synopsis: your dating history had been nothing but bad sex and even worse goodbyes. he showed you a patience and certainty that silenced every doubt, proving you weren’t hard to love; you’d been loved by him all along.
warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, dom!jiyong, sub!reader, soft power play, heavy praise kink, multiple orgasms | best friends to lovers, swearing, fluff, aftercare.
author’s note: this is one of my fics for @jiyongsangel’s man’s best friend writing event!! as per usual, it’s pretty lengthy because apparently i’m incapable of writing anything under five thousand words. i know a lot of people have been looking forward to this one, so hopefully you all enjoy it! ♡
you weren’t heartbroken; that would’ve implied there was something left to break.
you’d been on dates.
enough of them to know when there wouldn't be a second one before the drinks even hit the table.
enough to hear the same compliments repeated back to you like a script.
enough to recognize the tone men used when they were trying to impress you without actually learning anything real.
you’d slept with some of them, too.
sometimes because you wanted to. sometimes because you were desperate for relief. sometimes just to prove to yourself that you could still feel something, even if it didn’t last.
you weren’t bitter. you didn’t walk around openly hating men or rolling your eyes at every couple on the street.
you just didn’t have it in you anymore.
the hope. the performance. the energy it took to pretend someone’s bare minimum was enough.
so when you got home from yet another date that left you completely drained, you didn’t even bother with the lights.
you left your bag by the door, kicked your shoes aside, and sank onto the kitchen floor with a box of cookies at your side.
you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even sad. it was quieter than that; almost like resignation.
maybe it wasn’t that love never came; maybe it was that you were never the kind of person people stayed for.
being alone didn’t scare you.
what scared you was how much work it always seemed to take to avoid it.
every man felt like a mirror you kept wiping down, but no matter how clean you made it, the image was never your own.
it was smudged with their ego, clouded by their expectations, and warped by the way they looked at you like you were a puzzle they were entitled to solve.
you were tired of carving yourself down. of softening your edges. of apologizing for being too much or not enough.
tired of folding yourself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left of you at all, except whatever version might finally be enough to make someone stay.
your phone buzzed against the counter, a small sound that cut through the stillness and broke the spiral of your thoughts.
you kept your focus on the cookies in your lap, thumb working over the cardboard as though the solution to all of your problems might appear if you traced it long enough.
until it buzzed again. then again. and again.
you let out a weary sigh and reached for the phone, answering blindly, not bothering to see who it was before lifting it to your ear.
mostly because you already knew who was on the other end of the line.
“hi,” you said, voice low and a little scratchy from disuse.
“you sound like shit,” jiyong replied, warm and easy.
you smiled without meaning to. “thanks.”
fabric shifted on his end, a soft thud like he was throwing himself deeper into a couch.
“you didn’t text me today,” he spoke, not accusing, just noticing.
“mm.” you agreed quietly. “didn’t really feel like it.”
a quiet hum of understanding slipped out before his voice turned lighter. “hold on. didn’t you have that date tonight? with moustache guy?”
you shut your eyes. “unfortunately.”
“so…how bad was it?” he asked, already seeming to know the answer.
your head tipped back against the cupboard, the cool surface steadying you.
“he called me dramatic,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“ouch.” he made the sound like a real wince. “what’d you do, insult his shirt?”
despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “no. i just didn’t want to sleep with him.”
the quiet that followed was brief, but you felt it; he was biting back his first thought and thinking of something more appropriate to say.
“ah,” he said finally, voice dry. “god forbid you make a decision about your own body.”
you snorted, the sound sharp in your throat. “right? how dare i.”
“so you blocked him?” he asked, though it sounded more like certainty than a question.
“while he was walking me home,” you admitted, reaching into the box for another stale cookie.
his laugh rolled through the receiver, low and warm. “brutal and efficient…i respect it.”
the sound pulled a laugh out of you too, small and worn around the edges, before it faded back into quiet.
his voice softened in the pause. “you doing okay, though?”
you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you couldn’t figure out how to shape the heaviness in your chest into words.
“i’m tired,” you said at last, the words too small for what you actually meant. “not just tonight. it’s the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.”
“mm.” his agreement was soft, a sound that told you he knew exactly what that felt like, and that he’d been there more times than he could count.
his breathing stayed steady in your ear, present in a way that made the silence feel less empty.
“how did you even know it went badly?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.
“because you picked up,” he answered simply, like that explained everything.
you frowned at the ceiling, not satisfied. “that doesn’t even make sense.”
there was movement on his end again, the soft rustle of fabric and a dull thud in the background, though his voice never faltered.
“you never pick up during good dates,” he reasoned. a pause stretched, just long enough for the smile in his voice to be obvious. “not that you’ve ever actually had one.”
your mouth fell open, half offended, half amused. “you’re such an asshole.”
“tell me i’m wrong.” the grin in his voice was obvious, even without seeing his face.
you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. you knew he was right.
“yeah. that’s what i thought.” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.
“you’re insufferable,” you muttered.
“and right,” he shot back without missing a beat, the faint shuffle of noise still bleeding through the line.
you squinted, suspicion tugging. “seriously, what are you doing? it sounds like you’re losing a fight with your furniture.”
“i’m coming over,” he said easily, the kind of casual certainty that came from years of getting away with it.
“jiyong—” you started, fully ready to argue with him.
“don’t even start,” he cut in. “you’re not winning this one.”
“you don’t have to come,” you mumbled, curling tighter on the kitchen floor. “my apartment is a disaster, and i look like i’ve been hit by a bus.”
“cool,” he said, not missing a beat. “and?”
you blinked. “and i don’t want you to see me like this?”
his laugh slipped through, low and amused. “please. i’ve seen worse. like that night you got super wasted, missed the bathroom stall completely, and made me hold your hair while you cried into the toilet about how you were ‘too pretty to suffer like this.’”
you let out a dramatic groan, dragging your palm down your face. “you swore you’d never bring that up again.”
“i lied,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “messy hair and a graveyard of takeout boxes don’t even crack your top ten. i’ve watched you full-body sob during tangled.”
“that was emotional,” you defended.
“it was,” he agreed easily. “your eyes were swollen for hours afterwards.”
“you’re unbearable,” you muttered.
“maybe,” he said lightly, “but i’m still coming over. you don’t get to argue with me about it, either. i’m already out of the house.”
you shook your head, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “this feels like harassment.”
his laugh came easy, smug enough to make your chest tighten in spite of yourself. “yeah, yeah. file a complaint when i get there. i’ll see you in ten.”
he ended the call before you could get another word in.
you stayed on the floor a little longer, the kitchen tiles cool against your legs.
your bra strap had slipped down your arm, the dress from earlier felt too tight, and the lingering scent of ramen from your date was starting to make your stomach turn.
eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and padded toward your bedroom, tugging at zippers and straps as you walked.
you made it to your room without bothering to flick on the light.
the soft outline of jiyong’s hoodie was easy to spot in the dark, still draped over your desk chair like it had been waiting for you.
you slipped it on and tugged a pair of cotton shorts from the drawer without bothering to check which ones they were.
you were already turning back towards the kitchen before you’d fully registered the choice; like your body had already decided for you.
the only light came from the lamp in the living room and the soft glow above the stove, casting a dim warmth over the mess you said you’d clean hours ago.
piled up boxes. dirty dishes. the garbage you should have changed yesterday.
none of it was catastrophic; just enough to be annoying.
you lingered in the doorway, taking it all in. like maybe, if you stared hard enough, the mess would clean itself.
you thought about moving. picking up a box, rinsing a dish, doing the bare minimum to prove that you weren't completely useless.
you stood there long enough to accept it wasn't going to happen.
you couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic it all felt.
it was a five minute job at best, yet you still allowed yourself to sink back down to the floor, because avoidance had always came easier than effort.
the apartment was quiet for all of thirty seconds before his voice crashed through it, loud and certain, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.
“yo,” jiyong called out. “sorry i’m late—traffic was actual hell, and your street is like a one-way to satan. also,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “i brought some noodles and that weird mango drink you like. worship me accordingly.”
you leaned off the cupboards to glance toward the entrance. “you’re not late,” you said, flatly. “i told you not to come.”
“and yet,” he replied, already kicking off his shoes. “here i am.”
he crouched down to fix them; heel to toe, perfectly aligned with yours like it was second nature.
it was just shoes. nothing more.
except most men you’d gone out with would’ve kicked halfway across the floor, expecting you to deal with it later.
the care he gave to something so small shouldn’t have meant anything, but the heat that flickered low in your stomach said otherwise.
you dismissed it just as quickly as it came, telling yourself it was just the bad date making scraps of effort look bigger than they actually were.
with a groan, you tipped onto your back, landing against the tile with a quiet thud. one arm draped across your eyes, the other one splayed out like you’d officially given up. “god, you're annoying.”
“love you too,” he muttered, easing the bags onto the counter, careful not to knock over the leaning tower of unopened mail.
he turned and pulled the fridge open with one hand, already bracing himself. “wow. shredded cheese, expired oat milk, and…ranch? you’ve really outdone yourself.”
“oh my god,” you peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “i literally had ramen earlier.”
he glanced at the takeout container still sitting on the counter; unopened and untouched.
“that from your date?” he asked, already tugging off the lid. “what, was the guy’s moustache so gross you lost your appetite?”
“can you not,” you sighed, laughter sneaking into your voice despite your best efforts.
he barely reacted. “you didn’t even eat this. the broth has a film.”
you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. “stop inspecting my trash like a raccoon.”
“stop living like a raccoon,” he shot back. “and sit up. this is getting depressing.”
“no,” you said. “maybe i like the floor.”
“my bad,” he said, stepping over you without hesitation. “i’ll leave you two alone, then.”
he picked up your container of ramen you'd abandoned on the counter, emptied the broth into the sink, and scraped the noodles into the trash.
there was no hesitation. no second thought.
only quick, deliberate movements carried out with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly what needed to be done.
if it were up to you, the container would have gone straight into the trash, broth and all.
yet for some reason, it stayed in his hands.
he held it under the stream of hot water, and watched it spill over the sides until the cloudy film began to dissolve. he made it look so natural, as if rinsing it had always been the obvious choice.
without breaking his rhythm, he crouched down and tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink. his hand slipped inside, bypassing the clutter you usually shoved in there, until his palm landed on the caddy tucked against the wall.
he didn’t fumble or search. his fingers closed around the sponge instantly, and pulled it free in one smooth motion.
you stayed frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the way he worked it over the container.
the water slid over his tattoos like it had chosen that path on purpose, dragging your gaze there and daring you to keep staring.
every drop seemed designed to make you notice the strength in his hands and the flex of his fingers, until you couldn’t stop imagining what else they could do if they turned their attention to you instead.
before you could spiral any further, he rinsed the last of the bubbles away and placed the container neatly into the drying rack, never once glancing in your direction.
he wasn’t doing it for praise. he wasn’t trying to make a point, either.
he simply noticed what needed to be done, and instead of judging you or making you feel guilty for letting it sit, he took care of it himself without needing a single thank you.
it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop. it shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry.
yet the heat was already there, rushing low until you felt damp against the cotton of your shorts. you pressed your thighs together, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
but there was no denying it. your body didn’t care about the logic. it only cared about the way his hands moved, sure and unbothered, as if caring for the mess you’d left behind came easier to him than leaving it.
your eyes followed him as he moved towards the garbage. he gathered the bag in his hands, twisting it into a knot with an easy strength that made his forearms flex, tattoos shifting with every pull.
it was quick and efficient; the kind of movement that never asked to be noticed.
he placed it by the door, not just to move it out of the way, but with the unspoken intention of taking it out later. the kind of small, thoughtless promise no one else had ever made you.
when he stepped back into the room, you told yourself he had to be finished by now, though every part of you already knew he wasn’t.
the fabric of his sweats pulled tight across his thighs as he crouched again, reaching for the cabinet.
a new bag rustled open in his hands, his fingers working with quiet certainty as he slipped it into the bin. each edge was pressed down carefully, tucked into place until it held exactly the way you liked it.
a task that should’ve looked mundane somehow carried weight in his hands. your pulse climbed in uneven beats, chest tight, as if the air in the room had turned heavier just because he was in it.
there was nothing seductive in what he did, yet every precise movement drew the heat higher until your body responded as though he’d touched you directly.
too many bad dates had taught you to not expect this kind of care.
you were used to men who thought effort stopped at sending a text, and who never lifted a finger unless it benefited them.
the guy from tonight hadn't even bothered to hold the door open for you, so the thought of him replacing a garbage bag was almost laughable.
most men had always treated care as an obligation; something only performed because they felt they had to.
with jiyong, it was instinct; as natural as his next breath.
something in you gave way the longer you watched him.
it became too easy to let your mind wander, to twist the steady rhythm of his hands into something else; something meant just for you.
suddenly, his hands weren’t cleaning anymore. they were gripping your hips, sliding lower until his fingers pressed between your thighs, stroking through the damp heat he’d already put there without even trying.
you could almost feel them pushing inside, filling you with the same easy certainty he carried into every small thing he did.
the realization of what you’d just imagined made your eyes snap shut, mortified at your own mind and yet powerless against the pulse it left thrumming through you.
by the time you found the courage to open them again, he was drying his palms against his sweats, shoulders rolling back as if he’d just wrapped up a shift.
“alright,” he said, stretching with a groan, joints popping as his hoodie slid higher. “time to get up, princess.”
you didn’t budge. your cheek stayed pressed to the tile, knees pulled in close, hair half-in your face.
he tipped his head at you. “hello? earth to y/n.”
you blinked. “what?”
“i said it’s time to get up,” he repeated, flat like it was obvious. “we’re not eating dinner with you laid out like a crime scene.”
“i’m fine here,” you muttered into your arm.
he gave your hip a light kick with his socked foot. “i know i look sexy doing dishes,” he smirked, already catching the eye roll you tried to hide. “but come on. pull it together.”
your head tipped just enough to glare at him. “you’re delusional.”
“and you’re dramatic,” he shot back without missing a beat, crouching just enough to extend his hand toward you. “now get up before i drag you to the couch myself.”
your lips twitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “i’d like to see you try,” you mumbled, even as your hand slipped into his.
he tugged you up in one smooth pull, steadying you with a hand at your back until your feet found the floor again.
the touch was brief, casual, but your skin still burned under it.
you shook him off a little too quickly, ducking your head like maybe he wouldn’t notice. his brows lifted anyway, but he let it slide.
“come on,” he said, already reaching for the takeout bags on the counter. “i didn’t bring all of this food over just so you could mope on the floor.”
you trailed him into the living room, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted under his hoodie as he carried the takeout.
he collapsed onto the couch, bags spread across the table like he owned the place.
you hovered for a beat before sitting beside him, close but not too close, hoping he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your body.
“so,” he started, tearing open the first container, “daesung threw a tantrum when i told him you weren’t coming to rehearsal today.”
your lips tugged at one corner. “define tantrum.”
“like…fully rolling on the floor,” he said, chopsticks already clicking into place. “claimed he couldn’t get through practice without his number one fan watching.”
“sounds about right.” you said, easily picturing his dramatics in your head.
“youngbae even backed him up,” he went on. “got all serious about how you’re ‘the glue that holds us together.’” he mimed quotes in the air, rolling his eyes.
your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
he turned his head upon hearing the sound, like he’d been waiting for it, then reached for another container. the lid snapped open, steam spilling up between you.
“they’re ridiculous.” you said, shaking your head.
“it gets worse,” he assured, “seunghyun told everyone in the studio that you were cheating on him.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing to say.
your brows shot up. “cheating? he and i aren’t even—” you cut yourself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head again. “my god, he’s so delusional.”
jiyong’s smirk tilted, like he wanted to say more, but he just went back to portioning noodles.
you watched him work. how his hands moved quick and precise without thought. the crease in his brow when the chopsticks slipped.
the way his shoulder brushed yours when he reached for another box, like he didn’t even register the contact.
it left you warm and restless, shorts clinging, pulse tripping over itself.
you forced yourself still, arms wrapped tight around your stomach, hoping he couldn’t read what was written all over your body.
without warning, he slid the plate onto your lap, already reaching for another.
you glanced down ready to thank him, only to freeze.
every bite was exactly what you liked; no stray toppings, no sides bleeding into each other. even the noodles sat neat, twisted in their own space like he’d portioned them with care.
your brows furrowed. “wait…this is for me?”
“yeah?” his tone was flat, chopsticks already busy over his own plate.
“no, but—you separated everything.” you gestured vaguely at the plate, thrown. “none of the food’s even touching.”
he shrugged like it wasn’t worth noticing. “yeah. you hate when it does.”
your mouth opened, stalled. “since when do you—”
“since always.” his smirk tugged faint, eyes still on the food. “i just pay attention. relax, it’s not that deep.”
you sat there, pulse loud in your ears, trying to pretend it wasn’t.
your shorts clung tighter when you shifted, and the heat crawling up your neck made the plate almost too warm to balance on your lap.
by the time he leaned back with his own food, your eyes hadn’t left him once.
his brows drew together, catching it instantly. “what?”
you blinked. “what?”
“you’re staring,” he said, chopsticks frozen midair like he’d caught you red-handed.
“am not,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked on the plate in your lap.
