Hello lovely I hope you’re doing well 💛
I wanted to request for my lovely ateez, possibly an ot8 Drabble where they get a little too into mc/reader scolding/being mad at them if you know what I mean?
And if you don’t already have one could I be 🐶 anon?
pairing: Ateez x reader
warnings: established relationship, no real fight, lots of bickering, Wooyoung being a BRAT, jealousy themes, funny stuff, some tension, nothing toooo serious
disclaimer: not my pic!
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This is so funny because it kind of reminds me of me and my boyfriend. He is always so calm and collected while I'm literally a walking vulcano lol
Hongjoong
The tension in the dorm was thick enough to cut with a knife. You had spent the last twenty minutes making your presence known, and by now, the entire unit knew exactly how pissed off you were.
You stomped through the living room, your footsteps echoing sharply against the hardwood floor. You hadn’t said a word to Hongjoong since he walked through the door after returning from the tour, and you were making sure he felt every ounce of your irritation. As you passed the couch where he was lounging with Seonghwa, you made a point of slamming the linen closet door shut with enough force to make the pictures on the wall rattle. Under your breath, you muttered a sharp, colorful curse, shooting a glare in his direction that could have withered a plant.
Seonghwa, who had been trying to enjoy a quiet afternoon, looked up from his phone, his brows furrowing in concern as he watched you disappear toward the kitchen. He nudged Hongjoong’s side with his elbow, his voice dropping to a low, cautious whisper.
"Hyung, what is going on with her? You’ve been home for an hour, and I think she’s trying to break the apartment," Seonghwa muttered, casting a worried glance toward the kitchen.
Hongjoong didn’t even look up from his own phone, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He remained unnervingly calm. "She's mad because I forgot that specific, limited-edition book she asked me to pick up in London. I know I heard her, and I know she reminded me about a dozen times, but it completely slipped my mind in the chaos of the airport."
Seonghwa sighed, shaking his head. "She's been talking about that book for weeks. You know how she gets when you forget something important, especially when she’s been looking forward to it."
From the kitchen, the sounds of your anger escalated. You were aggressively preparing a cup of coffee, the metal spoon clinking violently against the ceramic mug. You marched back out, clutching the steaming cup, and slammed it down onto the coffee table with a thud, hot liquid sloshing over the rim. You didn’t say a word, but your eyes locked onto Hongjoong’s with a fierce, burning intensity. You glared at him, your chest heaving slightly, before you turned on your heel and stomped back down the hallway, leaving the two men in a deafening silence.
Seonghwa watched you go, his expression shifting from concern to pure bewilderment. He leaned closer to Hongjoong, keeping his voice strictly hushed. "Are you going to do something about this? She looks ready to burn the place down. How are you planning to fix it?"
Hongjoong finally looked up, offering a casual, almost smug shrug of his shoulders. "I already ordered it online yesterday. It’s supposed to arrive by courier tomorrow morning."
Seonghwa blinked, surprised. "Wait, so you fixed it? Did you tell her? Does she know it’s coming?"
Hongjoong shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the doorway where you had vanished. "Not yet."
"Why not?" Seonghwa pressed, genuinely baffled by his leader's strategy. "Why let her stay this mad if you already solved the problem?"
Hongjoong didn't get the chance to answer. You stormed past them again, your coffee cup now empty, headed back toward the bedroom. You didn't acknowledge them, but your icy demeanor remained firmly in place, sending a clear message that the grudge was very much active.
Once you had rounded the corner and the sound of your bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the hallway, Hongjoong finally relaxed his posture. A slow, mischievous smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he turned his attention back to his bandmate. He leaned back into the cushions, looking far too pleased for a man currently in the doghouse.
"You really don't get it, do you, Hwa?" Hongjoong murmured, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and genuine affection. He sighed softly, shaking his head as if he were letting Seonghwa in on a secret. "She is just incredibly hot when she’s mad like that. I honestly wouldn't mind letting her stay angry for a little while longer."
Seonghwa
The front door clicked open, and the sound of your heels clicking against the entryway floor was the signal Seonghwa had been dreading for the last hour. He sat on the edge of the sofa, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He had tried to be helpful, really, he had. You had left your favorite silk dress in the washer, and he thought he’d save you the trouble by moving it to the dryer before you got home.
