it started as a joke: when you weren’t officially together, your friends loved calling you “his girl” and after overhearing it, the nickname stuck. perhaps your flushed face was what kept the joke going between your friend group, and soon enough, between you and martin too.
“here you are, my pretty girl” is what you heard as soon as you stepped into your apartment. martin walked towards you, arms wide open and a grin from ear to ear.
“martin, what are you doing here?” you managed to say before he engulfed you in a bone-crushing hug. you couldn’t help but giggle despite your confusion. wasn’t he supposed to be at practice?
he let out a small breath of relief and let you go, distancing himself just enough to cup your face, gaze softening as soon as he looked in your eyes. he always says he “could get lost in them without ever wanting to escape”.
“just wanted to see my pretty girl! why else would i be here?” martin looked at you, puzzled. why would he need to have a reason to see you? can’t he just want to admire and spend time with his girl?
“right, but… i thought you had practice?” you arched a brow at him. for someone so diligent and devoted to his job, you’d think he would remember his own schedule.
martin’s expression relaxed before letting go of your face. “no, pretty girl! it got cancelled last minute. figured i could spend the rest of the day with my girl.” he said, dragging you to the sofa.
you chuckled and let him crash his weight on you. he nuzzled his face into your neck and pecked it. “missed you, pretty.”
"You Talk in Your Sleep… About Me?" 𝓙eno (이제노) x 𝓡eader
ʚ genre: drabble/timestamp, idol!au, fluff !!
word count: 611
content warnings: none (reader is gn, pronouns used you/yours)
▸ summary: Jeno has returned from a tiring practice session, is it his half-sleeping state that’s playing mind tricks on him, or are you really talking in your sleep?
🧾 return to MASTERLIST
2:57 a.m.
It wasn't unusual for Jeno to return home later in the night after practice, maybe at 2 a.m. or at 3, even.
Not even the jiggle of his keys, which usually alarmed you, could wake you up. After waiting a few seconds to determine whether you were awake or not, Jeno walked up the stairs, cautious not to disturb you any further (you wouldn't have gotten any more sleep if he woke you up now — a habit he unfortunately took notice of in uncomfortable occasions).
As he passed by the bedroom door, however, a faint mumble stopped him in his tracks — his name, slipping from your lips along soft breaths.
His breath hitched, heart momentarily caught between tiredness and curiosity. Was he imagining it? Or did you really just call for him in your sleep?
He furrowed his brows, confused, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.
A soft, whispered 'I love you' slipped from your lips, faint but still audible to Jeno, his heart skipping a beat from hearing your small voice, as warmth spread through his chest.
Letting a ray of dim light in the room, the boy cautiously walked up to your sleeping figure, moving strands of hair that covered your face.
'Jeno, are you here..?' your words were slurred from your sleepiness and your eyes still closed. Jeno took a seat beside where you rested, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your back.
'Yes, princess. I'm here. Why are you awake at this hour?' he whispered, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. 'I told you not to wait for me..' a warm smile made its way onto his features, his figure still sat, waiting for your reply.
'Princess?' Jeno tilted his head, trying to figure out if you were still asleep. If the small snores that came from you weren't enough of an indication, your slightly parted mouth — and the drool smearing on the pillow beneath — was. He bit back a chuckle, shaking his head. Cute. Ridiculously cute. Even asleep, you somehow managed to make his heart ache in the best way.
The boy silently chuckled, deciding to settle by your side and let sleep finally overtake him.
'Did you sleep well?' was the first thing you heard as you groggily rubbed your eyes, trying to shield yourself from the blinding sunlight coming from the window.
'Yes Jen, did you?' your question remained unanswered, when you saw Jeno grinning widely.
Giggling yourself, you watched the boy as he sat beside you, 'Why are you smiling like that?'
'Someone was dreaming about me, huh?' Jeno’s voice was laced with amusement, his teasing smirk growing as he watched realization dawn on your sleep-ridden face. He leaned closer, his grin widening. 'Don’t be shy, angel. You wanna tell me what it was about?' His laughter bubbled out when you groaned, burying your face into the pillow.
'..What? You're being ridiculous, Jen...' 'Well, I'm pretty sure I heard you say my name — don't misunderstand though, it was pretty cute,' he said, pinching your left cheek.
'Whatever..' You briskly got up from the bed, tossing the covers over him.
Giggling, Jeno started to follow after you, 'Love you too, angel.'