“are too,” he shot back, smirk tugging as his chopsticks hovered. “seriously, what’s your deal?”
your pulse jumped. you shifted, tugging your knee in closer, the words spilling before you could catch them. “you’re just…way too thoughtful.”
he blinked, deadpan. “that’s a crime now?”
“no, it’s—” you waved a hand at the table, words tripping. “you cleaned, you set everything up, you made my plate exactly right without even asking—”
he glanced up mid-bite, chopsticks pausing. “uh-huh.”
“and you didn’t even hesitate, you just—” your voice pitched higher, flustered. “you just did it, like it was nothing—”
he reached for his bottle of water, lifting it toward his mouth, eyes narrowing with a half-smile. “because it is nothing.”
“it’s not nothing, ji!” you shot back, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s—it’s hot, okay?”
he choked mid-sip, coughing and laughing all at once, nearly spraying water across the table as his shoulders shook.
at the same time, you slapped your hand over your mouth, instantly mortified. “oh my god.”
he was still coughing through a laugh, sleeve dragging across his mouth as his grin broke wide. “hot?” his voice cracked, half-raspy. “you think me scrubbing your dishes is hot?”
“nope,” you blurted through your hand. “you’re hearing things.”
his eyes lit like he’d just been handed blackmail material for life. “unbelievable. years of friendship, and this is how i find out your kink is…choreplay?”
“shut up.” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.
“no fucking way.” his hand patted at his sweats like he was checking his pockets. “where’s my phone. the boys have to hear this—”
your stomach dropped, panic snapping through you. “don’t you dare.”
his grin only widened, his hands now patting down the front pocket of his hoodie like he was already halfway to victory. “oh, i definitely dare.”
you scrambled to shove your plate onto the coffee table, causing the chopsticks to clatter against porcelain in your rush. “nope. nope. absolutely not—”
he’d barely gotten his fingers inside of his pocket before you launched yourself across the couch, tackling him sideways into the cushions.
he landed flat on his back with a thud, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips while reaching desperately for his hoodie pocket.
“this is an invasion of privacy!” he gasped, twisting under you, but his laugh broke through every word.
“you don’t need privacy!” you shot back, breathless, hair falling in your face. “you need to shut up!”
his free hand darted to your side, fingers digging right into the spot he knew would make you squeal.
you squirmed against him, shrieking through your laughter. “stop, you asshole!”
he was laughing so hard his voice cracked, words tumbling out between breaths. “you picked the fight—i’m just defending myself!”
you finally slipped your hand into his pocket and yanked his phone free.
“mine!” you yelled triumphantly as you tossed it gently onto the carpet, way out of reach.
he burst out laughing, head sinking back into the cushion, chest shaking under you. “unreal,” he wheezed, grin splitting wide. “you just committed straight-up theft.”
“it was self-defense,” you corrected, still straddling his hips as you tried to hold him down. “you were about to ruin my life.”
his hands came up half-heartedly, bracing against your thighs as his laugh cracked again.
“you literally said i was hot when all i did was rinse a bowl—” he bucked his hips just enough to throw you off balance, making you squeal. “imagine if i started mopping the floors.”
“stop talking.” you slapped your hand over his mouth, desperate to stop the teasing.
he looked at you with mock innocence, then dragged his tongue across your palm.
you yanked it back with a yelp. “gross!”
he laughed so hard it broke into hiccups, chest still shaking.
your forehead pressed into his hoodie, both of you still caught in the aftershock of laughter.
the sound trailed off in little bursts, until it faded completely. quiet settled around you, thicker than it had any right to be.
you lifted your head without meaning to, hair falling forward, your fists still bunched in the fabric of his hoodie.
he was right there; flat on his back, smile softening into something slower that tugged at your ribs.
the awareness of it all seeped in slowly, until every place your body touched his became impossible to ignore.
your thighs hugged his sides. your hips were pressed flush against his. his palms rested warm and steady on your bare legs, fingers splayed like he didn’t trust himself to move.
your faces hovered only inches apart from one another, the remnants of his grin fading as the air thickened between you.
the echo of laughter still hummed in your chest, but it was drowned beneath the heavy thud of your heartbeat.
the ache you’d been pushing down all night came rushing back, hot and relentless, flooding every nerve until there was no disguising it.
every slight shift of your hips made it worse. your slick heat pressed tight against him; betraying just how badly you wanted more.
his eyes held yours, steady and certain, as if he could read every thought you were trying to bury.
a quick flicker down to your lips slipped past his control; small enough to deny, but impossible for you to miss.
the second his gaze lifted to yours again, the tension cracked.
you closed the gap in a rush, kissing him with all the want you’d been choking down.
he answered immediately, almost as if he’d been holding back just as much. the kiss was deep from the start, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of certainty that stole your breath.
his palm skimmed up your bare thigh until it fit at your waist, while his other hand curled behind your neck, coaxing you closer, unable to bear an inch of distance.
the pressure of his hands anchored you as he shifted beneath you, pushing up from the cushions until he was sitting.
the movement never broke the kiss; it only dragged you closer, chest to chest, your legs tightening instinctively around his hips.
his mouth worked over yours hungrily, lips parting like he couldn’t get enough. you clutched at his hoodie, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric, pulling harder to erase whatever little space remained.
every brush of his mouth made your pulse spike harder. every drag of his lips left your lungs aching, but neither of you were willing to stop long enough to breathe.
his lips moved against yours like he already knew every secret you’d been hiding. each shift was deliberate, practiced without practice, pulling raw sounds out of you before you even realized you were making them.
his hand left the back of your neck first, dragging slow over your skin before slipping down to join the other at your waist.
his hands slipped lower in a slow drag, following the natural curve of your body until both palms curved around your ass, pressing you down against the growing buldge in his sweatpants.
the press of him right against your center dragged a moan from your throat before you could stop it, hips rolling down on instinct, desperate to feel more of the friction you’d been aching for all night.
“breathe,” he murmured against your mouth, voice steady even through his own ragged breath. “i’ve got you.”
your hips rolled again before you could stop them, chasing more of the thick heat beneath his sweats. the noise he made vibrated through your chest, deep and broken, sending sparks racing down your spine.
you clenched around nothing, thighs tightening at his sides, every nerve screaming for more.
“ji,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please.”
his thumb brushed slowly over your side through your hoodie, grounding you even as his mouth swallowed your plea.
“i hear you,” he said, rough and certain. “but we’re not doing this here. not on a couch.”
the protest tangled with want on your tongue, but you gave a shaky nod. “okay,” you breathed.
his grip tightened, both hands already firm at your ass, and in one motion, you were lifted off the couch.
your legs wrapped around his waist before you even thought about it, a startled laugh breaking from your chest as his mouth chased yours again.
he carried you like he’d done it a thousand times, steady even with your legs locked tight around his waist.
your back met the mattress before you realized you had made it to your bedroom, the mattress dipping under your shared weight as he laid you down without breaking the kiss.
he hovered above, his weight balanced on one arm, while his other hand found your jaw. his thumb traced lightly along your skin as his eyes searched yours. “still with me?”
“still with you,” you whispered.
he brushed a strand of hair away from your lips, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before adjusting the pillow under your head.
he caught the details no one else ever did, every small adjustment only served as proof that he knew exactly what you needed before you said a word.
his hand drifted lower again, pausing at the hem of your hoodie. “can i?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.
“please,” you breathed, the word spilling out before you could catch it.
he pulled the hoodie over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts.
the air hit cool against your skin, though it was nothing compared to his stare, heavy with years of memorizing every detail; knowing you in ways no one else ever had.
“fuck,” he murmured as his hand lifted to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “you’re so beautiful.”
your breath hitched, chest pressing up into his. heat rushed over your skin, your body giving you away as your hips shifted closer, chasing him without thought.
his lips moved with purpose, each kiss a quiet claim as he trailed them along your jaw, across your cheek, down the line of your throat, and back up to your lips.
his mouth traced you in reverence, each kiss tugging another tremor loose, stoking the ache already clawing at you.
his hands followed the same rhythm, palms sliding over your sides, dragging heat everywhere they lingered.
he touched you like he already knew what your body was asking for; steady where you needed grounding, firmer where you were aching for pressure.
he moved with purpose, mapping you in ways that left no part of you untouched, and no ache unanswered.
your fingers slipped to the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it clumsily, more desperate than precise. you weren’t subtle about it, trying to work it up his torso without breaking the kiss.
his mouth curved against yours in a half-laugh, half-groan. “you know you can just ask, right?” he murmured, amused even through the rasp of his breath.
you rolled your eyes, breath catching anyway. “just take it off,” you whispered, impatience clear in your voice.
he rocked back onto on his heels, and tugged the hoodie off in one smooth pull. the shirt beneath stretched across his shoulders, while his sweats slouched low on his hips like an invitation.
your gaze slipped down, dragging his with it, until you were both staring at the obvious wet mark stamped across his lap.
your stomach flipped, eyes flying wide before you could stop them. his laugh cracked out, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.
“wow,” he said, brows shooting up. “i rinse one bowl and you baptize my pants?”
you slapped a hand over your mouth, laughter already breaking through. “oh my god—no! that is not from me!”
his grin only widened, mischief written all over it. “no? so what, i pissed myself?”
you let out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking. “maybe you did!”
he leaned closer, laughter still shaking out of him, his hands warm and steady at your hips. “mm. want me to check your shorts, just to be sure?”
you shifted in his grip, laughing helplessly even as your face burned. “absolutely not!”
his grin turned smug, laughter still ghosting in his voice. “that’s what i thought.” his thumbs pressed deeper into your hips, steady and sure. “guess initiative really does go a long way, huh?”
you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “apparently.”
he hummed, pleased, leaning in closer until his nose brushed yours. “good answer,” he mumbled.
his mouth found yours again, the trace of a smile still there, though it melted quickly into something hungrier.
his knee slid between your thighs, nudging them apart a little further, while his hands tightened at your hips, keeping you close.
you gasped into him, the sound breaking into a whimper when he angled lower, kissing along your jaw.
“there she is,” he murmured, voice brushing warm against your pulse before his lips dragged down your neck. “so fucking sweet for me.”
your breath caught as your hands slipped to his chest, sliding lower, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he caught your wrists easily, pressing a soft kiss into your open palm.
“not yet,” he whispered, steady and certain. “this is about you.”
his mouth trailed down slowly, lingering against your collarbone before sinking down the curve between your breasts.
his lips lingered like he had all the time in the world, and every deliberate pause only made your need claw harder, trembling for the next touch.
he knew exactly what you needed without you ever having to say it.
he caught it in the way your legs tightened, in the way your hips tipped toward him, in the twitch of your hands gripping the sheets.
he noticed everything, always had, and now he was using it to unravel you piece by piece.
“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he breathed against the lace of your bra, voice low like he almost couldn’t believe you were real.
his hand slid beneath you, guiding your back into a soft arch. the clasp of your bra gave way under his fingers like it had been waiting for him, undone without him ever breaking from your skin.
the straps slipped down your shoulders, one after the other, and his mouth followed their path in slow devotion.
every new inch of bare skin was met with his lips, each kiss a quiet vow that nothing about you would be left unseen. he traced you with patience, as though to prove that you were worth memorizing in full.
his lips found the swell of your breast, his hands steadying you against the tremor of your own breath.
his lips lingered wherever they touched, tracing the faint lines that marked your skin as though they were meant to be cherished, never concealed.
“so beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but unshakably sure, like the words had been waiting years to fall out of him. “every inch of you.”
his tongue flicked over your nipple and the moan that tore from you was answered instantly by his own; muffled against your breast, like the taste of you undid him as much as his touch wrecked you.
your thighs shifted restlessly, helpless in their search for relief.
“you’re already trembling,” he breathed, kissing down over your ribs, following the soft curve beneath your breast. “and i’ve hardly touched you.”
your voice broke apart on his name. “ji—”
he didn’t look up, lips still moving like prayer, heat spilling across your skin. “no one’s ever touched you like this, have they?”
the truth of it broke you open, unraveling you from the inside out. your breath faltered, stuttered, until it was nothing but gasps and moans, your hips tilting into his hands without thought.
“i—” the attempt at words dissolved into moans, “fuck—oh my god—”
his palms slid down, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts, stopping just above where you needed him most.
“yeah,” he said, already knowing the proof had been in your body all along. “i figured.”
instead of giving in right away, he bent to your waist, his lips dragging heat over the skin just above your shorts.
“they never earned this,” he said, voice quiet but edged with conviction. “never learned you like this.”
“oh god,” the sound tore out of you, thin and desperate, your fingers curling around his wrist with no strength behind them.
he took your weak hold as encouragement, not resistance.
“they didn’t take their time,” he whispered, lips tracing slowly over the softness of your stomach. “didn’t listen.”
your fingers found his hair, tugging softly, guiding him closer without words.
“p-please,” you pleaded, the word breaking before it even left your throat.
his head lifted just enough to meet your eyes, steadying you in an instant.
“oh, baby.” his voice softened as one hand left your waist, reaching for the pillow beside you.
he slid it close, eyes never leaving yours. “lift up for me, princess,” he coaxed gently. “just a little.”
you obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide the pillow breath you. his hands adjusted it with care, easing your hips down until he was sure you were comfortable.
“there we go,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your skin. “that’s better.”
his thumb traced idle circles at your hip, grounding you while the other hand slid lower. when his fingers brushed the band of your shorts, he lifted his gaze, catching yours with a question he didn’t need to voice.
the quiet in his eyes made your chest ache; knowing he would wait if you asked him to. your body answered before your words could, hips tilting up in silent permission.
his lips tugged into a soft smile, eyes fixed on you as he drew the fabric down.
he shifted your shorts and underwear down slowly, guiding the fabric over your hips with deliberate care; every motion unhurried, every detail handled with care.
he lifted your leg with care, his hand steady at your calf. his lips pressed to your ankle first, soft and lingering, before traveling upward in slow succession.
each kiss trailed higher — the curve of your calf, the dip at your knee, the inside of your thigh — like he was intent on worshipping every step closer to where you ached for him most.
your nails dug into the sheets as his palms splayed over your thighs, easing them apart.
“breathe for me, sweetheart,” his voice was strained, as if he was holding himself back just to guide you. “just breathe.”
your body obeyed his words before your mind could, chest lifting with a shaky breath.
he didn’t let you finish it.
his mouth found you the next second; no hesitation, no warning. just him, warm and certain, like he’d been holding back only for as long as you could bear.
the pillow lifted you right into his mouth, every inch of you exposed to the slow drag of his tongue. his mouth worked with a patience that burned, each movement a vow to remember every detail of you.
your fingers threaded into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.
“oh my—fuck—” the words tore out half-formed before collapsing into a moan you couldn’t contain.
he groaned in response, the sound reverberating against you as his grip tightened on your thighs, steadying you when your body tried to jolt away.
the way he moved against you was unhurried, and devastating in its precision. every swipe of his tongue felt like he already knew what would break you apart.
your chest heaved, breath shattering into pieces. you tightened your grip in his hair, dragging him closer without thinking.
he let you guide him, humming low like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted.
heat rushed through your stomach, twisting tighter with every pass of his mouth.
you were soaked. aching. unraveling with every second he stayed between your thighs.
“feels so good—” you choked out, hand fisting in the sheets now. “i can’t—it’s—jiyong.”
he paused just long enough to glance up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, baby.” he praised, voice filled with honesty.
he found you again without pause, urgency written in every motion. his lips tightened over you, his tongue pushing deeper than before.
your head tipped back, voice spilling out like prayer. “don’t—please don’t—don’t stop—please.”
another groan broke free from his mouth, vibrating through your every nerve.
pleasure ripped through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered.
“that’s it,” he whispered against you, voice low, almost reverent. “let it happen, baby.”
your thighs quivered around his shoulders, hips twisting helplessly.
his hold only tightened, dragging you deeper into every surge of pleasure until you had no other choice but to give in.
“ji—fuck,” you gasped, tears stinging from the intensity of it all.
he slowed his pace, pressing soothing kisses as his thumbs circled your skin.
“that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “you did so good for me.”
your chest heaved, lungs struggling to catch up with the aftershock.
when his gaze lifted, the change was immediate; eyes softening on sight, like tasting you had only deepened the reverence already written into him.
your lungs were still searching for air when he started climbing back up your body, mouth brushing every inch along the way.
your thigh. your stomach. the underside of your breast. your collarbone.
each kiss softer than the last, like he was pulling you back into yourself piece by piece.
by the time he found your mouth, you were already leaning into him, reaching before you realized it.
his lips lingered, smiling faintly against yours. “felt good, huh, beautiful girl?”
a broken laugh slipped out, shaky as you tried to catch your breath. “good?” you asked, head shaking in disbelief. “ji, no one’s ever—” you paused, voice breaking, “not like that.”
his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft but smug, like he couldn’t help himself.
“yeah?” he teased gently, eyes searching yours. “that’s because they were all idiots.”
he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before kissing the corner of your mouth. “you deserve more than they’ll ever know how to give.”
his words sank deep, leaving you trembling all over again. you tried to laugh, but it broke halfway when his lips caught yours, sealing the truth of his words right into you.
what began tender turned restless in seconds.
his mouth moved against yours, only you couldn’t help but deepen it, chasing him like you couldn’t get close enough.
his chest pinned you down as his hips dragged slowly between your thighs. you felt him, hard and thick through his sweats, sending another wave of heat to rip through you.
it didn’t matter that you’d already fallen apart once; your body lit up for him all over again.
a whimper caught in your throat, swallowed by his kiss as your hands scrambled higher, clawing at his shirt.
you tugged like you were frantic; like the thin barrier of fabric was the only thing keeping you from breathing.