Except, in his haste, he hadn’t checked the label. He’d cranked the heat up high, and by the time he realized his mistake, the damage was already done.
You walked into the living room, your face softening the moment you saw him. You leaned down, pressing a sweet, unsuspecting kiss to his cheek. "Hey, baby," you chirped, your voice bright. "Did you manage to pull my dress out of the dryer? I’m hoping to wear it tonight for dinner."
Seonghwa felt the blood drain from his face. He forced a smile that felt more like a grimace and nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's... it’s out."
"You're a lifesaver," you said, beaming at him before turning toward the laundry room.
Seonghwa held his breath, bracing himself. He didn't have to wait long. A sharp, guttural scream erupted from the back of the house, followed by the distinct sound of a hanger clattering against the wall. He flinched, his shoulders hunching up toward his ears.
A moment later, you stormed back into the living room, a crumpled, shrunken piece of fabric held aloft in your grip like a crime scene piece of evidence. You looked like you were vibrating with fury.
"Explain this," you demanded, your voice trembling with rage as you thrust the mangled dress toward his face. "Seonghwa, please, just tell me how this happened."
He stood up slowly, keeping his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I... I wasn't as attentive as I should have been. I’m so sorry, I didn't think about the fabric type—"
"You didn't think?" You cut him off, your voice rising into a sharp, incredulous shout. "This is my absolute favorite dress! I told you specifically how much I love this, and now it’s ruined. It looks like a doll's outfit! How could you be so careless?"
You continued to rant, your arms gesturing wildly. As you paced in front of him, letting out your frustration, Seonghwa found himself momentarily distracted. He watched the way your cheeks flushed a deep, vibrant red, contrasting beautifully with the fire in your eyes. He noticed the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breathing ragged from the intensity of your anger. A strange, undeniable spark flared in his chest; there was something undeniably captivating about the way you held your ground, completely unafraid to let him have it.
A small, genuine smile—completely involuntary—began to spread across his lips.
You stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes narrowing into slits. "Are you... are you seriously laughing at me right now?"
The smirk vanished instantly. Seonghwa’s expression turned deathly serious, though the ghost of that smile still tugged at the corners of his mouth. "No. No, I’m not laughing. I’m very sorry, I—"
His mouth twitched. He bit down on his lower lip hard, trying to force his face back into a mask of contrition, but the amusement was still dancing in his eyes.
You stared at him in utter disbelief, your mouth agape. "You are laughing! You think this is funny?"
Without another word, you balled up the ruined silk and threw it at his chest. It hit him softly, sliding down his torso before landing on the floor. You turned on your heel, your hair whipping around with the force of your movement, and stormed off toward the bedroom. The door slammed behind you with a finality that made the floorboards vibrate.
Seonghwa stood alone in the quiet living room. He slowly reached down and picked up the shrunken dress, the fabric still warm from the machine. He watched the hallway where you had disappeared, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the edge of the ruined hem. He bit his lip again, a soft, breathless laugh finally escaping him.
"Well," he whispered to the empty room, his eyes dark with a mix of guilt and lingering admiration. "I certainly didn't expect that."
Yunho
The late afternoon sun was streaming through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the living room, but the atmosphere inside felt anything but warm. You stood in the center of the room, blinking against the light, your head throbbing with the disorienting, heavy fog of a two-hour nap.
"I told you," you snapped, your voice rough with sleep and sharpened by genuine irritation. "I specifically asked for thirty minutes, Yunho. Just thirty! And now look at the time. It’s nearly sunset. Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be for me to fall asleep tonight?"
Yunho sat on the edge of the sofa, looking up at you with a sheepish expression. He looked genuinely guilty, though his explanation sounded flimsy at best. "I know, I know, I’m so sorry. I honestly didn't mean to lose track of time. It’s just... that episode of Kitchen Nightmares was so intense! Gordon Ramsay was tearing into that chef, and I got so sucked into the drama that I completely forgot to check the clock."
"I don't care about the kitchen, or the drama, or the chef!" you whined, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "I’m going to be a complete zombie tomorrow. I have that meeting, and now I’m going to be dragging myself around like a wreck because you couldn't be bothered to set an alarm."