Jaehyun! came back from his group practice, his movements slow and silent to make sure you wouldn’t wake up, partly because he didn’t want to get scolded again for ‘overworking himself’. He knew you couldn’t stand when he came home at such late hours, he knew how you prioritised his health and his sleep schedule, which was a mess.
It wasn’t that your concern bothered him; quite the opposite. He loved how you cared deeply for him, even though he was worried about you in the first place — you often stayed up late to wait for him, and as much as it warmed his heart, he knew you couldn’t live off such little hours of sleep.
After shutting the door as quietly as he could, he paused his movements to listen for any signs you were still awake. He sighed in relief after being met with complete silence, and made his way to the bedroom. He took a moment to admire your relaxed features, closed eyes, and the way a strand of your hair lightly brushed against your cheek, making you stir in your sleep, still looking as peaceful as ever.
With a small smile on his face, he muttered to himself,
‘I’m the luckiest man in the world.’
After settling into his side of the bed, he noticed your back was turned to him. Gently, he reached out, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close, pressing your body against his, his face now resting in the crook of your neck. A small smile subconsciously made its way to your lips, melting into his presence.
The two of you truly were the luckiest people alive.
“My fair weather friend, I wish you could see, he’ll never love you quite like me. He’ll sing you a sad song, just like one of mine. But I know, it won’t make you cry.”
an: inspired by “fair weather friend”, but specifically jaehyun’s and lee mujin’s cover 🙈 i find myself listening to that cover a lot, and i just happened to have this idea. love me some angst! as always, feedback is welcome ❤︎
Martin stared at you, sorrow in his eyes. From his position he could only make out a blurred figure, unmistakably yours. After all, he had spent all his entire teenage years admiring you. It had led to this: recognising you even from miles away, just from your presence. Those years meant everything to Martin. Did they mean nothing to you? Or was loving him just something you eventually grew out of?
His thoughts couldn’t help but spiral. Maybe going to the place where you first met was a horrible choice when he was this heartbroken.
Were you happy?
Was your posture hunched from how hard the boy by your side was making you laugh? (And was he a bad person for hoping you were crying because of him? For selfishly wishing the memories that haunted him still haunted you too?)
Are first loves hard to forget?
If you were to ask Martin, his answer would be almost immediate: yes, they are.
He doesn’t know why. He just knows they are.
He tries to search for an answer, but it just leads him to uncertainty, doubts, and a little more sadness each time he is alone, left to his own thoughts.
Maybe it was the way you looked at him when you interlocked pinkies and swore that, one way or another, you’d always be with him, for him.
“I swear to keep my word when I say this: I love you, Martin, and I will, forever.”
You stared at him with those wide eyes he always said he could lose himself in.
Maybe it was his naivety, the joy that moment brought, but he believed you fully. Was he in the wrong for trusting your innocent words? Or were you, for promising something even you knew, deep down, wouldn’t last?
Maybe you were both at fault: two hopelessly romantic teenagers who think they’re ready to face the world, when all they’ve got is a measly handful of promises and hearts that beat louder than their common sense.
But why was it so easy for you to move on? Was he just something temporary you could toy with, and then pretend nothing had ever happened?
Martin put his soul to rest, once for all. As he walked away, back turned towards you, he realised it was time for him to move on, just as you did. This didn’t mean completely erasing all his memories with you; he would set them aside, maybe write a song about it, and look back at them with a smile on his face, not sorrow.
And maybe, one day you would reunite.
You’d joke about the time you spent together, pretend that the wound in his heart had fully healed.
ʚ summary: Ex!Xiaojun was mindlessly scrolling through his computer’s file, until he stumbled upon videos and pictures of you two before the breakup, making him reminisce all of your moments together.
genre: pure angst ! (tearing up while reading is appreciated) oneshot, non-idol!au ▸ warnings: mentions of insomnia w/c: 906 words
inspired by ‘You Were Beautiful’ – Day6 and its music video ;) listening to the song while reading will make the experience 200% better!
The light coming from the computer illuminated Xiaojun’s features, casting shadows behind him and making his figure look more sculpted, somehow.
It was late in the night — specifically 2 a.m. sharp, as his clock ticked loudly in the silence — when he decided to go through all the files on his computer, insomnia getting the best of him. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he scrolled, trying to search something that was worth deleting.
It was then when a particular file came to his attention, which was saved as the date of your birthday two years prior, followed by an ‘.mp4’. His breath hitched.
With slightly widened eyes, he opened the video, and almost immediately a sense of nostalgia — or melancholy, maybe — hit him upon seeing your face, softly lit by the candles placed neatly on the cake in front of you. A bold ‘happy birthday!’ icing adorned the cake, but it wasn’t it what attracted his attention. It was you.
