pillowtalk [ kwon jiyong ]
the one where you and jiyong both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together
❛ content | kwon jiyong x female reader | ex!jiyong, 18+, smut, mentions of drugs, a bit of angst
“oh, absolutely not.”
“come on. just one time.”
“no. are you out of your fucking mind?”
“probably. i haven’t slept in thirty-two hours.”
you huff as you hide yourself behind your door. you don’t even want to see him. because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. this is what jiyong does. he plays games. he tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it.
“doll, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “i’ve tried everything else, okay? it always works with you. i just…i wanted to try. see if it still does.”
you frown. “you realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”
“yeah, but that’s all i want to do. sleep,” he insists again. “really. i’ll keep my hands to myself and i won’t even talk to you.”
you consider this. truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. and sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine.
but he broke your heart. and now you’re both paying the price.
“just one night,” he pleads again. “and if it doesn’t work, i swear i won’t bother you ever again.”
there’s a subtle ache in your chest. just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. of the joy. of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.
you take a deep breath. perhaps you’re curious, too. even if you don’t want to be. because maybe this will work. maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.
or maybe it won’t.
but at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.
so, with that thought…you open the door.
he looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. his hair is unkept, the bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.
and you’re surprised. he’s been up for longer than thirty-two hours before and handled it much better. you wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.
it wouldn’t be the first time.
but you don’t fight with him. he’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.
he nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.
“what?” you huff.
he shakes his head. “i don’t know, you look…different.”
“okay…?”
“you changed your hair.”
“yeah.”
“hm. it’s nice.”
you cross your arms. “thanks.”
“sure.”
another pause, and the silence feels heavy.
“well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.
“right, yeah.”
“okay.”
you turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.
when you get there, his surprise returns. “you changed your room, too.”
“yeah.”
“how come?”
your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “this is the one room i associated with you the most. and short of moving on, i needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. so i made the room mine again.”
he thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “i like it.”
“i don’t care.”
he smiles. “i know.”
“great. can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”
obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “never thought i’d hear you say that again.”
“never thought i’d have to say it.”
“mm. you changed your mattress.”
“obviously.”
“and the sheets and blankets, too.”
“uh-huh.”
“is there anything in here you didn’t change?”
“the carpet. but only because my landlord said i couldn’t.”
“right.” he’s smiling again. “but you did get a rug.”
“yeah.”
“it’s nice.”
“bite me.”
he laughs now and you want to smack him. “i see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”
“no, i get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at three in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. and you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. after everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions.
you turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. you’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. you don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. and you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.
and then he says, “i really did try, you know. to find another way to sleep.”
you look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “okay.”
“melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” he shifts. “i don’t know, i guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”
“yeah. i know.”
more quiet.
“i haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence.
your lashes flutter. he doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “great.”
“yeah.” another beat. “i thought it was work, i guess. maybe the stress or something. i’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”
“right.”
“and i just figured—”
“no, i got it. it’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.
the bedroom settles and you try, you really do. but you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.
“what?” you eventually hiss.
“are you dating someone?” jiyong asks.
“what?”
“are you dating someone?” he repeats. “daesung said you were.”
you hesitate. “i don’t know. kind of. i guess.”
“you guess?”
“we’re…we’ve been on a few dates. it’s not official.”
“he hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”
“why does it matter?”
“i don’t know. it doesn’t. i just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”
“oh, do i?” you roll your head to look at him. “funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”
“all right, touché,” he mumbles. “i could have been better, i know that. and i know i took advantage. you did a lot for me and i didn’t…i didn’t care.”
surprised, you twist your fingers together. “uh…yeah. right. thank you.”
his head rolls, too. and even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “i’m sorry, doll. you really did deserve better than me. and if you found it with this guy…i’ll be happy for you.”
you swallow before sighing to yourself. “i mean, i don’t know if i did. he’s…he’s really nice. but he’s so…he’s just…”
“vanilla?”
your eyes widen. “yeah. how did you—”
“he was wearing crocs with tube socks.”
you laugh—loud. “oh my god, how did you know?”
“i might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”
“yeah? and?”
“and he wears crocs with tube socks. he can’t make you cum.”
your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “ew, jiyong. it’s not about that—”
“it’s always about that. come on, am i wrong?”
“you—yes. what he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”
“so he’s not vanilla?”
“he’s…” you pause. “he…look, he really tries—”
“so, he is,” jiyong finishes for you. “well, at least you got some.”
“i…yeah. uh-huh.”
instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “he couldn’t get it up, could he?”
“jiyong,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “stop, it wasn’t that. we just…we were taking things slow. we did some stuff. just not…all of it.”
“so what did he do?”