“off,” you rasped against his lips, desperate, the word breaking. “please—take it off.”
“yes, ma’am.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it vanished the second your fingers brushed his waistband like you couldn’t wait a second longer.
you shoved his sweats down with shaking hands, boxers going along, nearly knocking him off balance in your urgency.
he huffed a laugh, eyes catching the hunger in yours. “greedy, are we?” he chuckled, sounding more undone than smug.
“shut up.” you shot back, no patience for his teasing.
your eyes had already landed on him; thick and already slick at the tip.
heat rushed hot up your chest, a grin tugging weakly at your lips despite yourself. “so that’s what i do to you?”
he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you know what you do to me.”
“still,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “it’s nice to have the evidence.”
a rough laugh slipped from him, cut short as his mouth slammed back onto yours, heavy with need.
your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, but he held himself back; grinding his hard length through your slick folds with a patience that felt merciless, his lips still on yours like he needed to drink down every sound before giving you more.
“turn over for me, baby.” his voice was rough at the edges, but his touch stayed soft, guiding you onto your stomach like he was handling something precious.
as you shifted, the pillow resting underneath your hips slipped slightly.
before you could react, his hand was already there, sliding it back beneath your stomach with quiet care; making sure the angle favoured your comfort more than his own.
“there we go,” he muttered, like he was admiring a work of art. “just like that, angel. fuck—look at you.”
you could feel the heat of him behind you, hovering close, and the way his hands coasted up and down your sides; thumbs pressing in like he was trying to memorize every inch.
“you’re unreal,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “my fucking dream girl.”
his palms settled at your waist, urging your hips higher before gliding up your spine, pressing lightly between your shoulders until your chest sank into the mattress.
“fuck, baby,” he groaned as he lined himself up. “you’re gonna kill me.”
the blunt press of him at your entrance had you gasping, nails twisting in the sheets.
“ji—” your voice cracked, the sound nothing but a plea.
“i know, i know.” his hand smoothed down your side, soothing you. “just breathe, beautiful. i’ve got you.”
he slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a stretch that stole the air directly from your lungs.
a broken sound escaped you, and his groan followed fast, spilling into the space between your bodies.
“f-fuck—” your cried helplessly, “it’s—oh my—fuck—”
he bottomed out with a shudder, his hips pressed flush against you, both of you shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart right there.
his forehead dropped between your shoulders, breath hot against your skin.
“jesus christ—” he groaned, the sound rough and reverent all at once. “you feel—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”
your back arched, body clenching around him, another helpless moan tearing through you. “too much—no, it’s—god, ji—it’s so good.” the words spilled broken, tumbling past your lips before you could catch them.
his hand slid to your stomach, pulling you up into him, grounding you through the dizzy stretch. “that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your shoulder blade. “you’re doing—f-fuck—you’re perfect—fucking made for me.”
your thighs quivered, breath stuttering, but the need to feel him move was stronger than the ache. you shifted back against him, desperate. “please…move—i need—”
he groaned again, like your words undid him. “fuck—yeah, baby, i know.”
he slowly eased his hips back, dragging himself out until you thought you’d break, then pushed in again, steady and deep.
the rhythm was unhurried but merciless; every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled like he knew exactly how to pull you apart.
after a few slow strokes, his pace quickened; each thrust sinking deeper, chasing every sound that spilled from you.
“there it is—fuck, yeah. that’s it,” he breathed, forehead tipping down for a beat before he straightened again, eyes locked on the way your body yielded to him.
your moans spilled raw into the mattress, high pitched and broken, your hips rocking back into him without thought. “oh my god—don’t stop—please, ji, don’t—”
he answered with another thrust, sharp enough to punch a cry straight out of you.
“never,” he panted, jaw tight, reverence spilling through every word. “you feel too fucking good—i could stay here forever.”
your walls clenched tight around him, the build snapping faster than you could process.
“ji—i’m gonna—fuck—” the cry tore out of you as your whole body bowed into the mattress, release ripping straight through you.
he groaned at the feel of you breaking around him, hips stuttering once before he forced himself to steady, dragging it out for you instead of chasing his own end.
“fuck—yeah—” his voice cracked. “that’s it, angel…let go for me—just like that.”
your thighs shook uncontrollably, but his hands steadied you; one gripping your waist, the other pressing into your stomach, keeping you grounded as you unraveled.
the sob that followed buried itself in the sheets, your release hitting so hard it fractured every breath into ragged pieces.
he bent over you, lips trailing soft kisses along your spine, his hips still moving but gentler now, easing you down instead of pulling you higher.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered into your skin, kissing your shoulder like a vow. “just breathe for me, angel…that’s all you need to do.”
he eased out of you slowly, the sudden emptiness pulling a broken whimper from your throat before you could stop it. “ji—w-why…what are you—”
“shh, i know, sweetheart,” he soothed, palms steady as they skimmed your sides, guiding you gently. “just needed to see you. fuck—look at you. you think i could stop now?”
desire threaded through his voice, yet his hands remained careful, guiding you as if you were fragile in his hold. he eased you onto your back, settling your hips on the pillow with a care that made it clear he wouldn’t let you feel anything but comfort.
you let him move you, pliant in his hold, your body trembling as you blinked up at him. his hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb tracing lightly like he needed to feel you breathe.
he kissed your temple first, lingering there, before trailing down to your cheek.
his mouth wandered unhurriedly across your skin; tracing over your brow, brushing the bridge of your nose, grazing the corner of your lips.
“hi, beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, words cracked but full of awe.
your smile barely surfaced, dazed and weak, but it was there. “hi,” you breathed back.
his forehead tipped to yours, lips brushing in a fleeting kiss. “you okay?” he asked, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer.
your breath caught, a soft laugh tumbling out with your words. “more than okay.”
the corner of his mouth curved into a soft smile before he slid his hand down to steady your hip.
he lined himself up and pushed back in with one long, steady stroke. the stretch tore a gasp from your throat, your body clenching around him so hard it forced a groan straight out of him.
“jesus—” his voice cracked, forehead pressing to yours again. “baby, you feel—fuck—you’re so tight.”
your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, mouth falling open on a sound you couldn’t swallow down.
“ji—” it slipped broken from your lips, almost a sob. “it’s—s-so deep—oh my god.”
his palm pressed firm to your stomach, making sure you felt every inch of him. “there we go,” he rasped, kissing your jaw through ragged breaths. “you’re taking me so well, beautiful. you’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”
his hips pulled back, just enough to make you feel the loss, before he drove in sharper. the force knocked the air from your chest as your nails clawed down his shoulder blades.
“eyes on me,” he mumbled, catching your gaze. “don’t look away, baby—want to see you fall apart.”
your gaze clung to his until the next thrust stole it away, lids fluttering shut as another cry tore loose from your throat.
“no, no—look at me,” he urged, groaning when you blinked back up at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. “that’s it. good girl.”
your moans came fractured, tumbling past your lips with every push. “please—ji, please, just like that—f-fuck—feels so good, so good—”
“fuck—” his voice cracked, hips driving harder, the sound of you begging ripping the control straight out of him.
“oh my god—i’m gonna—” the words broke into a sob, your voice splintering. “jiyong, i—fuck—i can’t—”
his thrusts faltered, a groan tearing from his chest as he forced himself deeper. “yes, you can, angel. just a little more—fuck—i can feel you. you’re right there.”
you broke apart around him, crying out his name like it was the only word left in you. “jiyong—”
“that’s it—oh, fuck—that’s it, baby,” he gasped, forehead dropping to yours as his own rhythm fell apart. “come with me—yeah, just like that—fuck—”
your release tore through you, carrying his with it. your body squeezed around him, causing him to let out a wrecked moan as he came inside of you.
he stilled, chest pressed to yours as both of you trembled through the last shreds of release.
there was no detachment. no instinct to turn away. he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you.
when his breathing finally slowed, he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “are you okay?” he asked.
you nodded, unable to trust your voice.
he gave you a moment longer before easing out, slow and careful, drawing a broken whimper from your throat.
his mouth followed the loss; kissing the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and the hollow below your ribs.
each one gentle and deliberate in their own way.
“stay here,” he said softly. “just rest, baby.”
your head fell back against the pillow in the faintest nod, eyes glassy with exhaustion.
he lingered a second longer, thumb brushing your cheek in a touch that felt reluctant, before finally pushing himself to stand.
he bent to grab his boxers from where they’d been tossed, sliding them on around his hips.
the quiet between you stretched thin, filled only by the sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the floor.
by the time he reached the door, your chest was already tight. you stayed where you were, staring up at the ceiling, the fan turning in lazy circles above you.
the longer you watched, the more the quiet shifted. at first it was just silence. the silence turned into space, which slowly turned into panic.
you weren’t naïve. you knew the script.
sex that good, that messy, that consuming, usually ended the same way.
a roll to the side. maybe a muttered ‘that was fun’. the scrape of denim. an excuse about the early morning.
sometimes the door would shut before you’d even pulled the sheets over yourself.
your heart sank.
what if this was that moment?
what if you’d just traded years of friendship for a few hours of wreckless, selfish pleasure?
what if you’d just ruined everything?
before the thought could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.
“hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.
you blinked towards him, body still draped exactly where he’d left you
his boxers hung low on his hips, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest still flushed from the heat of you. a towel was slung over his shoulder, two water bottles gripped in one hand, a warm cloth in the other.
your throat went tight. “you came back,” you whispered, the words slipping before you could catch them.
his face softened immediately, something tender breaking through. “of course i did,” he said, stepping closer. “what—did you think i’d just disappear after that?”
you tried to smile, but it wavered.
“hey,” he said again, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “don’t go quiet on me now, pretty girl. not after you probably woke all of the neighbors up.”
a soft, broken laugh escaped your lips.
he bent to press a soft kiss to your knee. “scoot up a little, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”
his hands moved with quiet certainty, every touch measured and unhurried. patience lingered in everything he did; a tenderness you weren’t used to.
you felt the difference in your chest before you even felt it between your thighs.
no one had ever done this for you before.
the most you’d ever been given was a half-hearted towel tossed your way, like it was your job to deal with the aftermath alone.
but here he was, treating you like you were something worth handling with delicacy.
“i kept the pillow there,” he said quietly, “’cause i figured you’d be sore. didn’t want you shifting too much.”
he finished with quiet care, dropping the cloth and towel into your hamper before reaching for your hoodie on the floor.
he eased it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, tugging it down until you were completely covered.
as he climbed back into the bed, you reached for him without thinking twice.
he was already leaning into you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him like it was the only place you belonged.
“you still with me?” he asked, lips brushing your hair.
you nodded, eyes still shut until his voice pulled you back.
you blinked up at him as he dipped his head, catching your gaze. “you scared me for a second.”
your voice was small. “i just…wasn’t expecting you to come back.”
his brow furrowed, a little hurt, though his tone stayed soft. “come on. you really thought i’d leave you like that?”
you huffed out a laugh. “it wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”
his chest rose on a sigh as he shifted to really look at you. “baby…what kind of assholes are you fucking?”
the bluntness startled a laugh out of you. “you’ve heard all the stories,” you reminded him.
“unfortunately.” his hand stayed warm at your spine, steadying you. “and i hated every single one of them.”
you froze, but he continued nonetheless.
“you don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “listening to you try to laugh off how some guy left before you could even breathe again—” he paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “i swear, prison stripes nearly sounded worth it.”
“you never said anything.” you said, genuinely surprised at his words.
his lips lifted into a small smile, but the weight in his eyes gave him away.“never felt like my place.”
“ji…” you whispered.
he shook his head gently, already seeing where your thoughts were headed.
“you really don’t get it, do you?” his voice softened, a little rough at the edges.
“get what?” you murmured as your eyes searched his face.
his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, so tender it made your chest ache.
“how easy you are to love.”
you froze, lungs stuttering like they’d forgotten how to work.
“i’ve wanted to do this right for so long,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. “not just the sex. all of it. making you laugh. holding you when you cry. being the one who never leaves. giving you the kind of love you should’ve had all along.”
your lips parted, but no sound followed. the weight of his words pressed down until all you could do was hold his gaze, wide-eyed, undone by the gentleness in his voice.
“and if i ever have to hear about one more guy who made you feel like you were too much, or too emotional, or not worth sticking around for…” he shook his head again, softer this time. “i’ll lose my fucking mind. because you—”
he swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. “you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. someone who thanks god every night that you chose him.”
you blinked hard, tears threatening to fall as a soft laugh escaped you. “you’re not supposed to make me cry after sex, idiot.”
“i meant what i said,” he told you, his lips curving into that same boyish grin you’ve adored for years.
tears slipped down your cheeks as you let out a shaky laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “you are such an asshole.”
“am i wrong?” he smirked. “because you—” he paused, tapping your thigh, “—basically had tears running down your thighs from me washing, like, two dishes.”
you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “please never phrase it like that again.”
he laughed, the sound warm against your cheek. “don’t act like you didn’t whimper when i changed the garbage bag.”
you pulled back just enough to glare at him. “you are so full of yourself.”
his grin only widened, cocky and unbothered. “wait till you find out i sort my laundry by whites and darks.”
Summary: Jiyong is having a hard time on tour and says some things he doesn’t mean.
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Angst, Jiyong during M.O.T.T.E. era, unprotected p in v, light fluff
Author’s Note: This was requested FOREVER ago and took me months to write. I just wanted to do this era of Jiyong justice. I hope you enjoy!
Jiyong was pushing himself too hard. From the time he’d started recording the album to now, you couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a break. He was halfway through his tour and you were worried.
If he wasn’t on stage he was sleeping, this wasn’t the Jiyong you knew. He was always one to explore the places he was touring in, not stay locked up in his hotel room. You’d go out for food or to catch up with friends you’d met along the years of touring with Jiyong and Bigbang and Ji wouldn’t stay inside. It was driving you crazy.
You couldn’t do this anymore, you needed to get out. You’d just reached for your phone when Jiyong stirred, reaching for you. Groaning when he realized you weren’t there. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Babe?” His voice hoarse from sleep.
“Hm?”
“Why aren’t you in bed?” He pouted, patting the empty spot next to him.
“I’ve been in bed, I want to go do something.” You shrugged, standing up. Jiyong took in your appearance a frown on his face.
“You were just going to leave me here alone?”
“Ji, I wasn’t going to just leave you here alone.” You sighed, moving to stand in front of him. “I was going to give you the option to come with me. You wanna go explore?”
Jiyong looked at his phone, noting the time and shook his head, leaning against the headboard. “Can’t. I have to get ready and go to soundcheck. Can we go exploring tomorrow?”
“How about I go run out and find us some food and meet you at the stadium?”
“Or you can order food when we get there? I’m not hungry.”
This pattern was exactly why you needed to get out for the day. You didn’t want to be locked inside, not when you had friends in this city you both had made plans to see. You shook your head, grabbing your purse.
“I’m gonna go meet up with some of our friends and I’ll see you after sound check this morning, okay?”
“Don’t bother.” Jiyong mumbled, throwing the covers back over his face.
“What?”
“Go hang out with everyone else but me, don’t bother coming tonight.”
You knew what this was, Jiyong was missing his friends, all of them. The tour had taken up so much of his life he was feeling left out of everything.
“Why are you being like this?” You moved to sit at the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you want me at the show?”
“You only want to be around me when it’s good.” He shrugged, his eyes not leaving his phone.
“Ji, that’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? Only want to go to my shows, you’re just like everyone else, clout chasing and using me.”
“I can’t believe you think so little of me.”
You didn’t give Jiyong a chance to respond before you headed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind you. Jiyong threw his phone down and slid under the covers, burying himself until Jaeho knocked on the door a few hours later.
The night was a blur. Jiyong barely knew what city he was in, refusing to shout it out throughout the night. He was hopeful he still had good energy at the very least to give a good performance but he felt like he’d been faking this entire tour so what was one more night?
He barely noticed it when a fan jumped on stage, in his delirious state he half thought it was you anyway. So when she hugged him he allowed it, singing along as she held onto him. As security pulled her away, his grip tightened. You were his life line, so why were they taking you away from him? Didn’t they realize how lonely he was? He shook his head, pouring his emotions into the song. All he wanted was to get back to his hotel and sleep for another week.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Where are you? Jiyong goes on in twenty.
Five minutes until show time…are they not letting you back here? I’ll come get you. Just let me know.
…alright well, I’ll record your favorite parts so you can give him shit later.
Jaeho had been texting you pretty much nonstop since he’d realized you weren’t going with them to the show. You should text him back, let him know you weren’t going and you wouldn’t be back at the hotel that night. You’d just meet them at the airport in the morning. You knew you shouldn’t leave Jaeho of all people on read but you needed a break. A break from all things Jiyong.
“Your phone's been ringing off the hook the last ten minutes. You gonna get that?” Your friend eyed your phone.
“Nope.” You shrugged, silencing the call.
You’d spent the day dodging questions about Jiyong and tonight’s show while you hung out with your mutual friends. It was good to see them, but you’d be lying if you hadn’t been thinking about that conversation with Jiyong all day.
