds it together. He is so close, I can tell, but he is holding on.
The corner of my mouth twitches and he notices, mid-headshake, when I have already started moving my hips.
“Babe…” he murmurs, his tone begging but I can’t help it.
“Come for me, Ji. Fuck me, baby.” I murmur and I can feel it in his body, he stops resisting, both hands back on my body, when he thrusts into me hard. Even though I just came, it still feels incredible.
He was almost there anyways, he doesn’t need much, but my words made it impossible to hold back any longer.
The sounds that escape his mouth when he comes burn themselves into my memory. Deep and vulnerable. Earth-shattering.
He keeps going as long as he can, then collapses onto me again and we both just breathe for a good while.
Look at us. Missionary was never really our thing.
We’ve fucked on a rooftop balcony, me bent over the railing like the classy woman I am not, grinning at the Seoul skyline while he took me hard from behind. We’ve had bathroom quickies at friends’ places and clubs - the former definitely obvious to everyone, the latter borderline reckless considering who he is. I’ve blown him in that ugly-ass car of his more times than I can count. We went through an experimental phase, tried every position known to man, sometimes while high, sometimes just drunk.
This? This was as vanilla as it gets for us. But god, it was incredible. And for the first time in forever, neither of us pulls away.
When we finally look at each other again, both of us are still catching our breath and we’re smiling.
He hovers his lips over my cheek, then presses a soft kiss there before burying his head in the crook of my neck.
I wrap my arms around him, clinging - wanting to keep him close, keep him inside me, around me, for as long as I can. What can I say? Apparently, I don’t need expensive gifts or sweet words, just his two hands on me. At all times, please.
Eventually, we do get up. Somewhat. He helps me slip back into my pyjama top, fastening every single button, then pulls on his sweats after he got rid of the condom and then stops mid-motion, giving me a lazy grin.
“Wanna open your present now?”
I just stare, fully debating murder. No, I wanted to be cuddled.
“Oh my god, Ji, no. I still don’t want it. Have you heard anything I said earlier?”
He ignores me, of course, already retrieving the Chanel bag from the kitchen counter. He pulls out a tiny box, then squats in front of me like he’s about to propose.
I can’t believe this man. I roll my eyes so hard. Muttering something about him being fucking unbelievable, I snatch the box and rip it open - not delicately, not the way a box that costs more than rent should be opened. Fine. He wants this so badly? We’ll get it over with.
Except… It’s not shiny jewellery or anything dripping in diamonds.
It’s… a rock alright. A different kind.
A smooth black stone, about half the size of my palm, with a hole drilled through it for a chain and carabiner hook. Little designs are scratched - or maybe drawn? - on the surface. It’s a keychain.
My eyebrows furrow on instinct.
It’s… incredibly ugly.
No, really, it looks like a child made it during arts and crafts, realized halfway through they had no idea what they were doing and just… powered through.
He totally made this himself. Badly.
Ji is grinning like an idiot.
“It fucking sucks.” He says, with so much joy in his voice.
“It does…” I reply, still a bit speechless, look at it again, then up at him. “Ji… I love it. Thank you.”
He throws both arms up in victory, smiling even wider. “I knew it. I knew you’d like it.”
I’m still a little stunned. He made me a hideous keychain and hid it in a Chanel bag to trick me. Not the wildest thing that’s happened tonight, but definitely the cheapest present he’s ever given me - and it makes me feel the exact opposite.
Still holding the rock, I get up and he mirrors me. My arms loop around his neck in one swift motion, pulling him in for a hug and then a kiss. It’s long, soft, almost innocent, but his lips curve into a smile against mine. His hands settle steadily on my arms, then my waist. I sigh, melting into him. It’s warm and soft.
“You don’t have to be in like… Busan by morning, right? You can stay the night?” I ask, even though there’s barely any night left to stay in.
“Jakarta” he murmurs against my mouth. “But not before Monday.”
We both chuckle. Two whole days. That’s enough for now.
“Please make me weird, ugly presents every year?” I say as we stumble toward my bedroom.
His grin widens, eyes sparkling, he nods.
We still haven’t talked about what this all means, but for tonight, the promise of future ugly gifts suddenly feels like plenty.