You let out a frustrated huff, pacing back and forth before stopping to rake your fingers through your messy, sleep-tousled hair. You sighed deeply, a sound of pure, unadulterated annoyance.
Yunho’s expression shifted. As he watched you—the way your hair fell wildly around your face, the sound of your frustrated whines, and the way your body language radiated such raw, unfiltered fire—his guilt began to be overshadowed by a different, much more potent feeling. He leaned back, tilting his head to the side, his eyes darkening as he took you in. He didn't just look at you; he studied you, his gaze dragging slowly from your head to your toes, lingering on your flushed, tired face.
You caught him in the act. The way his focus shifted made your skin prickle, though not entirely from anger this time. "Don't look at me like that," you muttered, narrowing your eyes. "It’s your fault I look like this, so you don't get to stand there and look at me like I’m some kind of entertainment."
Yunho let out a low, melodic chuckle that vibrated in the small space between you. He stood up, towering over you, and closed the distance. "I’m not looking at you like that because you're tired," he said, his voice dropping into a teasing, husky register. "I’m looking at you because, even when you're fuming and sleep-deprived, you look absolutely gorgeous."
You rolled your eyes, though you could feel your cheeks heating up for a different reason now. "Oh, stop it. I’m serious, Yunho. I am really, really mad at you. You ruined my sleep schedule."
He didn't back down. Instead, he reached out, pouting his lower lip in a mock-apologetic way that made your heart skip a beat despite your best efforts to stay firm. He leaned in, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to your cheek before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight, warm hug.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, and whispered, "If you're worried about not being tired enough to sleep... I might have a few ideas on how we can burn off that extra energy."
You groaned, the sound caught somewhere between a protest and a surrender. You pushed against his chest, trying to maintain some space, though his grip remained firm. "You are disgusting," you muttered, though the bite in your tone had long since vanished.
Yunho just chuckled, pulling you closer, his eyes dancing with mischief as he waited to see if you would finally give in.
Yeosang
The kitchen counter was already a disaster zone of flour, mixing bowls, and half-opened ingredient packets. You had been waiting for Yeosang to return from the grocery store for the better part of an hour, and the moment the front door clicked shut, you were at his side, eager to finish the birthday cake for your friend.
Yeosang set the bags on the island, his movements a little more deliberate than usual. You started pulling out the items, checking them off your mental list, until your hand hit the bottom of the bag. You rummaged through, moving aside the sugar and the food coloring, but your heart sank.
"Yeosang? Where’s the black fondant?" you asked, looking up at him.
He hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the window before settling on your face. "The store was out of it," he said, his voice a little too smooth, a little too rehearsed.
You squinted at him, narrowing your eyes. You knew that tone; you knew that slight tilt of his head. "You’re lying."
Yeosang sighed, his shoulders slumping as he realized the jig was up. "Okay, fine. There was only one package left on the shelf. But this elderly lady reached for it at the same time, and she seemed so sweet—she told me it was for her nephew’s birthday—so I just… I couldn't be rude. I let her have it."
You stared at him in utter disbelief, your jaw dropping slightly. "Are you kidding me? Yeosang, have you lost your mind? We need that for the decorations! You’re the one baking with me, you know this!"
"She was really sweet, though," he protested, trying to defend his soft heart. "She even showed me a picture of the boy—"
"She was probably lying to trick you!" you snapped, your frustration finally boiling over. You started pacing the small kitchen floor. "Yeosang, you are constantly too nice to everyone. You let people walk all over you, and then you get tricked every single time. It’s exhausting! You have to start learning how to speak up, how to say no, and how to look out for yourself instead of being the neighborhood saint."
Yeosang frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to defend his nature. "It’s not like I get tricked all the time—"
"You absolutely do!" you interrupted, huffing as you grabbed a bowl and shoved it toward the sink. "Now I have to improvise, and the cake isn't going to look like anything I planned. Everything is ruined because you couldn't tell a little old lady 'no'."
You went on a tear, lecturing him with a level of passion and confidence that made the air in the room feel heavy. You pointed a flour-dusted finger at him, listing every instance where his kindness had backfired, your eyes flashing with annoyance.