“It’s ringing again.” You rolled your eyes, silenced your phone and threw it in your purse.
“And now it’s off.” You shrugged, picking up your glass and taking a drink.
You wished you were enjoying your time more, you really did. But you couldn’t stop thinking about Jiyong. You’d only ever missed one show in all the years you’d known him and it was because you’d been so sick. That was ironically the night you’d gone from being friends to being in a relationship.
Jiyong had been so worried you’d missed the show, and you hadn’t been answering texts so Jiyong had rushed over right after the show. Feelings had been confessed and you two had been a couple ever since.
That made it all the more difficult for you to be away from him tonight. He was your boyfriend, sure, but he was also your best friend and he’d always take care of you when you were sick. You shouldn’t have left him, he needed you. You knew that, but his words had hurt you and you needed space.
With a sigh, you excused yourself from the table and made your way to the restroom. You weren’t going to read these texts in front of your friends. They didn’t need to know how bad this situation was.
Leaning against the vanity in the bathroom, you pulled out your phone and sighed as you read through the texts. You weren’t sure if Jiyong had told Jaeho you weren’t coming to the show when you’d left but judging by the worried slew of texts you’d gotten the answer. Jiyong hadn’t mentioned you at all. It shouldn’t hurt, not when he was the one hurting, but you were human too and it did hurt a little.
You were about to text him, apologize for having him worry about you. You weren’t the assignment, Jiyong was and he didn’t need you adding to his work stress when the text bubbles appeared. Your finger hovered over the send button as you waited.
A fan jumped on stage. I got to her before anything horrible could happen. He let her hug him, something’s wrong. If you aren’t here you should be.
“Fuck.” You groaned, sending a text back that you were on your way.
Heading back to the table you fished some cash out of your bag and apologized to your friends before heading out. They may not understand it today but one day you’d explain the weird behavior, when Jiyong was better. He didn’t need a flock of casual friends flooding his hotel room pretending they understood the pressure he was under.
The show was almost over by the time you’d managed to get a taxi so you let Jaeho know you’d just meet them at the hotel. You hadn’t expected them to beat you back, but Jaeho had made the call to cancel all after show activities that night to get Jiyong back to the hotel.
He was sitting on the couch in your suite when you arrived and you let out a shaky breath when you spotted him. He looked so small, so broken and you felt horrible for leaving.
“Ji?” He turned to face you, eyes closing as he hung his head.
“I thought I’d lost you.” You shook your head moving further into the room.
“I just needed some space, I’m sorry.” Jiyong shook his head, his eyes snapping open to look at you.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I was an ass, I didn’t mean what I said. You’re not a clout chaser, I don’t think you’re using me. I’m so sorry Jagiya.” He paused, looking down, he was too ashamed to look at you. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I might be broken.” The last part came out in a whisper so quiet you almost couldn’t hear it.
“You are not broken.” You bit down on your bottom lip, debating your next move.
Your body responded to his cry for help before your brain good, though and before you knew it you were crawling into his lap, holding him tightly. As if your love could fix all the broken pieces inside of him.
“I think a few days off will do you some good when we get back home. You can go see your friends, your parents, Iye.” You pulled back enough to look at him, your hands cradling his cheeks. “Take some of the pressure off before the encores start. You’re pushing yourself too hard, running from the things that happened this year. You need time to heal. You’re okay, Ji. I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“I’m just so tired of the cameras. Everywhere I look there’s another one in my face. I miss being in the know of what’s going on at home. I miss you.” His eyes bright with unshed tears and you shook his head.
“So we tell them to shove it. They’ve got enough for the movie at this point. They don’t need any more of you.” A tear fell down his cheek and you moved your thumb to wipe it away. “And you don’t need to miss me, I’m right here.”
“Yeah but you were right. I’ve been in this funk and I’ve not been fair to you. I’ve lost myself and you on this tour. I’m going to make it better.”
“You didn’t lose me. Couples fight, it didn’t mean I was going to let you get away that easy.” Your hands moved his face, forcing him to look at you. “I love you Kwon Jiyong, even when you think you’re broken. So let me help put you back together.”
“Okay.” He nodded slowly, “I love you too.”
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
You moved to stand, but Jiyong’s arms tightened around you, keeping you in place. “Not yet.” He murmured, his head falling to your shoulder.
He just needed to feel you, to make sure you were still here, still real. His head rose slowly, his eyes locking with yours before his lips captured yours. The kiss was soft, gentle, as if you were both afraid to move too quickly and spook the other.
Jiyong’s hands moved slowly, as if unsure as they moved to the end of your shirt. You nodded and he took that as all the confirmation he needed before he lifted your shirt, breaking the kiss to pull your shirt off. Thankfully Jiyong was still in his concert attire, red jacket, no shirt underneath and you pushed the jacket down off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it the rest of the way.
Your hand moved to his pants, undoing his fly and palming him through the fabric of his boxers, he let out a soft groan, his lips capturing yours again as he slid your skirt and panties down in one swift movement. His fingers slid through your slick folds, quickly finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. You moaned into his mouth, biting down on his bottom lip.
Jiyong moved you slightly, pulling his boxers down. He lined you up, his cock slipping through your folds teasingly and you gripped his shoulders as you lowered yourself on him, taking him inch by inch slowly. Your hips rolling against his as he entered you completely.
He broke the kiss, his lips connecting with your neck, your shoulder, your breasts, before he kissed back up to your lips. You lifted yourself, slamming back down on him as and he groaned again.
“God, Jagi, just like that.” His hands planted on your hips, helping with your movements.
You took your time, moving slowly. There was no need to rush this tonight. Jiyong could feel you getting closer to your release and he urged you to move faster. You rolled your hips, his meeting your every movement and your eyes closed, your head falling backwards at the contact. Jiyong took the opportunity to kiss the exposed skin of your throat, kissing up to your earlobe.
“I love you.” He whispered in your ear before he moved his hand to your neck, tilting your head back towards his. “Now let yourself go. Eyes on me.”
You obeyed, your orgasm coming in waves. You wanted to close your eyes, to bask in this feeling but Jiyong shook his head. “No Jagiya, keep your eyes on me.” His hips moved faster as you rode out your orgasm, him coming shortly after you. He held you tightly as he released inside of you. His lips captured yours again.
He stayed inside of you, holding you close for a few more minutes. Neither of you wanting to move but you both desperately needed a shower, and food, and sleep. You sighed as you stood up, your hand reaching for his. He took it happily following you towards the bathroom. You got the shower started and while you waited for the water to get hot you placed an order for room service.
You led Jiyong into the shower, helping him wash his hair, carefully removing extensions along the way. You took turns washing each others bodies and when the water had gone cold, Jiyong led you out of the shower. You slid into robes just as there was a knock at the door.
“I got it, you go get in bed.”
Jiyong nodded and you made your way to the door, holding your robe closed tightly as you allowed the tray of food to be wheeled inside. Once the food was laid out on the bed, you took your spot next to him, finding a movie you’d seen a million times on the tv. You ate in silence, making sure to check on Jiyong. He hadn’t been eating much the last few months so you were pleased to find he ate every last bite of his food.
Jiyong pulled you to his side after the food was cleaned up, holding you close as you finished the movie. His breathing evening out next to you and you snuggled into him, glad he was finally getting rest.
“Move in with me.” He murmured against your shoulder.
“What?” You turned to face him, surprised to see his eyes wide open. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Almost was, but then the idea of going home to my empty apartment woke me back up.” He paused, eyes locking with yours. “Move in with me.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Since the day I met you, yeah.” You grinned, and he grinned back, a real genuine smile. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen that.
“Yeah, okay. I will.” Jiyong held you closer, his eyes closing again.
“Now I have something to look forward to. Coming home to you.” You leaned in, placing a kiss to his nose and you could feel him roll his eyes despite them being closed.
“I love you Jiyong.”
“I love you too, Jagiya. Now get some sleep.”
It was funny how now he was using your words against you. You were just happy he was finally taking care of himself tonight, so you listened. Your eyes closed as you snuggled into him, listening to his breath even out as he slept. You drifting off after him, excited to go home and start your new journey together.
synopsis: you’re in paris with your boyfriend jiyong.
warnings: smut, 18+, oral, praise, unprotected sex, a lot of fluff, aftercare.
a/n: based off my fav song on taeyangs new album ‘quintessence’ (which yall are WAYYY too quiet about by the way.) enjoy!
the lights of the stunning city of paris shimmered over the river as you leaned over the railing of the bridge you and jiyong had accidentally stumbled across on your late night walk that evening. the cool breeze swept across your cheeks, but the warmth of him behind you made you forget it about it immediately.
jiyong wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back against his chest gently and rested his chin comfortably against your shoulder. a small smile tugged at your lips at the familiar feeling, he’d brought you along to paris a lot but it never got old.
your eyes lit up as you pointed into the distance. “ji! look it’s the eiffel tower.” excitement filled your voice despite having seen it several times beforehand, paris with him felt softer and much warmer.
a quiet chuckle escaped his lips, vibrating against your shoulder as his fingers traced slow and careful circles against your stomach.
“mmm very beautiful jagi.” he murmured but you already knew he wasn’t talking about the view. you turned around in his arms and caught the way he was gazing at you, like the city didn’t even matter to him. his gaze was almost dreamy and it made your heart flutter.
“you’re staring ji.” you giggled.
a smirk spread across his face. “not like you mind it.” his voice dropped lower sending a rush of warmth onto your cheeks before he leaned down and kissed you softly.
your hands instinctively slid around his neck, fingers tangling in the longer hair at the nape of it. he’d been growing it out recently and you absolutely adored it and played with it whenever you could.
the kiss deepened naturally between you, unhurried whilst the paris wind swept through your hair and around the two of you. it felt unreal, like a scene from one of those romance movies jiyong always claimed he hated but watched them with you anyways.
he hummed softly against your lips as his hand wandered lower down to your ass, pulling you closer.
you laughed a little and pulled back before he got carried away. “not now jiyong let’s just go back.”
his lips formed an exaggerated pout immediately. “please?”
you scoffed trying to keep a straight face while he had that stupid expression on his face. “no puppy eyes, you’re old.”
he placed a hand on his chest, scoffing dramatically. “watch your mouth baby.”
“yeah, yeah.” you teased and grabbed his hand before he could complain further. “come on.”
he was still muttering under his breath but he let you drag him down the glowing streets of paris towards your hotel, his hand holding yours the entire time.
as you were walking you passed by a small street musician playing a slow melody on his violin and jiyong came to a halt.
you stopped too and blinked, confused. “what?”
he didn’t answer, just turned towards you and held out his hand. “dance with me.”
you stared wide eyed for a moment before laughing. “jiyong there’s literally no one else dancing.”
he shrugged. “so? we can start.”
before you could protest he gently pulled you closer as if you’d break and settled one hand on your waist, the other intertwined with yours. he slowly guided you into a lazy sway in the middle of the quiet paris street.
you had the biggest smile on your face, despite not wanting to dance moments ago. you noticed the moonlight had softened his features as he looked down at you with that loving gaze he always had with you and his messy hair falling into his eyes, making him look unreal as the music echoed around you.
it wasn’t perfect dancing, he was teasing half of the time stepping too close to hear you whine about it, but that made it even more special to you.
“you’re so cheesy.” you muttered, but you rested your head on his shoulder anyway.
“you love it though.” he smiled, and he wasn’t wrong.
he spun you around carefully, your laughter filling blending with the music in the quiet street. you carried on swaying under the full moon that had made an appearance tonight, the eiffel tower glittering in the distance.
eventually jiyong pressed a soft little kiss onto your forehead before lacing his warm hand with yours. “let’s go to the hotel now baby.” he sighed.
and so you walked back, stopping at a few small shops on the way, jiyong buying you everything you so much even looked at and you finally got back to the hotel.
you walked into your room flopping down onto the bed and jiyong immediately climbed on top of you, hands running over your curves and his lips finding yours in a messy kiss.
you grinded your body up into him as he embraced you and carried on kissing you, before trailing his hot lips down your neck and praising you in between every single one.
“my perfect girl.”
you threw your head back and sighed as he praised you like he meant it, and you knew he did.
“such a good girl for me.”
he said while kissing over your stomach making you shiver, his eyes looking up at yours.
you felt his hands brush at your waist band as he finished up with kissing and worshipping you like a god and before you knew it you felt his finger press down on your core through your panties.
“mm ji.” you whimpered as he started circling his finger tips gently on it.
“yeah, that feel good?” he murmured softly as he kissed your inner thighs gently as if rewarding you.
you fisted a bunch of his hair in your hand and moved his head closer to your aching clit. “please.”
“use your words sweetheart, what exactly do you want?” his voice still ever so soft.
you breathed heavily as he pressed his fingers more firmly over your clit. “eat me.” you whispered.
he didn’t waste a second before sliding your panties to the side, licking up the slick that was on your pussy already. “you taste so good baby.” was the last thing he said before licking inbetween your folds.
he went slowly at first, just gentle circles with the tip of his tongue before picking up his pace and you felt him start to trace out the letters of his name on your pussy with his tongue.
“who do you belong to.” he said raspily while going on to trace the letter ‘y’.
“fuck, you.” you said shakily, the pleasure over taking you.
“ah ah say my name. tell me exactly who you belong to.” he said sternly this time.
“jiyong, i belong to jiyong.” you groaned.
“good girl.” he cooed softly before tracing out the rest of his name with his tongue, making you shudder.
after some time of him playing around with his mouth you finally came all over his tongue and he swallowed as much as he could before gazing up at you with lustful, albeit soft, eyes and licked his swollen lips. god he looked sinful.
he gently flipped you so you were laying on your stomach and his gaze roamed over your bare back, taking in how your hips dipped and your back arched. “so fucking perfect and all mine.” he murmured before starting on the zipper of his pants.
he lined up his hard cock with your entranced and slowly pushed himself into you. he groaned softly before speaking to you. “you can take it baby, i know you can.” he muttered out. “be good for me.”
he praised as he thrusted a little bit harder into you but still making sure he was gentle. he pulled your hair into his hand and gently tugged your head back as he fucked you from behind.
his other hand hovered over your hip, the slight weight grounding you. “you feel so good.” you breathed out, burying your head into the pillow.
“mhm i know baby.” he grunted as he started fucking harder making you gasp. “fuck jiyong, faster.” you found yourself begging for more.
he ran his smooth hands over the soft skin of your bare back as he thrusted harder making a loud moan escape you. his touch, his cock buried inside you, god it was doing things.
he took his time with you, sometimes going slow to make it last and sometimes going fast to make it more pleasurable. the way he kept stopping and starting made the knot in your stomach tighten endlessly but you didn’t do anything about it, you secretly liked it.
“the sounds you make are so gorgeous jagi.” he whispered as you kept making little whines and moans. “and they’re all because of me.” he said before gripping your hips and sliding into you more.
you grinded back on him wanting to feel more friction and he threw his head back, making the hottest groan you’d ever heard in your life.
“fuck i’m close.” you whined as you felt him go faster. “go on baby let go for me hm.” he said roughly.
you finally let go with a loud cry and he came just after you did. you both stayed like that for a moment, taking in the euphoric feeling taking over. the dim hotel room, the warmth of your bodies, the distant smell of the vanilla candle in the corner of the room and jiyongs cologne. it was so peaceful.
he eventually pulled out and you turned to look at him. his gaze was no longer lustful but so full of love and care. “are you feeling okay baby.” he asked gently.
you smiled, your cheeks heating up a little as you saw how pretty he looked, he was absolutely glowing and his hair was damp and falling into his face making him look breathtaking. the soft look in his gorgeous brown eyes didn’t help either. “yeah i feel better than ever.” you spoke in a whisper.
he nodded and you both cleaned up after that, jiyong gently getting into a perfectly warm bath with you (that he ran ofcourse).
after he’d dried you off with the softest towel he could find, he gently tucked you in bed before climbing in next to you.
he laid back against the pillows next to you while you tucked yourself into his side, he wrapped one arm around you while the other played lazily with your fingers under the blanket.
your head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heat as he rubbed your back gently. “good night baby.” he softly murmured.
“good night ji.” you whispered softly and you both fell asleep content, knowing you had eachother always and forever.
featuring: choi seung-hyun, kwon jiyong, and kang daesung
synopsis: it’s in the title! bigbang and head… their preference in receiving / giving + some other related hcs
warnings: 18+, smut. oral (m & f!receiving).
a/n: the way i literally need them all so bad based on this request! honestly i loved writing this😭 lmk if you guys have any more ideas for smutty hcs for bigbang... bc i personally have some that imma try to get to soon
⋆˚꩜.ᐟ choi seung-hyun
• preference: receiving. i don’t imagine seung-hyun as someone who’s very vocal during sex, but when you give him head it takes everything in him not to let out low, loud moans. he’ll tighten his grip on your hair to ground yourself.
• absolutely loves when you get messy with it— he finds it so hot. drool running down your chin, mascara smudged as you look up at him, and he just thinks you look so beautiful. also definitely loves it when you gag.
• he’s so so good at giving too. seung-hyun notices every small hitch of your breath, arch of your back, and soft whimper. that’s how he finds out what you like. also the type to finger you while he sucks on your clit.
⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 kwon jiyong
• preference: both, but i would say he probably likes receiving a little bit more (i know people are going to disagree with me on this but hear me out!!) he’s so subby (thank you ubermensch for this knowledge) so when you’re in control he loves it. push him on the bed, slowly undoing his pant buttons. your tongue teases one long strip over his length and his resolve literally crumbles.