The both of you were in your living room, the one he spent countless days and nights in. It was bare of any decoration, despite the occasion.
Xiaojun tried to hear the conversation that played in the footage, but the sound was muffled by his shuffling with the camera. All he could make out was him singing to you, followed by a ‘Make a wish, pretty.’, how he used to call you when you two were still together.
As the video went on, the noises began to soften, the sounds almost audible,
‘What did you wish for?’ He asked. Your eyes darted around, trying to avoid his gaze before settling on an answer.
‘Can’t say.’ You replied with a soft smile. ‘It won’t come true if I do.’
The memory flooded his mind, as if it was tattooed on his mind.
The footage shut off, but his mind was too far in his memories to care.
‘C’mon, you don’t really belive that, do you?’ He had asked upon hearing your reply. A chuckle escaped from both of your lips.
After a moment of reluctance, you decided to speak up, ‘I wished for us to be together. Forever.’
He was startled by your reply, but couldn’t hide the grin forming on his face. He went up to you and engulfed you in a tight embrace, one that said everything Xiaojun couldn’t: ‘I’ll always be here for you’. No words were spoken after that. It was just you, and a comfortable silence lingering in the air.
Xiaojun started to wonder. What if you didn’t tell him what you wished for? Maybe, you’d still be together, watching these videos together and reminiscing about the past, excited to experience countless moments like this in the future.
He closed the tab and opened another one, an image this time. It didn’t have a particular name, just the generic ones given automatically when transferring the photos.
It was you, again. He wasn’t sure when the photo was taken, but what he was sure about was how beautiful you were.
Rays of sunlight hit your face softly, making you squint your eyes. Your cheeks were rosy and your lips curled in a small smile, not noticing the photo being taken. Your hair was slightly disheveled because of the wind, but still, you looked angelic. A cone of your favourite ice cream was in your hand, trying to keep it far from your rebellious hair.
Xiaojun wishes he’d taken a video of the moment, maybe from trying to cling onto the only things tied to you.
As he clicked on the next photo, named ‘The love of my life’, he felt tears pricking his eyes. He softly bit his lips, trying not to wake the others up, as he scanned the picture.
It was a picture — perhaps the only one — of you two. The angle made it hard to clearly make out the subjects, as his face was partially cut from trying to take a selfie when he couldn’t see what he was portraying. You were lying on his chest fast asleep, your cheek pressed against his body, making your lips part slightly. Your arms were both around his torso, so tightly as to assure he couldn’t leave.
There was a faint light coming from the other side of the room — probably one of the many film you slept throughout — making your skin glow under such dim lighting.
‘It’s okay,’ he whispered to himself, though his voice cracked. ‘We weren’t meant to be. And if fate allows, we’ll meet again.’
He closed the image, then the computer. The room seemed colder and emptier without the soft hum of the screen. He turned to his bed, now unwelcoming in your absence.
All he wanted was to feel your arms around him again, to hear your soft snores as you slept peacefully beside him.
All he wanted was you.
But as he laid down, staring at the ceiling, a single thought haunted him: would he ever feel that kind of love again? The love he had shared with you, the love you had given him so freely. It felt impossible. Not without you.
And so, he closed his eyes, hoping that in his dreams, he might find you once more.
< perceive with the ear the sound made by (someone or something). >
࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝜗𝜚 pairing: Kim Doyoung x Reader (one-shot)
wc: 1013
warnings: none
› genre: angst, fluff at the end !
summary: you were tired of miscommunication. Would Doyoung be able to change? Or would it all be wasted effort?
As you sat cross-legged on the couch, book in hand which you didn't seem to be able to tear your eyes off of, Doyoung! immediately knew something was off with you when you didn't shower him with kisses after returning home — you hadn’t even glanced at him or greeted him since he walked in.
You could hear his footsteps nearing as he wrapped an arm around your still-seated figure. He exhaled softly, relieved — or less preoccupied — after he heard your small 'Hi', your attention still fixed firmly on the novel in your hands.
Figuring you just needed space, 'Maybe she just wants to be alone, had a though day... right?' Doyoung, who was still hugging you, retreated his arm and began walking to the kitchen, determined to cook your favorite dish to uplift your mood.