“jiyong—”
“come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”
“ew, no—”
“listen, you used to get fucked good. i’m just trying to help you get back to that.”
you frown but do oblige. “i don’t know. he ate me out and i blew him. that’s it.”
“and…?”
“and…i don’t know. he was fine. he was good.”
“sure.”
your eyes roll. “okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. he stopped after a few seconds and asked if i came. then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”
now, jiyong’s features scrunch, too. “shit. what a fucking pussy. ironically.”
“i guess. it could have been worse.”
“really? eating you out was always my favorite. what kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”
you feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “i guess they can’t all be you.”
“damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”
“he’s cute,” you argue. “and nice. and yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. i don’t need wild sex all the time.”
he’s quiet. “how about just one time?”
you turn back. “what?”
“i—okay, i was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”
“oh, absolutely not.” you sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “no. forget it—”
“doll—”
“don’t call me that,” you huff. “you don’t get to call me that ever again. okay, i’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”
“it wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “it would also help your mood, too—”
“oh, my mood?” you glare at him. “my mood is just fine, actually. in fact, i’d say it’s pretty good if i agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”
“you didn’t have to. i’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”
“oh my god. it’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”
“yeah. we’ve established that. doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”
you stare at him. “is that why you’re really here? to trick me into sleeping with you?”
he leans back. “what? no. i don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”
“yeah, a pretty dumb one. did you honestly think i’d say yes?”
“yeah,” he admits haughtily. “yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. we broke up because you’re an uptight—”
“what? say it,” you sneer. “say it. i’m an uptight bitch because i was tired of you always getting high.”
he scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. the argument lulls. “i could never do anything right.”
“that wasn’t the problem and you know it.” you pull your legs to your chest. “i wanted to move forward and you kept going back. you’re in your thirties and you still act like you’re nineteen.”
“maybe i didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “maybe i liked things the way they were—”
“no. no, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours just to crash the next day.” you study him closely. “you were never around anymore. i never saw you. we were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if i wanted to fuck.”
“so, that’s it, huh? i’m just a villain in your story. you were this perfect fucking princess, and i was a monster that ruined your life?”
“no, obviously not. i wasn’t perfect. i know that.”
“do you?” his eyes flick between yours. “you didn’t want me to move forward with you. you liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. of who we both used to be.”
“so? i’m not proud of what i used to do. and sure, maybe i wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. is that such a fucking crime?”
“no. but you didn’t want me to be apart of that impression and you know it.”
“right. because you were shit-faced all the time.”
he opens his mouth, ready to retort. but then he closes it. he closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.
even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. as he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.
but you don’t fight him. you know you should. know you should push him off and berate him. yet you let him kiss you. and you kiss him back. and it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.
your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. you’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. his skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. you dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.
he starts with your shirt. ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. bare and beautiful to him. his kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.
the only reason he stops is to let you peel his tank top off, too. and then his pants. and you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. the only thing left between you now is his underwear and yours.
he lays you down, gentle. surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. and he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say.
his fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. he still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.
“are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. he sounds like the man you fell in love with. “is this okay?”
you nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “yeah. go.”
he doesn’t. “we don’t have to,” he says. “you were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”
“yeah, but…it always works.” you shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “and i’m tired. tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending i hate you. you were right, our sex is good. so let’s do it. and then we can sleep. and we can finally move on.”
not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. at least right now. he kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.
he feels like you remember. and maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. there are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. you don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. you know him. and he knows you.
your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. you aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. the foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.
however, he’s not. and he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.
“shit,” he whispers. his forehead drops to yours. “fucking missed this.”
you bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “yeah?”
“yeah.” he starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “i know you missed it, too.”
“hm. don’t push it.”
“why not?” he presses a kiss to your cheek. then to your jaw. your lips. your nose. your neck. everywhere you used to love. “are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?”
“maybe.”
“so crocs with tube socks is better, huh?”
“…not exactly.”
“right.” he adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “don’t worry, doll, i’ll fix it.”
“don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.
“don’t know what else to call you. you were always my pretty dollface.”
“but now i’m not,” you say. “now you call me nothing. because i’m not yours to call.”
he sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. and the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “just put it in already.”
he smirks. “how romantic.”
“it’s not supposed to be. just come on.”
so, he does. he takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. and you both reel.
truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. the way he groans and grits his teeth together. the way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over.
he’s stunning. even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. his silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.
and it’s closer than you expected. there’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. something crocs with tube socks could never seem to figure out.
because he’s not jiyong. and only jiyong can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.
he kisses you again and you both feel anxious. soft murmurings of praise and, “keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.
you’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. you need this. you need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. to close the door on the chapter of you and jiyong and move the fuck on.
but how can you move on when you’re still under him? how can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?
there are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment.
either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh.
and just like that…
it’s over.
© @ggukive