• jiyong usually always lets you do your own thing, head leaned against the headboard and eyes fluttering shut because you’re so good at what you do. the type to hold your hair back for you (😛)
• so so good at giving though. jiyong could literally spend hours between your legs if you let him… and sometimes you do. he could’ve already made you orgasm twice, and he’ll still he begging for more.
“please, baby, just wanna taste you one more time…”
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ kang daesung
• preference: giving. he loves it when you sit on him— not only does it make him feel so strong but he also likes when you just use his mouth how you want to.
• eats you out because he wants to make you feel good. that means he loves it when you’re vocal because it shows him exactly what you like. also loves loves loves it when you pull on his hair a little bit.
• when you give him head, he’s also definitely very vocal. he loves eye contact, so he’ll gently tilt your chin up so that he can look at how pretty you look, and he’ll brush any pieces of hair out of your face that stick to your forehead. overall, just very sweet and gentle.
Hii it's me again lol about the g dragon, can i request something like kwon jiyong x idol reader, reader is younger than him (OF COURSE LEGAL AGE HAHA), she's a soloist or in a girl group (you decide 🥰) when bigbang performed in the mama awards just last year so iconic lol, after they performed they have to sit with other artists, he purposely planned talked to some staffs to make his and her group sit together, and they have some moments that the fans caught on and yes HAHAHA you continue BUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT, idk if you could understand it 😔😔😔 i dont know to explain this properly lol
Exposed || Kwon Jiyong
Pairing: Idol Jiyong X Idol Reader
Genre: Fluff
Summary: Jiyong and Y/N, a idol from a popular girl group, have been secretly dating. However, their relationship starts sparking rumors after several accidental (and not-so-accidental) moments at the MAMA Awards.
A.N: Please let me know if you guys want a part 2 continuation of this story
Please give it lots of love and support! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts, comments and don't forget to follow for more stories like this—they mean so much to me and help me improve. Your feedback and encouragement keep me motivated to keep writing. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Love you guys 💖💖
And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other groups
M.list
The night was electric. BIGBANG had just finished their performance, a stage that would be talked about for years. The energy was still buzzing in the air as the members walked off, their breathing still heavy from the adrenaline. And from his place on stage, Jiyong had already located you.
Your group had been watching from the front rows, standing, clapping, and cheering along with the other artists. But unlike the rest, you felt the heat of his gaze.
You knew you had to play it cool. You kept your eyes forward, lips pressed together in the perfect image of a professional junior idol. But when he bowed, when he let his eyes flicker to yours for half a second longer than necessary, you felt your pulse quicken.
It wasn’t over.
Because when it came time for seating arrangements, suddenly, your group was ushered toward BIGBANG’s section.
Your leader glanced at the staff in confusion. “Oh, we’re sitting here?”
A staff member just nodded, completely unaware of the tension brewing beneath the surface. Or maybe they did know. After all, Jiyong had made sure of it.
As you sat down, your assigned seat just happened to be diagonal from his. Close enough for accidental touches. Close enough for subtle games.
And Jiyong? Oh, he was enjoying himself.
The first time your knees brushed, you thought it was an accident. The seating was cramped, and idols were squeezed together with barely any space to move.
But then it happened again.
This time, he pressed his knee deliberately against yours.
You didn’t react. You kept your posture perfect, eyes locked on the stage. But your fingers curled slightly in your lap.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
Jiyong chuckled under his breath, low enough that only you could hear.
"You're good at this," he murmured, barely moving his lips.
You exhaled slowly, keeping your eyes on the performance. "At what?"
"At pretending like I’m not here," he mused. Then, leaning slightly closer, he added, "But I know you feel it."
Your breath hitched. The warmth of his leg against yours, the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine—you hated how easily he affected you.
But two could play this game.
So, without missing a beat, you pressed your knee back against his.
And that was the moment his smirk faltered.
Sometime during the award announcements, a staff member brought bottled water to each table. You twisted open your cap, taking a small sip—only to nearly choke when Jiyong’s ringed fingers casually reached forward, stealing your bottle.
Before you could react, he took a slow sip, completely unbothered.
Your eyes widened, but he merely wiped the corner of his lips with his thumb, setting the bottle back down in front of you.
"Yah," you whispered, shooting him a glare.
"Problem?" he asked innocently, tilting his head.
You scoffed, reaching for another bottle, but before you could, he leaned over and slid the original bottle back toward you.
His voice was barely above a whisper. "Just drink from mine."
Your stomach flipped. You hated that he was enjoying this.
And you hated even more that you took the bottle and drank from it.
It started as something harmless. Just a quick glance in his direction.
But you didn’t realize the camera had zoomed in on you.
At that exact moment, Jiyong, ever the instigator, tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythm only you recognized—a song he’d written for you.
Your lips parted slightly in surprise. He noticed.
And before you could stop it—before you could school your expression into something neutral—your lips curled up in the tiniest smile.
And the fans caught everything.
The camera cut away almost instantly, but not fast enough.
Twitter exploded.
"WHY DID Y/N JUST SMILE OUT OF NOWHERE WHEN GD WAS TAPPING THE TABLE HELPPP"
"WHAT WAS HE TAPPING?? HELLO CODEBREAKERS??"
"Y/N SMILING AFTER GD LOOKED HER WAY... Y'ALL WE'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE 👀"
"GD took HER bottle?? And she didn’t even react?? Oh nah they are not slick."
And then—dispatch dropped a clip.
A grainy, fan-taken video from the upper seats of the arena. The footage was shaky, but clear enough to show:
Jiyong passing your group a drink, but ONLY handing it to you.
The knee touch under the table.
Your stolen glance. Your tiny, traitorous smile.
It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking.
But the fans? They saw everything.
The awards continued, but you barely registered the winners.
Because Jiyong wasn’t done.
His fingers drummed against the table again. This time, the rhythm wasn’t a song. It was a message.
T-A-L-K T-O M-E
You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly.
Jiyong grinned. He saw that.
Then, the absolute menace that he was, he raised a brow and mouthed, "Scared?"
You nearly scoffed. Oh, he wanted to play? Fine.
You leaned in slightly, just enough for only him to hear.
"Oppa," you murmured, voice sweet but laced with warning. "Behave."
The effect was immediate.
Jiyong’s smirk twitched, his fingers freezing for just a second—because he liked it when you called him that. And you knew it.
His hand curled into a loose fist on the table, jaw tightening for a moment before he exhaled and shot you a half-lidded gaze.
"That’s unfair," he murmured back, voice husky.
You bit back a smirk.
You knew Jiyong was watching.
You felt it.
The moment your group took the stage, the energy in the arena shifted—louder screams, flashing lights, and a certain someone sitting comfortably in the artist section, front row, with that signature smirk.
At first, he was composed—just nodding to the beat, sunglasses perfectly in place.
But then?
Then came your part.
The camera panned to him just as you stepped forward for your solo.
The moment your hips rolled, your gaze sharp and commanding—
Jiyong?
Gone.
The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he openly stared.
The live audience noticed instantly.
"HE'S STARING. HE IS NOT EVEN HIDING IT."
"DID Y'ALL SEE HIS SMIRK WHEN Y/N DID HER PART? EXCUSE ME????"
"THIS IS NOT EVEN A FANBOY REACTION. THAT'S A MAN ADMIRING HIS WOMAN."
It got worse when you locked eyes with him for half a second.
Jiyong?
Smirked.
The type of smirk that said, "You know exactly what you're doing, jagiya."
The camera caught it all.
And just when people thought it couldn’t get any more insane—
Mid-performance, a cameraman—who deserves a RAISE—zoomed in on Jiyong again.
This time?
The man was biting his lip.
"JAIL. JAIL FOR THIS MAN."
"Y/N NEEDS TO PAY FOR MY THERAPY BECAUSE HER PERFORMANCE GOT GD LIKE THAT."
"HE'S SO OBVIOUS IT'S EMBARRASSING PLEASE."
You could feel the heat creeping up your neck.
Jiyong?
Still shameless.
By the time your performance ended, he was back to normal, clapping like nothing happened.
But when you walked back to your seat—next to him—he leaned over and whispered:
"You almost killed me up there, sweetheart."
You gritted your teeth. "Serves you right."
He chuckled, voice dangerously low.
"Just wait till later."
Your breath hitched.
And just like that—the night wasn’t over yet.
At the very end of the night, artists were standing, clapping, saying their goodbyes.
Jiyong was walking ahead with the BIGBANG members when, for just a second, he glanced over his shoulder at you.
And you looked back.
The moment lasted only a second, but someone caught it on camera.
A single, slow-motion GIF.
Jiyong turning his head, looking back at you.
Your eyes meeting his.
That split-second smirk before he faced forward again.
Twitter? In flames.
"HE LOOKED BACK. HE LOOKED BACK. OH MY GOD HE LOOKED BACK."
"That was NOT a casual glance. That was a ‘meet me later’ look."
"THE SMIRK. I CAN’T BREATHE."
"They think they’re being sneaky. THEY ARE NOT."
Later That Night…
Your phone buzzed.
Jiyong: So, when are we announcing the wedding?
You: Jiyong-ah.
Jiyong: Yes, my love?
You: I’m going to kill you.
Jiyong: But you’ll miss me too much, won’t you?
YOU: You did that on purpose right?
Jiyong: Of course I did. How else will they know you’re mine?
You: WE ARE NOT GETTING CAUGHT.
Jiyong: Sweetheart, we’ve already been caught.
Jiyong: You looked unreal tonight.
You: You made it OBVIOUS.
Jiyong: You make it hard to behave, jagiya.
You: STOP.
Jiyong: Make me. 😏
You groaned, flopping onto your bed. The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
And the actual worst part?
You liked it.
It started as fan theories.
A harmless coincidence.
But by the time the MAMA afterparty ended, it had escalated into a full-blown scandal.
TRENDING ON TWITTER
#GDxY/N #Y/N_LuckyGirl #GDRAGON_LostHisCool
THE CLUES THAT STARTED IT ALL:
The Seating Arrangement Scandal
Why was your group suddenly seated next to BigBang when it wasn’t in the original floor plan? 🤨
Fans dug up footage of Jiyong talking to staff before the show.
"HE PLANNED IT. THIS MAN WENT OUT OF HIS WAY TO SIT NEXT TO HER."
Jiyong’s Reactions = A Man Down BAD
The lip bite. The smirk. The unholy stare.
"We’ve seen GD fanboy before, but this? This is different."
"He was watching like he already KNEW how that dress looked up close." 😭😭
The Afterparty Coincidence
You and Jiyong left around the same time.
Different cars, but same direction.
Fans noticed your manager looking stressed while BigBang’s team tried to be low-key.
"They didn’t even try to stagger their exits. HELP."
The Matching Accessories Debacle
The next day, Jiyong posted an Instagram story.
A hand, casually holding a glass of wine.
A familiar ring on his finger—the same one you were seen wearing months ago.
"SO WEARING COUPLE RINGS IS JUST A THING NOW? OKAY."
THE COMPANY RESPONSES = SUSPICIOUS AF
Your Agency:
"Y/N and G-Dragon are just industry colleagues. The seating was arranged by MAMA organizers."
YG Entertainment:
"We do not comment on our artists' personal lives."
TRANSLATION: "We're not denying it."
"YG NOT EVEN TRYING TO LIE LMFAO."
"If they weren’t dating, they’d have shut this down IMMEDIATELY. Oh, they’re so caught."
"Just drop the wedding invitation at this point."
After days of speculation, Jiyong did what he does best—
Trolled everyone.
NEW IG POST: A selfie. Smirking. Caption?
"I love MAMA."
THAT’S. IT.
"HE'S PLAYING WITH US HELP."
"SIR JUST CONFIRM IT OR DENY IT. DON’T TEASE US LIKE THIS."
"This man enjoys chaos too much I can’t."
THE INTERNET STILL HASN’T RECOVERED.
And neither have you. 😭🔥
If people weren’t sure before—
Now?
They were certain.
All thanks to one tiny, completely avoidable mistake.
NEW IG POST: Y/N’s Group Behind-The-Scenes Photos!
Your group’s official account posted casual snapshots from rehearsals, practice rooms, and random candid moments from recent schedules.
Harmless, right?
Wrong.
Because eagle-eyed fans noticed something immediately.
THE CLUE THAT BROKE THE INTERNET:
In one mirror selfie, you were holding your phone in the corner.
Reflected in the mirror? A very familiar-looking silver bracelet.
The exact same bracelet Jiyong had been wearing for years.
FAN REACTIONS = PURE CHAOS
"I NEED EVERYONE TO ZOOM IN RIGHT NOW."
"THAT. THAT IS GD’S BRACELET. THAT MAN DOESN’T TAKE IT OFF."
"SO SHE WAS WITH HIM? OR…???"
"Not them getting caught by a MIRROR REFLECTION."
Hours after the bracelet debacle, Jiyong—being Jiyong—made everything worse.
NEW IG POST: A Random Aesthetic Shot
A simple photo of his hand, resting casually on a table.
Except…
The bracelet was front and center.
The background? Suspiciously similar to a place you had visited just days ago.
Caption?
"Good things should be kept close." 😏
FAN REACTIONS = ABSOLUTE CHAOS
"SIR. SIR, THIS IS NOT SUBTLE."
"ARE THEY EVEN HIDING ANYMORE??"
"Y/N POST THE MATCHING PHOTO OR WE RIOT."
"I feel like we’re getting a dating confirmation in 3…2…1."
Chats:
You: Jiyong. YOU. NEED. TO. STOP. 😡
Jiyong: Stop what?
You: YOU KNOW WHAT.
Jiyong: I just like my bracelet. 🤷
You: I WILL THROW THAT BRACELET INTO THE OCEAN.
Jiyong: Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t dive in after it.
You: I AM BLOCKING YOU.
Jiyong: Again? Cute. 😘
One week later, just when the rumors started to die down—
Jiyong did something so reckless that even your company gave up.
NEW IG STORY: A simple photo of his hand intertwined with someone else’s.
The angle? Purposely vague.
But the bracelet?
Still there.
And the nail polish color on the other hand?
The exact same shade you had worn the day before.
Caption?
"Some things don’t need to be explained."
INSTANT WORLDWIDE MELTDOWN.
OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM BOTH AGENCIES:
"We ask fans to respect our artists’ personal lives."
TRANSLATION: "Yeah, they’re dating. We’re tired. Leave us alone."
THE INTERNET GOES INSANE
"AFTER ALL THAT TEASING, WE FINALLY HAVE CONFIRMATION???"
"GD REALLY SAID SOFT LAUNCH THEN HARD LAUNCH LMAO."
"Y/N YOU ARE THE LUCKIEST WOMAN ALIVE."
"MAMA 2024 BETTER HAVE A COUPLE SEAT ARRANGEMENT READY."
nsfw. minors dni.
c/w: fem!reader / sub!ji-yong. glimpses of domestic life. age gap. praise. unprotected sex. soft smut.
a/n: typed w one hand tbh
ji-yong always found himself under you during sex. that’s just how he liked it best.
he’s a busy man, and he’s not young anymore either. after a long day at work, he just wants to kick his feet up and let you take care of him. and that’s fine by you! you’ve got youthful energy to spend, and there’s not many sights as precious as the king of kpop himself sprawled out beneath you, completely at your mercy.
he finally has the rare chance of some free time with you— a breather amongst his packed schedule during his comeback. actually managing to get him out of bed on his days off was a rarity. but today he’s eager to take you out, dedicate a day to you; make-up for how work’s been demanding most of his focus. you shake your head when he pulls out his black card, but he’s not taking no for an answer.
later that day you found yourselves tangled on the couch in a hot flurry of kisses. he couldn’t keep his hands to himself while you were out; you had to tell him off for being so touchy in public, cameras could be anywhere.
pinning you down was the first thing on his mind once you were back home. your hands are lost in his hair, his are snaked under your top. his knee’s hiked up and digging into your core, and he mumbles a cuss as you rock yourself on his leg. you figure, since you’re already here, you may as well ask:
“ji, baby. would you be on top?”
he’s taken aback. for a beat, he hums and tosses the idea over. it’s certainly been a while since he’s had the energy to take the reins of your intimacy. the imagery of you beneath him gets ji-yong hot— sending a pulse straight to his dick. then, he kisses you with such force that your head cranes back. he’s hungry and his tongue’s on yours and he’s grinding down into your core with a newfound vigour.
you’re fully committed: you’re biting your lip, arching your back. you even encourage him with soft mewls as he sucks at your neck. he’s already panting at the sight of you. you slide a hand between your bodies to palm at him, finding his trousers damp with his arousal. ji-yong trembles over with a moan. on instinct, he’s keeling over for you to take control.
your mouth’s hot on his ear as whine how bad you need him. with that, he practically rips off your bottoms, and is too impatient to tug his own all the way off as they bunch at his knees.
your hand is atop his as he guides himself in, his face scrunching as he fills you to the hilt. he stays there for a beat— dick twitching inside of you. you hum:
“fuck me, hun.”
and he obeys. ji-yong sets a gruelling pace, snapping his hips in and out of you like crazy. you egg him on by letting moans slip from your mouth, and he has to bite his lip to muffle his own. you guide his hands all over your body: fondling your breast, squeezing your neck, even tilting your own hips up so each of his thrusts hit the sweet spot.
even though he’s on top, you’re directing ji-yong through his actions: “kiss my neck there again.” “go faster, i can take it.” “put my leg up, honey.” and of course, you reward him with compliments when he follows: “that felt really good, ji.” “you’re doing so well for me baby.”
he was hanging on to your every word. the noises spilling from him were diabolical— he sounded like a pornstar.
a little greedy, you tease him with a few pulses of your core. ji-yong’s thrusts turn shallow before he pauses, dick spasming inside of you. as little whines left his mouth. your hands find his pelvis, coaxing him to move, but his body falls onto yours and pins you against the couch.
he shudders, “w-wait, please..”,
you can feel his muscles flexing on your bare stomach. he’s begging you to not make him cum. he has to screw his eyes shut and focus, else your naked body’s going to teeter him off the edge. he does a quick snap of his hips— but has to immediately pull out and suck in a breath between his teeth. you soothe him, caressing his sides and pressing reassuring kisses to his nape. he frowns at himself. he’s not usually so quick..