But as he watched you, Yeosang’s defensiveness began to melt away. He stood perfectly still, his eyes locked onto your face. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way you stood your ground, the way your voice took on that commanding, authoritative edge. The sheer intensity of your lecture, the way your hair was slightly disheveled and your cheeks were flushed with irritation—it was doing something to his pulse. He found himself mesmerized by the way your mind worked, by how tough and unyielding you were in this moment.
"You're right," he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave. "I really should listen to you."
You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden compliance. "I—yes, you should. Because I’m usually right about these things."
"You are," he agreed, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "You’re so smart. And tough. It’s… actually pretty attractive."
You frowned, your hand still hovering over the counter. "Stop that. Don't try to compliment me just to get out of trouble when I’m mad at you."
Yeosang chuckled, a low, smooth sound that only served to frustrate you more. He stepped into your personal space, his gaze intensifying. "I can't help it. You look so good when you’re lecturing me like that."
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't stop the heat rising to your cheeks. You shoved a bag of flour into his chest. "Move your ass and stop flirting. If you ruined my plans, you’re going to help me fix this mess."
He caught the bag, his smirk widening as he stepped up to the counter. "Yes, ma'am."
San
The notification sound on your phone was becoming the soundtrack to your frustration. Ding. Another shirtless gym selfie from San on his story, captioned with a casual, lazy emoji. It was the third one today.
When he finally sauntered into the living room, still looking far too fresh after his workout, you were already pacing. You didn't even look at him as you tossed your phone onto the sofa.
"Another one, San?" you snapped, your voice tight. "Do you really need to show the entire world your abs every single time you step into the gym? It’s relentless."
San paused, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel before tossing it aside. He looked entirely unbothered, even slightly amused. "It’s just fanservice, babe. It’s part of the job. It really doesn't mean anything to me."
You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. Your lip jutted out in a stubborn pout. "It means something to them! I feel like I have to share you with thousands of people every single day. I see the comments, I see the edits... it doesn’t help my mood, San."
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and took a step toward you. He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. "You know you’re the only one who actually gets to touch me, right? Everyone else is just looking at a screen. You’re the one who gets the real thing."
You shoved his shoulder, though your heart wasn't really in the violence of the push. "That doesn't make it any better! It’s not just the pictures. Even when we go out, I see the way girls look at you. It’s constant, and it pisses me off. It’s like I’m constantly on guard, defending my territory."
San’s eyes glinted with a dangerous, playful spark. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing, velvety whisper. "If you’re worried about territory, why don’t you just lick me in public? That would certainly send a message."
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. "You are not funny. That is not a suggestion, that is a nightmare."
"I’m just trying to offer solutions," he said, though the smirk playing on his lips betrayed his sincerity.
"Stop smirking like that!" you shouted, your frustration bubbling over. "I am trying to have a serious conversation about my boundaries and my feelings, and you’re acting like this is a game."
He did stop, his expression smoothing out, but that smug glint remained in his eyes. He seemed genuinely flustered, perhaps even a bit excited by the sight of you so worked up. "I am taking it seriously. But you have to admit, seeing you get this jealous over me... it’s not exactly easy to stay stoic."
"Oh, go fuck yourself," you muttered, brushing past him with a huff. The tension in your shoulders was unbearable, and you felt like you were going to explode if you didn't get away from his infuriatingly calm demeanor. "I’m going to shower. And stay out of there, unless you want me to bite your head off."
You marched toward the bathroom, your heels clicking sharply against the tile. You were already reaching for the door handle when you heard his footsteps trailing right behind you.
"Why don't I just join you?" he asked, his voice now thick with that familiar, predatory playfulness.
You spun around, glaring at him with every ounce of willpower you had left. "Are you deaf? I told you I’m still very mad at you!"
San didn't look deterred in the slightest. He leaned against the doorframe, a low, frustrated groan rumbling in his chest as he took in your flushed, angry face. A hungry, intense look took over his features, and he gave you a slow, deliberate nod.
"Even better," he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous, promise-filled rasp.
Mingi
The walk from the front door to the living room was marked by the rhythmic, squelching sound of your soaked shoes against the floorboards. You were shivering, your hair plastered to your neck in dark, heavy strands, and every muscle in your body felt tight with cold and irritation. Mingi was trailing behind you, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides as he tried to find the words to mitigate the disaster.