As he worked in the kitchen, you didn't spare a glance, nor a word, his way. You were ... mad? Or maybe annoyed, at him. He hadn’t been very communicative lately. That event he went to? You found out ten minutes before he left when he casually asked if his suit was in your wardrobe. The hangout with his friends? Nothing that bothered you, but getting to know he was going out to eat as you were making dinner wasn't exactly pleasant.
Still, you couldn't be mad at him; you had your 'moments' too. The difference? You would always talk it out, apologize, and make up. But with Doyoung, he didn’t always realize when he’d done something wrong. He just did things, and the second you pointed it out, he would apologize, genuinely recognizing his mistakes.
Point is, you were tired. You just wanted him to be more conscientious of his actions. Thoughtful. Without you needing to bring everything up.
Faint music from your favorite vinyl was now playing, and you glanced up at the sound, only to find him already looking at you with a soft smile. Your gaze softened, unable to stop yourself from smiling back.
'Dinner's ready, whenever you want.'
Placing you book down, you walked to the table where your favorite dish was plated. Noticing your glossy eyes, Doyoung stood up to wrap his arms around you.
He soothingly caressed your head, still hugging you tightly. 'What's wrong? You can tell me everything, you know.'
You completely broke down at his words, how he's always been extremely soft spoken with you.
Now sobbing uncontrollably, you brought your hands to your face to muffle your crying noises. Doyoung kept silent, letting you wet his t-shirt as you were releasing all your pent-up emotions.
Still tangled in each other's bodies, you looked up at him with an hesitant look, not really wanting to speak about your issues. Noticing your gaze, he reassured you once more, 'I've already told you. Whether it's about your day, yourself, me, us... You can tell me anything. I'm here to listen, to hear. Even if I can't give you any advice, I'm sure it's better to talk than to keep everything bottled up.'
You pressed your cheek to his chest, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm. You didn’t just want him to listen — you wanted him to realize and change. But what if it didn't happen? What if all your words, all your efforts, were wasted just because he didn't want to change? You couldn't imagine your life without him.
But then, what would happen if you had to endure everything forever? Miscommunication, fights, the endless cycle of frustration?
You could feel Doyoung's gaze on you, his lips brushing on top of your head, whispering sweet nothings to calm you.
'That's the problem Doyoung — you began — you listen, but you never make an effort to actually change.' your tone started to become angrier and more frustrated as each word came out of your mouth, 'I'm sick of you, never telling me anything, like I'm someone you don't trust. Even the smallest things, I want to know them.' silence lingered for a few seconds with you thinking about what to say next,
'From a small and irrelevant detail of your day to your biggest accomplishment. I wanna be part of your life. I'm sick of this miscommunication.'
You could feel him tense in your arms. Were you being too harsh? You turned your head to look at him, who was tearing up, a guilty expression on his face. Looking back at you, he pulled you in closer, burying his face in your hair in an attempt to quieten his sobs.
He felt awful, filled with regret: how had he not noticed how upset you were before — and because of him, no less?
'I'm sorry. I know a simple sorry won't change anything for you, but for me it will mean a new start. I'm sorry because I didn't notice how careless I've been the whole time. I hate seeing you upset, but what I hate the most is you doubting yourself. I do trust you, hell, I trust you more than anyone, and I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise.' his voice came out as a whisper, muffled by your hair. He really hated himself for his reckless behavior, and you knew it.
'Thank you.' was all you could manage, stunned by your boyfriend's words.
For the rest of the evening — and well into the night — the two of you talked about everything and anything. Sometimes you laughed, sometimes you cried, but the weight on your shoulders finally felt lighter. You felt heard, understood, and for the first time in a long while, you could breathe easily again.
‘Will you run away again, even if I ask you to stay?’
Johnny stilled upon hearing the harshness in your voice, his eyes widening. Did you think that low of him?
‘I wouldn’t. You know that.’ you instinctively took a small step back, trying to shield yourself from his hurt — or lies — by crossing your arms on your chest.
Your voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid to break something already shattered. ‘Do I, now?’
Johnny’s gaze dropped to the ground, the deep red tiles reflecting the soft light coming from the chandelier just upon them.
‘Why is it so hard for you to trust me?’
you scoffed in disbelief, ‘You’re like an enigma, Johnny. You can’t trust yourself either, how could you expect me to?’
Johnny watched you turn on your heels, your figure getting more distant as he fought the instinct to stop you, to say ‘I’ll become better, just for you’, to cling on to his last fragment of hope. It felt like losing a piece of himself, watching it slip away beyond his reach.
Because he knew his promises wouldn’t last. He couldn’t change, even if you asked him to, even if he wanted to.