“i want it, ji. c’mon,”
he huffs out a sheepish laugh. “if you couldn’t tell..”
his dick twitches on time. something cruel stirs in you; you snatch his hips and pull him to thrust back into you. his hands fumble in an attempt to restrain you, and he’s out of breaths to say it with words. you’re undeterred, leading him in and out for your own pleasure, and ji-yong can’t help but take it as you grind onto him. his head’s buried into your shoulder, your ear soaking up all of his cries.
“if you keep, ah,.. i can’t—”
“go on, hun.”
ji-yong tried to move his own hips between your control. he’s a whimpering mess as he cums, laying lifeless on-top of you as warm ropes shoot inside of you. you hum, pleased with him, drawing lines over his back muscles.
“ah, i don’t have the back for this.”
that made you chuckle. “you made me feel so good, baby.”
he groans, disagreeing about his performance.
“no, i’m sorry. you didn’t cum,” he pressed his sweaty forehead into your neck. “sorry, just give me a minute and i’ll, yeah..”
his voice was hoarse, still breathless from his orgasm. but he snakes a shaky palm to your cunt and fidgets for your clit.
you giggle, moving his hand off of you with a reassuring peck. he had no idea you were about to roll over and ride him till you came.
Summary: She’s nervous, inexperienced, and trying to be professional. He’s confident, teasing, and maybe falling faster than he expected.
Warnings: age gap (legal), teasing/flirting, fluff
Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x reader
a/n: Hey guys! It’s been a while. I’ve been swamped with uni lately, but I wanted to give you a little something. This is part one of what will probably be a two-shot. Someone actually requested this, so I hope it’s what you had in mind. I really hope you enjoy! <3
You’d been a trainee at YG for almost four months now. Ever since you were young, it had been your dream to become a singer. You grew up watching groups like Girls’ Generation, Super Junior, and SHINee, but your heart had always belonged to BigBang.
Obsessed was probably putting it lightly.
You adored all the members in your own way. TOP with his quirky charm and rumbling voice, Taeyang with his angelic vocals and lethal dance skills, Daesung with his bright smile and impossibly kind heart, but if you were being honest, G-Dragon had always been the one who stole your breath.
There was just something about him that captivated you from the very first moment you saw him on screen.
His energy, the effortless confidence in the way he carried himself, his smile, everything about him drew you in. But more than anything, you admired his mind. His lyrics, his compositions, the way he seemed to create entire worlds inside a three-minute track.
Your crush on him had mellowed as you grew older, becoming less of a fangirl obsession and more of a quiet, persistent warmth. But it had never really faded. And now, at nineteen, here you were, an actual trainee at the same company as the legendary BigBang.
You hadn’t seen any of the members yet, but the possibility that they could be in the same building as you, walking the same hallways, breathing the same studio air, was enough to fill you with both nerves and a strange, fluttering pride.
Being a trainee, though, was harder than you’d expected.
Your days were packed from morning to night: dance lessons, vocal training, language classes, even basic producing. You were exhausted more often than not, but the feedback you received so far had been surprisingly encouraging. People told you that you had something, potential, talent, a spark.
Still, for now, you were firmly in the background.
The most exciting moment of your trainee life had been performing as a backup dancer for one of your seniors on a music show. It had only been a few seconds of camera time, but to you, it felt like standing on the edge of everything you’d ever wanted.
***
Your morning had already been chaotic. Your vocal lesson had run late, you’d spilled half your iced coffee down your shirt, and now you are sprinting through the hallways of the YG building because you are, again, at risk of being late for dance practice.
You round a corner too fast.
And crashed straight into someone.
Your phone goes skidding across the floor along with your pride. You stumble back, muttering, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching- ”
Then you looked up.
And the rest of the world freezes.
He stands there, cap pulled low, mask tugged under his chin, a coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. Even half-covered, the face is unmistakable, the sharp eyes, the clean jawline, the aura that felt bigger than the hallway itself.
G-Dragon.
Kwon Jiyong.
The man you have spent half your teenage years pinning posters of on your bedroom walls.
For a moment, you forget how to breathe.
He glances down at your trainee badge, then at your flustered expression, and a tiny, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You okay?” His voice was gentle, warm, too warm for the chaos in your chest.
“I- yes. Sorry. I mean, yes, I’m okay. And sorry.” Perfect. You are malfunctioning.
He holds out your phone. “You dropped this. Well… technically I guess I dropped it for you.” His eyes glint playfully.
You take the phone with shaking hands. “Thank you.”
“You new?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, studying you just a little too closely for comfort. Not judging just… curious. As if he is trying to figure out where you came from.
“Um, four months.” You bow again because your brain decides that will somehow fix the mortification. “Sorry. Again.”
“That’s a lot of sorrys,” he murmurs, leaning back slightly. “Relax. I’m not that scary.”
You aren’t sure if you squeak or laugh, but something embarrassing comes out of your mouth. His smile widens, almost like he finds the reaction… cute.
“So,” he continues, eyes drifting to the folder in your arm, “running somewhere? Or do you just like sprinting indoors?”
Your ears burn. “I’m… late for dance practice.”
“Mm. Then I should let you go before your trainer kills you.” He steps aside, giving you room to pass. But his gaze lingers, warm and oddly focused. “Be careful next time, Y/N. The hallways here are dangerous.”
You blink. “You know my name?”
He lifts your trainee badge between two fingers. “It’s right here.” He lets it go and gives you another small smile, this one softer, almost private. “See you around.”
Your cheeks are on fire, heart slamming against your ribs as he walks past you, the faint scent of his cologne trailing behind him.
It isn’t until you reach the practice room door that you realise.
You are still holding your iced coffee. And it hasn’t spilled.
Because he had caught you, actually physically caught you, before you hit the ground.
And you are definitely, absolutely going to die.
***
Mornings in the YG building are usually quiet. Jiyong likes them that way, cap pulled low, earphones in, coffee warming his hand as he walks toward the studio. At this hour, no one stops him, and no one talks much. Perfect.
So when someone barrels around the corner and crashes straight into him, it jolts him more than he’ll ever admit.
His coffee nearly slips, and he reaches out instinctively, grabbing the person before they can fall. A phone skids across the hallway.
Then she looks up at him.
Wide eyes. Pink cheeks. Pure mortification.
A trainee, judging by the badge. One he hasn’t seen before.
She looks like she’s about two seconds away from evaporating.
He feels the corner of his mouth twitch.
“You okay?” he asks, keeping his voice soft because she looks ready to apologize for existing.
She does. Immediately.
“I- yes. Sorry. I mean, yes, I’m okay. And sorry.”
He nearly laughs. Cute. Too cute.
He bends to pick up her phone and hands it to her. “You dropped this. Well… technically I guess I dropped it for you.”
Her hands shake when she takes it. He notices. Pretends he doesn’t.
“You new?” he asks, tilting his head, studying her.
“Um, four months.”
Four months and she bows like she’s afraid of breathing wrong. He remembers that kind of nervousness. How heavy it feels.
“That’s a lot of sorrys,” he murmurs. “Relax. I’m not that scary.”
The noise she makes, half squeak, half laugh, pulls another smile out of him before he can stop it.
His eyes drift to the folder in her arms. Dance schedule. She was running. Makes sense.
“So,” he says lightly, “running somewhere? Or do you just like sprinting indoors?”
Her ears go bright red. He definitely notices that too.
“I’m… late for dance practice.”
“Mm. Then I should let you go before your trainer kills you.” He steps aside, but his gaze lingers longer than it should, drawn in by the shy, fluttering way she carries herself, the nervous energy rolling off her.
There’s something familiar about it. Something young, bright, unguarded.
“Be careful next time, Y/N. The hallways here are dangerous.”
Her eyes widen. “You know my name?”
He lifts her badge between two fingers. “It’s right here.”
More blushing. More scrambling. He shouldn’t find it charming, but he does.
“See you around,” he says, softer than before.
He walks past her without looking back. He doesn’t need to, he can practically feel her staring after him, heart going a mile a minute.
At the end of the hallway, he finally lets out a quiet breath.
Cute. Way too cute.
Sipping his coffee he muses. He doesn’t normally pay attention to trainees. His life is too busy for that.
But as he pushes open the studio door, he already knows he’ll keep an eye out for her.
***
The conference room smells like coffee and overworked staff.
Storyboards are spread across the table, scribbled with notes about lighting, mood, pacing. The concept is romantic, intimate but not explicit. Soft. Vulnerable. The kind of song that asks for honesty, not acting.
His team is in the middle of discussing casting when someone finally turns to him.
“So, Jiyong… any thoughts on who you want for the female lead?”
He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest. Normally he’d shrug, let casting decide. He’s done this enough times to know the drill. A professional actress, someone good on camera, someone polished and comfortable.
He opens his mouth to say exactly that, but her face flashes through his mind.
Big eyes. Red ears. The way she stammered.
The way she looked at him like he was larger than life, and the way she tried so hard not to.
The hallway moment has been replaying in the back of his mind for days now. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t need to know why. There’s just… something.
He hasn’t seen her since, just caught a glimpse of her name on a practice schedule pinned outside a studio. It was enough to remind him she exists in this same building, moving around like a small, bright thread in a world that’s grown a little too familiar.
“Jiyong?” his manager prompts. “Do you have someone in mind?”
He exhales slowly, almost surprised by his own answer.
“Yeah,” he says. “Actually… I do.”
Heads turn. The room stills in that alert, anticipatory way staff get when he’s about to make a decision that matters.
He doesn’t say her name yet, just leans forward, elbows on the table, voice steady.
“There’s a trainee. Four months in. Y/N.” He watches the confusion ripple through the room. “I want her.”
“Y/N?” one of the assistants repeats, blinking. “She’s… really new.”
“I know.” He keeps his tone calm, casual, but there’s an edge of certainty beneath it. “She has the right look for the concept. Soft but striking. Authentic.”
Authentic. That’s the word he keeps landing on, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.
His creative director frowns. “She might not have camera experience.”
“I’ll work with her,” he says simply.
A quiet beat follows. They all know that when he wants something creatively, he means it. He doesn’t insist often, but when he does, there’s usually a reason.
His manager finally nods. “Alright. We’ll arrange a test shoot. If she’s comfortable and fits the tone, we’ll move forward.”
Jiyong hums in acknowledgment, but inside, something flickers, anticipation, maybe. Curiosity. A tug he can’t quite name.
Because part of him wants to see how she’ll react when she finds out. Part of him wants to see if she still blushes the same way.
And part of him, a small foolish part, wonders if choosing her is a terrible idea, or the most interesting one he’s had in a long time.
Either way, he already knows.
He wants her in this video. He wants to see what happens when their worlds collide again.
He wants to see her.
***
When your manager tells you that you’ve been chosen to star in G-Dragon’s new music video, you are confused, overwhelmed, and absolutely overjoyed.
All you manage is a shaky laugh and a whispered, “No… no way.”
Your manager nods, as if this is the most casual news in the world. “Test shoot’s this afternoon. Simple camera work. Just be yourself.”
Be yourself.
Right. As if that’s easy when G-Dragon exists on the same planet, let alone in the same building.
You spend the next few hours trying not to pass out. Your hands won’t stop shaking. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing. You rehearse breathing like it’s choreography.
By the time you’re ushered onto the small test set, a simple backdrop, soft lights, a camera on a tripod, you’re halfway convinced this is an elaborate prank.
Then you see him.
Jiyong is across the room, leaning against a lighting rig, hood pulled over his head, arms crossed loosely. He’s talking to his creative director, but not really. His eyes keep drifting toward you.
You freeze. Your breath stutters. Your cheeks heat immediately.
You don’t think he meant for you to catch him watching, because the moment your eyes meet his, he looks away, too quickly to be casual. He clears his throat, shifts his weight, pretends to focus on a clipboard someone hands him.
But after a few seconds, he glances back again.
And again.
Not approaching. Not speaking. Just… looking.
You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.
A staff member places you in front of the camera, gently adjusting your shoulders, smoothing your hair behind your ear. “We’re just going to test lighting and angles,” she says. “Relax.”
Relax. Everyone keeps saying that. No one has explained how.
You take your mark. The lights warm your skin. The camera focuses.
But your attention keeps drifting to the left, toward him.
He’s still there. Still watching. Probably annoyed he has to work with a newbie like you.
His head tilts slightly, almost like he’s trying to figure out “why her?”
When the director finally calls, “Rolling,” you force your attention back to the lens.
They ask you to look up. Look down. Turn your head. Smile softly. Not too big. Think of something that makes you feel.
Your mind goes blank.
Then, stupidly, traitorously, it fills with him, standing across the room with that unreadable expression and the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.
Your cheeks warm, and apparently that’s exactly what the director wants because he claps once and says, “Perfect. Hold that.”
When they pause to adjust lighting, you turn your head slightly, pretending to look around the room.
He’s still watching.
This time, he doesn’t look away.
Your breath catches.
There’s a smirk on his face, teasing, confident, like he known something you don’t.
For a moment, it’s like the two of you are the only ones in the room.
Then someone steps in front of him with a clipboard, breaking the moment. He nods, answers a question, slips back into professional mode.
But not before his eyes flick back to you one more time. Just long enough to make your pulse stumble.
When the test shoot wraps, your manager waves you over, but Jiyong is already walking toward the exit, speaking quietly to the director. He doesn’t approach you, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t break the professional distance.
But as he passes by, he glances sideways, small, quick, intentional.
Not a greeting. Just acknowledgment.
And somehow that’s enough to make your knees turn to water.
***
The moment he steps out of the set and into the hallway, Jiyong finally lets the smirk he’d been holding back curl fully onto his lips.
She was nervous. Not just “first project” nervous no, she was trying not to combust nervous. The way her hands shook. The way she tried to hide it. The way her eyes kept darting toward him like she was afraid he’d caught her staring.
Of course he caught her.
He leans against the wall, thumb brushing his lower lip as he replays the way she flushed the second their eyes met. Cute. Almost too easy.
The director walks past him, muttering something about her having “natural presence,” but Jiyong barely hears it. He already knew she’d look good on camera. That wasn’t the question.
The real question was whether she’d react the way he hoped.
She did.
He know he probably shouldn’t feel such joy from seeing her flustered, probably shouldn’t tease someone so much younger than him on purpose, but he couldn’t help himself.
She really has no idea she’s here because of him. It’s almost adorable.
He chuckles under his breath, low and satisfied.
This is going to be fun.
He likes people who don’t try too hard to impress him. He likes people who get flustered. He likes the ones who aren’t used to attention yet but have no idea they shine regardless.
And she? She lit up the entire lens without even trying.
He pushes off the wall and slips on his shades, but the smirk stays.
She’s going to be easy to tease. Too easy. All he’ll have to do is look at her again, really look, and she’ll probably forget her own name.
Hell, she nearly did today.
He’s not planning anything serious. Not looking for anything more than the thrill of this push-and-pull. But the idea of working with someone who reacts to him like that?
Yeah. He’s looking forward to it.
As he heads toward the studio exit, he thinks about the way her knees almost buckled when he passed by. Subtle, quiet, but he caught it.
He always catches it.
He laughs to himself, already imagining her on the real set, already imagining how easy it's going to be to get under her skin.
She’s nervous now.
Wait until he really tries.
***
You don’t think you’ve ever been this nervous in your entire life. Today is the final rehearsal before the actual MV shoot.
The rehearsal studio is dimly lit, mostly empty except for the choreographer, a few staff members and you, standing stiffly in front of the mirrored wall, clutching a water bottle like it’s a life vest.
He’s late. Or maybe you’re early. You’ve been too anxious to check.
You’re adjusting the hem of your shirt for the hundredth time when the door swings open.
He walks in like he owns the entire building.
Hoodie, chains, rings, a cap pushed low. Not trying. Not needing to.
G-Dragon. Again. In the same room as you. Casual. Like it’s normal.
You try not to stare. You fail.
He nods to the staff, exchanges a quick greeting, then his eyes sweep the room and land right on you.
Your lungs forget how to function.
He looks different today. Sharper. More focused. More… himself. And when his eyes drag over you, slow and assessing, your knees wobble.
“Morning. Y/N, right?” he says as he steps closer. His voice is rougher than last time, sleep-warm.