You didn’t give him the chance. With a sharp, aggressive movement, you peeled off your sodden jacket. It was heavy with rainwater, and you didn't hesitate to toss it directly at his chest. It landed with a wet thud against him, and he caught it instinctively, his expression crumpled with guilt.
"Fifteen minutes, Mingi," you snapped, your voice shaking slightly, though not just from the chill. "Fifteen minutes I spent standing on that platform in the pouring rain. I was freezing, I was miserable, and I had no idea if you were even coming."
Mingi shifted, looking down at his boots before meeting your eyes. "I know, I’m so sorry. I swear, it wasn't on purpose. We were working on the bridge for the new choreography, and I just—I got so distracted, I lost track of everything. I didn't even realize how much time had passed until I looked at my phone and saw your missed calls."
"I don't care about the choreography!" you shouted, gesturing wildly to the water dripping from your hair. "I care that I’m standing here soaking wet and shivering because you couldn't be bothered to set a simple alarm."
You looked down, your eyes widening as the reality of your state finally hit you. Your thin white blouse was completely saturated, clinging to your skin like a second layer and becoming entirely transparent. You felt humiliated and exposed, the cold air hitting your skin through the wet fabric. You looked up at Mingi, your eyes blazing.
"Look at me," you commanded, gesturing to your drenched form. "Do you see this? I look like I just stepped out of a wet t-shirt contest. I am humiliated, I’m freezing, and it is entirely your fault."
Mingi’s eyes dropped from your face, trailing slowly down your torso. His breath hitched, and his entire demeanor shifted. The guilt in his eyes was rapidly being replaced by a dark, intense heat. His gaze was heavy, lingering on every curve that the water had so blatantly revealed. He didn't even try to hide it; he stood there, watching you with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly smaller and much, much warmer. He let out a low, involuntary groan, his hands tightening around the wet jacket he was still holding.
Your face twisted in disgust as you realized exactly where his focus had landed. "Pervert," you hissed.
You grabbed the decorative pillow from the armchair and hurled it at him with all your remaining strength. It struck him square in the chest, but he barely seemed to notice. "You’re a pig, Mingi!"
You didn't wait for him to try and justify his staring. You stormed past him, your shoulder clipping his as you marched toward your bedroom. The cold water was still dripping onto the floor, but you were far more concerned with getting out of these clothes and putting as much distance as possible between you and his lecherous gaze.
"Hey," Mingi called out, his voice deeper than usual, laced with a mix of genuine worry and something much more primal. "Do you… do you need help getting out of those? I can get you a towel, or—"
His offer was cut short by the sound of your bedroom door slamming with enough force to make the pictures on the walls vibrate. You left him standing there in the middle of your living room, the damp jacket still clutched in his grip, staring at the shut door with a look of lingering, frustrated desire.
Wooyoung
The morning light filtered into the apartment, but it did nothing to brighten your mood. You had spent the better part of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled shouts and aggressive button-mashing coming from the living room as Wooyoung played games with his friends until the early hours of the morning.
When he finally emerged, looking perfectly rested and infuriatingly cheerful, you didn't hold back. You confronted him immediately, and while he offered a quick, superficial apology, his tone was dismissive. When you pushed back, his defensive wall went up, and his demeanor shifted into something sharp and combative.
"You’re always doing this," you snapped, your patience worn thin. "It’s like living with a toddler who has no concept of boundaries or volume. You act like such a brat, Wooyoung, and I am over it."
He rolled his eyes so far back into his head they nearly disappeared.
"Don't you dare roll your eyes at me," you warned, your voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. You turned your back on him to walk toward the kitchen, your irritation still fueling your stream of consciousness. "Honestly, the lack of respect is just unbelievable. I told you I had an early morning, but apparently, your win-loss ratio in a game is more important than your girlfriend being able to function like a human being. It’s pathetic, really."
As you ranted, you didn't see his face, but you could hear the smirk in his voice as he began to mimic your movements, pulling a ridiculous, mocking face behind your back. He contorted his features, widening his eyes and pursing his lips in a silent, taunting imitation of you.
You stopped in your tracks, glancing at the hallway mirror in front of you. You saw the entire performance reflected perfectly.
You spun around, your eyes flashing. "There is a fucking mirror right in front of me, you idiot! I can see exactly what you're doing."