Hearing your name from his mouth makes your heart stumble. “I- yes. You remember?” you ask, amazed he recalled your run-in.
He chuckles, smirking. “You barrelled straight into me. Kinda hard to forget.”
Your cheeks heat, again, like they always do around him. “Ah, sorry. Again,” you bow.
“You look like you’re about to run away.”
You tense. “I- I’m just a little nervous.”
He hums, amused. “A little?”
Your face flares instantly. He notices. Of course he does. His smirk widens.
“Relax,” he murmurs as he sets his bag down. “We’re just rehearsing. Not filming a kiss scene.”
You nearly choke. He laughs under his breath like he absolutely did that on purpose.
The choreographer claps, pulling everyone’s attention. “Let’s walk through the blocking.”
Blocking. Right. Professional. Normal.
Except Jiyong stands close. Too close.
He smells expensive. Feels warm. Moves slow, deliberate, like he’s aware of every inch of space you occupy.
The choreographer positions you, then him, explaining how the MV’s intimacy has to feel natural, effortless.
Jiyong barely listens. His eyes keep drifting to you.
“You good?” he asks quietly, leaning in while the choreographer demonstrates something.
You nod too fast. “Yes.”
“Liar,” he murmurs, lips curving.
Your heart stutters so violently you almost miss the next instruction.
The choreographer takes Jiyong’s hand and places it at your shoulder.
“No,” Jiyong says suddenly, sliding his hand downward. “Here.”
He doesn’t even look at the choreographer. He just does it, places his hand on your waist. Hot. Steady. Confident.
“Is this okay?” he asks slowly, eyes fixed on you.
Your breath catches. “Yeah, alright. Okay.”
Jiyong’s voice drops so only you can hear. “You move easier when someone touches you like this. Not stiff.”
You want to disappear into the floor.
“Relax,” he repeats, thumb brushing your waist. “I’m not going to bite.”
His eyes flicker down your body before lifting again.
“Not unless it’s written in the script.”
Your pulse explodes. His smirk says he knows it.
The choreographer explains the next movement, but Jiyong barely looks away from you.
Then comes the moment you’ve been dreading, the near-kiss shot. Just the approach. No actual kiss yet.
“Stand close,” the choreographer says. “Closer. Closer.”
Jiyong steps in until you feel his breath on your cheek. Your chest brushes his. Your fingers shake.
He notices.
His hand lifts and, like it’s nothing, his fingers thread with yours. Not rough. Not gentle. Something in between.
Your entire brain short-circuits.
“Eyes up,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”
You do. Mistake. Huge mistake.
His gaze pins you. Not playful now. Not teasing.
Something gentler. Heavier. Interested.
You swallow hard. His lips tilt, slow, deliberate.
“There you go,” he says softly. “That’s the look the camera wants.”
You’re not convinced the camera is the only thing he’s talking about.
The choreographer calls for a break.
You step back so fast you nearly trip, face burning, pulse wild.
He watches you the whole time, tongue pressing lightly against his cheek, amused, but with something new beneath it.
Heat. Actual heat.
He drags a hand through his hair, still looking at you.
***
She’s trying so hard. Trying not to shake. Trying not to look at him. Trying not to feel anything.
Too cute.
Jiyong leans against the mirror, water bottle pressed lightly to his lips as he watches her across the room. Every time her eyes accidentally meet his, she jerks away like she touched fire.
He shouldn’t enjoy this as much as he does.
But he does. A lot.
He thought maybe the test shoot nerves would fade. Maybe she’d calm down today.
But no, she’s even worse.
She’s trembling. One breath away from falling apart.
And he likes it way more than he should.
When he steps behind her to correct her posture, she goes rigid. When he touches her waist, she nearly stops breathing. When he tucks her hair back.
He feels her shiver.
Yeah. That’s when it hits him.
This isn’t just fun teasing. This isn’t just him being amused.
He wants her.
Not in the vague, distant, “pretty trainee” way.
He wants to see what happens when she stops being afraid of him. He wants to see what she looks like when she breaks out of that shell. He wants to know how far that blush goes.
And the way she looked at him, right before the break, eyes wide, lips parted like she was caught.
He feels it low in his stomach, sharp and immediate.
She has no idea what she just did.
He clears his throat, forces his gaze away before anyone notices how focused he is on her. He shouldn’t look at a trainee like this. He knows better. He knows exactly how bad this could get.
But when she turns to take a sip of water and accidentally meets his eyes again, cheeks flushed from rehearsal, chest rising with shallow breaths.
Yeah, her not looking away this time.
He lets a smirk pull at his mouth.
Slow and intentional.
She jolts, nearly dropping her bottle.
And that reaction, God, he didn’t expect it to hit him like that.
But it does. Hard.
Great. Fantastic.
This was supposed to be harmless.
Now?
Now he’s hooked. And this is going to get complicated.
***
You barely slept. You spent all night rehearsing your blocking, telling yourself over and over:
It’s fine. It’s just work. It’s not like he’s actually going to look at you like that again.
But the second you step onto the set?
Your logic dies a dramatic, fiery death.
Jiyong is already there, sitting in the makeup chair like he’s posing for a magazine cover, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through his phone with the kind of effortless confidence that should be illegal. A stylist sweeps his hair back, another adjusts a chain around his neck. He looks calm. Relaxed. Almost bored.
Like today isn’t monumental. Like he isn’t about to put his face dangerously close to yours for a camera. Like your heart isn’t already sprinting out of your ribcage.
You try to slide quietly into the room.
You fail.
His eyes lift instantly, zero hesitation, zero delay and when they land on you, they stay there.
“Morning,” he says, voice low and lazy, as if he expected you to walk in exactly at this moment.
“Morning,” you manage, bowing too fast and too low.
His lips twitch. “Relaxed already? Or still dying inside?”
You stare at him, horrified. “I’m fine.”
“Mm.” He doesn’t look convinced at all. “Your ears say otherwise.”
Your hands fly up to cover your ears.
He laughs. Actually laughs.
You consider digging a grave behind the lighting rig.
Before you can spiral any further, the director calls you over.
“Let’s warm up with the early-relationship shots. Light interaction. Natural chemistry. Nothing intense yet.”
Thank god. Something easy. Something normal. Except nothing is normal when he is here.
For the first scene you sit side by side on a bench set against a fake scenic backdrop. The director tells you to pretend you’ve known each other for months, that you’re “comfortable.”
Right. Comfortable.
Jiyong leans back, one arm resting casually behind you, not touching, just close enough to make your spine tingle. He keeps glancing at you, subtle at first, then not subtle at all, like he’s testing how long it takes for you to crumble.
When he leans in a little, eyes warm, lips tilted.
Your heart lurches so violently you almost miss your cue to smile.
“You okay?” he murmurs under his breath.
“Yes,” you whisper.
Incorrect. Your pulse is audible.
He smirks, clearly aware.
The arcade set for the next scene is vibrant, neon lights flashing, retro music humming softly in the background. Fake, but convincing. You’re already sweating, but not because of the lights.
Jiyong picks up a plastic toy gun from the shooting game, spinning it lightly around his finger before looking at you.
“You any good at these?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
You shake your head too fast. “No. I- no. I’m terrible. Awful actually.”
He blinks once, amused. “Right.”
Heat floods your face.
He steps a little closer, leaning in just enough to make your stomach flip. “That’s alright,” he murmurs. “I can carry.”
You open your mouth to respond but nothing coherent comes out. “Oh. Um. Okay.”
He tries not to laugh and fails a little. The cameras roll.
Jiyong starts the game. He’s focused, relaxed, infuriatingly good. You aim badly. Horribly. Embarrassingly.
He hits every target with one hand, barely trying.
“You’re… you’re cheating,” you blurt, desperate for an excuse.
“Yes,” he agrees instantly, no shame whatsoever. “And still beating you.”
You try to nudge him with your shoulder. It’s meant to be playful.
It’s barely a tap.
He nudges you back, not hard, just enough to make you stumble a step closer to him.
“That’s- that’s foul play,” you stutter, and an awkward little laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it.
“That’s strategy,” he counters, grinning with that maddening, boyish spark.
You almost forget the cameras exist. Almost.
You manage to hit one single target, probably by accident.
You gasp. “I did it!”
You throw your hands up in the air, way too excited for one blinking point.
He laughs, bright, real, his head tilting slightly as he watches you.
“Wow,” he says softly. “Kind of adorable when you’re proud of yourself.”
Your entire face heats up. You look away so fast your hair whips your cheek.
He definitely notices.
This scene shouldn’t be intimate. It’s supposed to be silly.
You’re pushing him down an aisle in a shopping cart, trying to keep it steady, but the wheels rattle violently. You’re giggling breathlessly, half from the acting, half from your nerves.
Jiyong leans back in the cart, one arm draped over the side, watching you. No, staring at you.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he teases.
“I- I mean- It’s… fun?” you manage between breaths.
“You’re surprisingly strong,” he adds, eyebrows lifting.
“Are are you calling yourself heavy?” You hope it sounds playful. It mostly sounds squeaky.
“I’m calling you impressive.”
Your foot catches slightly. You almost trip.
He definitely sees.
His grin is dangerous now.
Then the final shot. Him lifting you off the ground and spinning you around.
You expect it to be awkward or clumsy, but the moment his hands catch your waist, your breath catches.
He lifts you like you weigh nothing, effortlessly, like he’s done it a hundred times.
A tiny gasp escapes your throat.
His hands tighten fractionally, subtly.
His smirk widens. Slow. Knowing.
“Perfect! Break for lunch!” the director calls.
You step back from him, trying to breathe normally again, but your chest is tight, your pulse is loud, and his hands, his hands linger on your waist a second longer than they should.
He knows exactly what it’s doing to you.
You hope that at least at lunch you can catch a little break, get over your silly nerves.
You honestly consider hiding.
Behind a lighting rig. Under a table. In a trash can. Anywhere that is not the same room as G-Dragon while you’re still shaking from that last scene.
But when you walk into the break room, clutching your lunch tray like a shield, he’s already there, sitting at a small table in the corner, long legs stretched out, scrolling lazily through his phone.
And he looks up.
Right at you.
Great. Perfect. Time to evaporate.
He lifts two fingers in a small wave. Casual, confident, annoyingly smooth.
“There’s space here,” he says, nodding to the empty seat across from him.
Your brain short-circuits. “You… want me to sit? With you?”
His lips twitch. “That was the idea, yeah.”
You scramble into the chair so fast you nearly knock over your drink. He reaches out, steadying the cup before it spills.
“You good?” he asks, amusement coloring every syllable.
“Yep. Perfect. Totally fine.” You are absolutely not okay.
He bites back a smile and starts eating. You poke at your rice like it personally offended you.
After a moment, he says, “You did well this morning.”
You look up, startled.
“Wh- really?”
He nods. “Yeah. The arcade scene turned out good. Director said you looked natural.”
Natural. Right. Sure. If “natural” means one second away from collapsing.
“I was trying not to mess up,” you mutter.
“You didn’t.”
For a second, you forget how breathing works.
“That spin at the end wasn’t too much?” he adds casually.
Your throat tightens. “Oh. Uh. No. You just- you lifted me kind of easily.”
He raises a brow “You sound surprised.”
“I mean, well- I…” you stammer, twisting your fingers under the table. “You’re stronger than you look.”
Then words slip out before you can stop them. “Because you’re skinny.”
He freezes.
You freeze.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
“I mean- like- not in a bad way, just- you know, stylish skinny? Like, pretty skinny?”
You want to throw yourself out the nearest window.
Slowly, his shoulders shake. He’s laughing. Hard.
“Pretty skinny,” he repeats. “That’s new.”
You cover your face with your hands. “Please pretend I didn’t say that.”
“No,” he says, grin stretching, “I’m keeping that one forever.”
You groan into your palms.
He grins. Then, softer, “I like talking to you.”
Your hands drop. “What? Why?”
He shrugs lightly. “You’re honest. And you don’t sugarcoat things just because I’m me.”
Your heart does a weird, painful flip.
You look down, hoping he won’t see how red your ears are. “I’m just trying not to embarrass myself.”
“You’re doing fine.” His voice is low. Warm. Almost gentle.
You swallow hard.
For a few seconds, neither of you speaks. Then, unexpectedly, he asks, “So why’d you become a trainee?”
You blink. Hard. He looks genuinely curious.
You swallow. “Um… it’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Now you have to tell me,” he says, leaning back, arms crossing, interest sharp and focused. “I’ll guess. You wanted fame?”
“No.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“Free snacks?”
You glare. “No.”
He grins. “Then what?”
You fiddle with your chopsticks, heart pounding.
He’s watching you with that unexpected gentleness in his eyes, the softness he hides behind smirks.
So you take a breath.
“…you,” you say quietly.
He freezes.
You instantly regret everything. “I mean not- not you specifically, well, yes, you, but not- okay, I’m explaining this horribly- ”
You force yourself to continue.
“I became a trainee because of Big Bang. And… because of you. Your music. Your lyrics. The way you wrote things that felt real. Like someone actually understood what it felt like to want something so badly it hurts.” Your voice gets smaller. “I used to practice alone in my room and wish… that maybe one day I’d get to do something even remotely close to what you do.”
Silence.
Your stomach drops.
You knew it. Too much. Too personal. Too embarrassing.
You open your mouth to apologize, but he speaks first.
“Y/N.”
His voice is different.
Low. Warm. Serious.
When you look up, his expression isn’t cocky or amused or wicked.
He looks… soft.
Almost vulnerable.
“You admire my songwriting?” he asks quietly.
You nod. “A lot.”
His eyes flick away for a moment, down at the table, like he’s trying to process something, like you said something he hasn’t heard in a long time.
Then he exhales, slow.
“…thank you.”
It’s barely audible.
You blink. “For what?”
“For saying that,” he says, gaze lifting again. “People like the image. The stage. The name.
His mouth tilts in something that isn’t quite a smile.
But the writing, that’s the only thing that’s actually me.”
You weren’t expecting him to say that. Not in that tone. Not with that honesty.
Your chest tightens.
“I think that’s what makes it good,” you say softly. “You don’t write like you’re trying to impress people. You write to tell the truth.”
His lips part, just slightly, like the words hit somewhere he didn’t expect.
For the first time today, he doesn’t smirk. He doesn’t tease. He just looks at you.
Really looks.
“…you’re full of surprises,” he murmurs.
You flush instantly. “I wasn’t trying to- “
“No,” he interrupts. “You were being yourself. I like that.”
Your breath stumbles.
He leans forward, elbows on the table, chin tilted toward you, eyes locked on yours with slow, deliberate attention.
“Now I get why your scenes feel real,” he adds. “You feel things deeply.”
You swallow. “That’s… embarrassing.”
“That’s interesting,” he corrects, a hint of warmth returning.
He sits back, but his gaze stays on you, steady, curious, softer than it’s ever been.
You don’t realize you’re staring until he gives you the smallest smile.
The dangerous kind.
Lunch isn’t a disaster. Lunch is the problem. Because he’s not just teasing anymore. He’s interested. In your thoughts.
Your honesty.
You.
And that might be the scariest part of all.
Before either of you can say another word, the assistant director bursts through the doorway, breathless.
“We’re ready for the kiss setup!”
You almost drop your chopsticks.
Kiss. Setup. As in… kiss. As in… with him?
Your soul attempts to eject itself from your body.
Jiyong, meanwhile, stretches like a cat who just finished a nap. Completely unbothered. As if that bomb wasn’t just detonated on your lunch table.
“Guess that’s our cue,” he says, voice slipping effortlessly back into something smooth and wicked. “Try not to faint on me.”
You choke on air.
He steps past you, brushing lightly against your shoulder, intentional, absolutely intentional and when you look up, you swear he winks.
Not soft. Not shy. Full, weaponized G-Dragon mode.
Your brain shuts down.
And filming isn’t even over yet.
***
He shouldn’t still be thinking about it.
About the way her voice went soft when she talked about his lyrics. About how she looked at him like she meant every word. About how honest she was, painfully, disarmingly honest.
It shouldn’t matter. He’s had compliments for nearly two decades.
But hers stuck. Hers landed somewhere he wasn’t ready for.
He pulls on his clothes as they head back to set, trying to reset, get back into normal mode. It doesn’t work.
He keeps seeing her at that tiny lunch table, cheeks burning, fingers tangled nervously. He can’t unsee the fact that she’s nineteen, a brand new trainee. Or the way she said you, like it was obvious, like he had actually mattered to her before today.
He shouldn’t like that as much as he does.
He definitely shouldn’t be glancing at her now, watching the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear because she’s nervous about the next scene.
The kiss scene.
He clears his throat and looks away. He needs to get his head straight before-
“JIIIIYONG!”
A familiar voice echoes through the hall.
He stops walking.
Oh, that’s just perfect.
Taeyang.
Taeyang bounds over, bright smile, arms wide. “Heard you were filming today! Had to come see the chaos.”
Before Jiyong can answer, she inhales sharply, an audible, starstruck little breath.
And then she bows so fast she almost falls. “Oh my god, Taeyang sunbaenim, hi- hello- I’m such a huge fan. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Her entire face lights up.
At him.
Taeyang laughs, delighted. “Wow. You’re the new trainee, right? The one who joined a few months ago?”
She nods hard. “Y-yes, sunbaenim!”
“Oh my god,” Taeyang repeats, grinning. “You’re basically a baby.”