Wooyoung froze, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second before he simply said, "Oh."
You marched back toward him, invading his personal space until he was backed against the wall. "Let me be crystal clear, Wooyoung. Do not mess with my sleep schedule again. If you think I’m annoying now, just wait. If I don't get my rest, I will become your absolute worst nightmare. You have no idea what I’m capable of when I’m exhausted and irritable."
Instead of looking intimidated, a slow, predatory smirk crept across his face. He looked you up and down, his eyes dark with amusement. "You know... I really like it when you’re angry like this."
You bristled, your chest heaving with indignation. "Keep acting like this, and I promise you, I’m going to get even angrier. I’m not playing, Wooyoung."
He nodded, leaning in slightly as if encouraging you to continue. "It’s actually very hot, you know. When you get all bossy and start making threats? It’s a great look on you."
You stared at him in utter disgust, your face heating up with a mix of genuine rage and disbelief. "You are twisted. Seriously, something is wrong with you. Keep pushing me, and I swear, I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow tonight while you’re sleeping."
Wooyoung’s expression brightened, and his smile became wide and blindingly genuine. He didn't even blink at the threat; instead, he laughed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Is that right? Well, I’m all in for new kinks, babe. Whenever you’re ready."
Jongho
The front door clicked shut behind you, sealing out the noise of the city, but it did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside your chest. You tossed your purse onto the entryway table with a resounding thud, still vibrating with the remnants of the argument you’d just had at the bakery.
"I still can’t believe her," you muttered, pacing the small hallway. "She had the audacity to push right in front of me like I didn't exist! And then she had the nerve to act like I was the one being difficult when I called her out. It was infuriating, Jongho!"
Jongho simply stood by the door, hanging up his coat with his usual, infuriatingly steady rhythm. He looked entirely unbothered, his expression smooth and calm as a lake. "People can be entitled sometimes. It wasn't worth the stress, though."
You spun around to face him, your eyes narrowing. "That’s it? That’s all you have to say? You were standing right there, and you didn't say a word! You just watched me handle it alone."
Jongho sighed, keeping his voice low and measured. "What were you expecting me to do, exactly? It’s a bakery line. We got our bread, we left. It’s over."
"I expected you to stand up for me!" you snapped, your voice rising in pitch. "You could have defended me, or at least shown a little bit of support instead of just standing there like a statue. It’s always like this—you’re so composed, so damn chill, while I’m the one out here losing my mind over the smallest things. Do you ever feel anything, or is it all just logic with you?"
He looked at you, a small, knowing chuckle escaping his lips. He moved closer, leaning against the doorframe with an air of relaxed confidence that only served to fuel your fire. "I think it works out, honestly. We balance each other perfectly. You’re the fire, and I’m the one who makes sure we don't actually burn the house down. It’s a good system."
Your breath hitched. "A 'system'? Is that all we are? And what is that supposed to mean, anyway? Are you saying I’m too emotional?"
He shook his head quickly, his expression softening, though that maddeningly calm glint remained in his eyes. "That’s not what I said, and you know it. You’re just passionate. I like that about you."
You didn't want to hear it. You let out an angry huff and marched into the bathroom, grabbing your hairbrush with a grip so tight your knuckles turned white. You started yanking the brush through your hair, the motion sharp and erratic as you continued your tirade.
"You’re just a rock," you grumbled, half to yourself and half to his reflection in the mirror. "You have no heart, no reaction, no pulse. You just watch me get worked up and you stand there like you’re observing a weather pattern. It’s honestly exhausting being with someone so… unbothered."
Jongho didn't move. He stayed right where he was, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched you intently, his gaze heavy and focused, tracking every movement of your hand and every flicker of annoyance on your face. He didn't interrupt; he didn't offer any more logical justifications.
Instead, he watched you with a look of quiet, intense fascination. As you continued to ramble, your movements became more animated, your passion spilling out into every word. He began to bite his lower lip, his eyes darkening as he watched the flush crawl up your neck.
He didn't seem to hear a single word of your insults. He simply stood there, clearly enjoying the sight of your unbridled energy.
"I really don't care what you call me," he said, his voice dropping into a low, husky register that stopped you mid-brush. "As long as I get to stand here and watch you go off like that, I’m perfectly content."