She turns bright red.
Jiyong’s jaw flexes.
“Relax,” Taeyang adds, grinning wider. “I’m just surprised. You starring with someone this young? That’s new.”
Jiyong’s stomach twists.
Not guilt.
Something closer to pure, territorial annoyance.
“She’s not a kid,” Jiyong snaps before thinking.
At the same time she mutters, “I’m not a baby.“
Taeyang cackles. “She’s cute! Jiyong-ah, you didn’t tell me your lead was this adorable.”
Jiyong grinds his molars.
“She’s… enthusiastic,” he mutters.
Enthusiastic.
He can’t believe that’s the word that came out of his mouth.
And Taeyang, traitor that he is, leans in conspiratorially.
“So how’s filming? Is he being nice to you? He can be a little- ”
“She’s fine,” Jiyong cuts in, too quickly.
Taeyang raises a brow. Oh, he noticed. He definitely noticed.
“Oh?” Taeyang hums. “Possessive much?”
Jiyong glares daggers.
Taeyang pats his back. “Relax. I’m not stealing your girl.”
“She’s not- ” Jiyong starts, heat creeping up his neck. “It’s not like that.”
“Sure,” Taeyang says. “And I’m not a vocalist.”
She blinks between them, confused and cheeks still pink.
Taeyang leans toward her with a warm smile. “Don’t worry. He acts like this when he likes someone.”
Jiyong chokes. On air. On his pride. On his entire life.
“Hyung!”
But Taeyang just waves him off, already walking away. “I’ll go say hi to the director. Try not to combust.”
And then he’s gone.
Leaving Jiyong staring at the floor, her eyes wide, the silence stretching painfully thick.
Fantastic. Exactly what he needed before a kiss scene.
He exhales slowly and risks a glance at her.
She’s still blushing, but this time for a different reason entirely.
“Sorry about him,” Jiyong mutters. “He thinks he’s funny.”
“He… is kind of funny,” she say shyly.
He rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.
The assistant director yells something in the distance about blocking, but neither of you turn.
Then, quietly, she say something he doesn’t expect at all.
“I’ve never done this.”
He turns to her fully. “Done what?”
Her fingers twist in her sleeves and her eyes drop to the floor.
“The kiss scene,” she whispers. “I’ve never… kissed anyone. At all.”
The world stops.
Jiyong goes completely still.
“You’ve… never kissed anyone?” he repeats, voice lower than he intends.
She shakes her head, mortified. “I know it’s stupid and embarrassing and inconvenient. I just- I thought maybe you should know? Since you’ll notice anyway if I mess up and- ”
“Hey,” he says, stepping closer without realising. “Hey. Stop. Don’t apologise.“
She bites her lip, startled.
He swallows hard.
Something tightens deep in his chest, something protective and hot and way too intense.
“You won’t mess up,” he says quietly.
She looks up at him through her lashes, nervous, vulnerable, unbelievably earnest.
He exhales slowly.
“You won’t,” he murmurs. “I’ll take the lead. I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
Her breath catches.
And Jiyong thinks, for the first time all day, that he might be the one in actual danger here.
Because he shouldn’t like that sound. But he does. Way too much.
“We’ll go slow,” he adds. “I won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”
Her eyes lift. No fear this time. Just trust.
Dangerous.
So dangerously sweet.
A staff member calls from down the hall, “We’re ready for you two!”
She jumps.
He doesn’t move. He just watches her, eyes darker than before.
“Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s go.”
Inside, he’s already burning.
And he hasn’t even kissed her yet.
***
Your legs don’t feel like they belong to you anymore.
You’re following Jiyong down the hallway toward the main set, but it feels like you’re floating somewhere above your own body, watching yourself move like a glitching NPC.
He walks in front of you , calm, collected, impossibly steady and you’re behind him, trying not to sprint in the opposite direction.
Because you said it. Out loud. To him.
“I’ve never… kissed anyone.”
The words repeat in your head like a cursed audio loop. Who says that the hour before filming a scripted kiss? Who confesses something that humiliating to the most experienced, most confident man alive?
You do, apparently.
Because you are chaos in human form.
You almost trip over a cable, and Jiyong glances back, catching it instantly.
“You okay?” he asks.
You squeak. An actual squeak. Like a baby mouse.
He bites back a smile, a small, warm one and somehow, instead of making you feel better, it makes your stomach flip like you’re being thrown off a roller coaster.
You’re not okay. Not even close.
When you reach the darkened edge of the set, the lights are already being adjusted, the cameras repositioned, staff members buzzing around like bees around a hive.
But everything feels muted too quiet, too slow, like you’re underwater.
Your heart is too loud.
This is happening. The kiss scene. Your first kiss. With him.
Oh god.
You wipe your palms against your jeans, but the sweat comes back instantly. Your face is hot. Your pulse is everywhere, your throat, your ears, your fingertips.
A makeup artist approaches you. “We’re just touching up your lip tint, okay? Lightly, since it might smudge.”
You choke.
Jiyong, standing a few feet away, stifles a cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
You shoot him a glare.
He raises his hands in surrender, but the smile tugging at his mouth does not go away.
How is he like this? So unbothered? So maddeningly sure of himself?
Meanwhile you’re debating passing out just to escape the situation.
The assistant director walks over, clapping his hands dramatically.
“Okay! Let’s block the kiss scene. Nothing intense yet, we’re just walking through positioning. Don’t worry about emotions until we roll.”
You nod too fast. “Yes okay, I can- I can do positioning.”
You’re lying.
Jiyong looks down at you, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. “Just follow me,” he murmurs quietly, so no one else hears. “I’ve got you.”
You nearly melt into the floor.
He says it so simply. So calmly. As if the idea of guiding you through your first kiss is… natural.
Like he doesn’t even realize what kind of effect he has.
You swallow hard.
He steps closer.
Way closer.
Close enough that you can smell his cologne again, warm, clean, with a hint of spice. Close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to look at him.
He leans in slightly, not kissing distance, but near enough that your breathing stops.
“Ready?” he asks.
You nod, tiny. “Maybe.”
“Maybe’s fine,” he says softly.
And he gives you a smile.
A real one. Warm. Almost reassuring.
Your heart does a violent, uncoordinated flip.
The set is still bustling, but you can’t hear anything anymore.
It’s just him.
Just the way he’s looking at you, not mocking, not impatient.
Like he genuinely cares that you’re nervous.
Like he wants this to go well for you.
Your throat is tight.
You shouldn’t be thinking any of this. You shouldn’t be feeling any of this.
But when he steps even closer, your breath catches.
And the only thing your mind manages to register is:
I’m going to kiss him.
Your first kiss.
With him.
And the worst, or best, part is, you’re not scared anymore.
You’re just… Anticipating.
Your pulse trips when the director calls, “Let’s run the scene!”
The words hit your stomach like a punch.
Jiyong lifts his chin slightly.
“Come here,” he says softly.
And without thinking, you do. Your feet move toward him. Your world narrows to him.
And your heart?
Your heart forgets how to beat normally ever again.
Jiyong’s eyes meet yours and something in them changes. Softens. Deepens. Focuses. Not dramatic. Just… certain. As if he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what it will do to you.
Your breath stutters.
He notices. Of course he does. He always does.
“Hey,” he murmurs, barely audible, just for you. “It’s just us. Okay?”
You nod, tiny and helpless.
The director calls out, “Positions!”
And you’re suddenly standing exactly where the script says you should be, looking up at him with nervous eyes.
Not acting.
Just existing.
And then…
He steps into your space.
His hand lifts, slow, deliberate, until his fingers hover near your jaw.
Your lungs forget how to work.
This is happening. This is happening. This is happening.
He leans down, his forehead nearly brushing yours.
“Relax,” he whispers. “Just look at me.”
As if you could look anywhere else.
His fingertips touch your jaw lightly, a feather-soft graze and you swear electricity shoots down your spine.
“Action!”
You flinch slightly, but Jiyong doesn’t. His hand steadies you, thumb brushing your cheek in a way that is absolutely not in the script.
He steps closer, closing the final inches between you, voice low enough that even the boom mic might miss it.
“Just follow my lead,” he murmurs. “You’re doing perfect.”
Your breath catches.
He tilts his head, slow, gentle, giving you every second to pull away.
You don’t.
Your heart is beating so fast you’re afraid he can hear it.
And then, his lips touch yours.
Soft and warm. Barely pressure at first, more of a question than a kiss.
You freeze.
Not because you’re scared, but because you’ve never felt anything like this.
He presses a little closer, still gentle, still careful, guiding you through the moment like he promised.
His other hand rises to the back of your neck, steadying you, grounding you, keeping you from floating right out of your own body.
He kisses you again. Slightly deeper this time. Slow. Intentional.
Like he’s savoring it.
Like he’s savoring you.
Your fingers tighten in his shirt without thinking, and a quiet sound leaves him, soft, low, barely there, but it sends heat flooding up your entire body.
You don’t even realize you’re kissing him back until he exhales against your mouth, the faintest hint of a smile in the kiss.
It feels unreal. Dangerous. Like stepping off a cliff with someone’s hand in yours.
The world doesn’t exist anymore. Only him. Only the way he moves, gentle and sure.
When he finally pulls back, it’s slow. Like he doesn’t really want to. Like he’s dragging himself away, piece by piece.
His forehead rests against yours for a beat too long.
His breath mixes with yours.
Your knees are shaking.
His thumb brushes your jaw one last time, soft and possessive and totally unscripted.
You don’t breathe.
You can’t.
“Cut!”
The director’s voice crashes over you like cold water.
Jiyong doesn’t move. Not at first. Not until he blinks, like coming back into his own body. Then he steps back, a little too fast, like he needs distance to think.
You try to speak, but no sound comes out.
Your lips are still tingling.
Jiyong swallows hard.
His eyes meet yours. And for the first time since you met him…
He looks shaken.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
You nod.
You’re lying.
You’re not okay at all.
You’re ruined.
And the worst part?
You don’t mind.
***
“Cut!”
He hears it. He does. But his body doesn’t move. He’s still standing there, forehead almost touching hers, breath uneven in a way he prays no one else can hear. His thumb is still grazing the side of her jaw, he pulls it back a second too late.
Way too late.
He steps away because he has to, not because he wants to.
He keeps his expression blank. Neutral. Professional.
Meanwhile, his pulse is slamming.
What the hell was that?
He’s kissed people on camera before. Idols, actresses, trained professionals who knew exactly how to control a scene.
But this, this was nothing like that.
She looks stunned. Wide-eyed, shaken, lips parted slightly like she’s still catching her breath.
He has to force himself to look away. Because if he keeps looking at her like that, every single person on set will know.
She trusted him.
He felt it, in the way she froze, the tiny inhale, the way her fingers curled into his shirt like she was afraid her legs would give out.
And he felt the moment she melted into it, into him. That slow, hesitant kiss back. That’s what’s messing him up the most.
He turns away before anyone can see the expression he definitely shouldn’t be wearing. Something too warm. Too protective. Too hungry.
He tries to breathe normally.
Fails.
He grabs a water bottle from a table just to keep his hands busy. Except his hand is still trembling slightly, and he almost crushes the plastic.
He hasn't reacted like this since… No. He doesn’t even remember reacting like this ever.
She’s nineteen, he keeps reminding himself. Young. Too damn honest for her own good.
And now he’s the first person she’s ever kissed.
That thought hits him again. Harder this time. He runs a hand through his hair, jaw clenching.
He shouldn’t like that. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
But the truth settles deep in his chest, hot and heavy.
He does.
He liked being her first. He liked the way she trembled. He liked the way she looked at him right before the kiss, scared, trusting, gently breaking open in front of him.
That look is burned into him.
He hears someone approaching and straightens instantly, mask snapping back into place.
She’s walking toward him.
Careful. Unsure. Holding her own elbows like she needs to keep herself together.
He swallows.
She looks at him like she’s afraid she did something wrong. Like she didn’t just nearly ruin him.
“Was that… okay?” she asks quietly.
Her voice is small. Fragile.
Something inside him nearly cracks.
He wants to tell the truth: More than okay. Too good. Too much.
Instead, he forces his voice steady.
“You did well.”
Understatement of the year.
She looks relieved, and he hates, hates, how much that relief matters to him.
She smiles, tiny and uncertain.
And it hits him again.He’s in trouble. Real trouble.
Before he can say anything else, the director starts stepping toward them with notes.
Jiyong nods, backs up a little, pretends to listen.
But he’s not listening.
Not to the director. Not to the staff. Not to anything.
He glances at her once more.
She’s touching her mouth with her fingertips, like she’s trying to figure out what just happened to her.
He turns away fast. Because he cannot let anyone see the look on his face.
Not now. Not until he gets himself under control.
Not until he figures out how he’s supposed to keep acting around her, when all he wants is another kiss.
Far more than he should.
***
The rest of the afternoon blurs.
People are moving, lights coming down, props being cleared. Crew members are laughing, already talking about their next project, the next day, the next week.
You just stand there.
Trying very, very hard not to touch your lips again.
The director claps loudly, gathering everyone’s attention. “Great work, team! We’re wrapped for today. And that kiss- ” He whistles. “Clean in one take. Perfect.”
Your stomach drops.
One take. No reshoot.No second chance.
No… anything.
“Y/N,” the coordinator calls, “you’re free to go once wardrobe clears you.”
Free to go. Right, of course.
This is a job. A little blip in his long, legendary career.
You fold your arms tightly, suddenly cold.
When you glance toward the monitors, he’s there, Jiyong, talking to a stylist, nodding along to something they’re saying.
He looks normal. Relaxed, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just-
You inhale sharply and look away. You knew this would happen. You told yourself not to get attached. Not to mistake acting for anything else.
Still, something aches.
You head to wardrobe, change out of the last outfit, and thank the staff politely. Your chest feels too full. Your throat too tight. Every step out of the dressing area feels like walking toward an ending.
You don’t expect to see him again before you leave.
You don’t expect him to look for you.
So when you turn the corner and almost collide with him, you stop breathing entirely.
“Oh- ” you gasp, stepping back.
He’s standing there like he’s been waiting. Hands in his pockets. Expression unreadable but eyes not.
“Done?” he asks.
You nod. “Yeah. Just finished.”
“Good.” He says it quietly, almost like relief.
You shift nervously. “Um… thank you. For today. For helping me. I know you probably have way more important things to- ”
“Don’t do that,” he interrupts, and his voice is soft but sharp enough to make you freeze.
“Do what?” you whisper.
“Make it sound like you weren’t part of this,” he says. “Like you didn’t matter.”
Your heart squeezes.
He steps closer, not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.
“You did well,” he says again, lower this time. “More than well.”
You swallow, unable to hold his gaze for long. “Still… this is probably the last time we’ll, I mean, work together. So I just… wanted to say thank you.”
His jaw tightens, just slightly.
You don’t notice.
He looks away for a second.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice unreadable. “Right.”
You force a small smile. “You’re busy. I know. Anyway- bye, sunbaenim.”
You bow, awkward and polite and way too formal after he literally kissed you minutes ago.
When you turn to leave, you don’t see the way his shoulders tense. You don’t see the flicker of frustration in his eyes. You don’t hear the breath he lets out,sharp and quiet, like he’s realizing something he doesn’t want to admit.
You just walk away.
You keep your head down, trying not to feel disappointed. Trying not to wish he’d stop you. Trying not to imagine a world where he’d give you a reason to see him again.
But when a staff member calls your name and hands you your bag, you look back one more time.
Just once.
He’s still there.
Watching you.
Not moving.
Just watching.
Your breath catches, but then someone passes between you, and when you look again, he’s already talking to a manager, mask back in place.
You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself today was enough. Even if part of you wishes it wasn’t.
You leave the set quietly, your footsteps fading down the hall.
You don’t see Jiyong turn his head toward the door you disappeared through.
You don’t hear him mutter, under his breath, “This isn’t the last time.”
You don’t see the tiny curve of determination at the corner of his mouth.
But you will.
Soon.
***
The set is quiet now. Everyone’s packing up, but he’s still standing near the monitors, watching her leave.
God, he shouldn’t care this much.
But he does.
Every little movement she made today, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she laughed during the arcade scene, the way her voice softened when she talked about his lyrics, it’s all stuck in his mind. He’s replaying it on loop, over and over, and it’s driving him crazy.
She’s nineteen. A trainee.
And yet… he wants to see her again.
Not just because of the kiss, the timing, the setup, everything that went unsaid, but because he likes her. Likes her voice, her honesty, the way she gets flustered without realizing how charming she is. Likes her in a way that makes his chest tighten and his jaw ache.
He exhales, shoulders stiff. He can’t just let this end.
“No,” he mutters, low, almost to himself. “I’ll see her again.”
He scans the building in his mind. Dance studios, practice rooms, the lobby, the hallways she always runs through. There are so many places he could “accidentally” cross her path.
A small smirk curls at the corner of his lips. It’ll be subtle. Casual. Professional. Coincidental. Perfect.
He pulls out his phone, scrolling through schedules. “Studio B… vocal lesson… she’ll probably be there around 10:30…”
And just like that, the plan forms. Not a date. Not a setup. Just… an excuse. A reason. To see her again.
Because after today, he can’t not.
Because he wants to see that wide-eyed look, the flushed cheeks, the way she can’t help but be herself around him.
And honestly? He doesn’t care how dangerous that is.
