Random headcannon for Jongho but that man is a thigh lover to me. Like he's the type to keep his face between your thighs just for the pleasure and warmth of it.
Also, he's definitely a thigh biter. Like no matter how your skin is, it's gonna be covered in hickeys, increasing every hour you spend with him
Idk if our doing requests rn but I wanna ask if you could write jongho comforting reader after her break up 🫶🏼✨
illogical
pairing: supportive! jongho x fem! reader
synopsis: jongho comforts you after a rough breakup
wc: 1.3k
tags: hurt/comfort, angst, slice of life, mentions of an unhealthy relationship, implied gaslighting and manipulation
etc: i’ve no previous experience writing something like this, so bear with me! whilst writing this, i pulled some inspo from olivia rodrigo’s ‘logical’, she’s one of my favorite artists outside of kpop. with that being said, please read this with that in mind if your sensitive to topics similar to that. i’m so beyond grateful that someone requested from me, i love to see it, keep it coming <3 and of course, not thoroughly proofread!
The evening air is cold against your damp cheeks, but you barely notice. Your breath shuddering as you curl into yourself, tucked away in the hollowed-out plastic of the jungle gym, the faded colors were dimly lit under the streetlights. The park was quiet, understandably so at the hour, and empty except for the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze. It feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for you to pull yourself together, but you just can’t.
Your hands are shaking as you grip harder onto your phone, the glow of the screen blurring through your tear-filled eyes. You don’t type anything. No words feel right, and you’re not sure you could even form a coherent sentence if you tried. Instead, you send your location. No explanation. Just that.
And then you wait.
You feel the breeze pick up lightly, and you shiver as you continue to let the tears fall freely.
At this point, you’re not sure how long it’s been when you hear hurried footsteps crunching over the gravel. You don’t lift your head, but you know it’s him. Jongho. The one person who would come running without question.
“Y/N?”
His voice is soft, careful, like he already knows you’re fragile. There’s a pause, then the sound of him climbing up into the structure, his presence filling the already small space. You feel the warmth of his body next to you before he even touches you.
He crouches down in front of you, his breath slightly uneven and out of pace from rushing here. And when you finally lift your head, his face is a mixture of concern and silent patience, his eyes scanning over you—not just your face but the way that you’re holding yourself, cradling yourself, the way that you’re shaking.
“Hey,” he says gently. “I’m here.”
The moment he says it, something deep inside you rips wide open and completely. You let out a broken sob, covering your face with your hands, and without hesitation, Jongho shifts closer, pulling you into him. His arms wrap around you, solid and steady, and anchors you as your body involuntarily shakes against him.
He doesn’t say anything right away, just holds you, letting you cry into the nape of his neck. His hand moves in slow soothing circles against your back. You felt everything, the way his nails curved in every so often, and how his hand occasionally switched rotations, the leather of jacket against the bare skin of your arm.
And so, you clutch onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. Minutes pass, maybe longer. Your sobs start to subside, but you don’t pull away. Jongho doesn’t move either, just keeps holding you steady.
“What happened?” His voice is barely above a whisper, careful not to push, only offering you the space to speak if you want to.
You inhale shakily getting ready to speak, but the words don’t come. They’re caught somewhere between your mind and you throat, tangled up in the fear that if you say them, it will make everything real. That if you admit it out loud, there’s no taking it back. And worse—what if he sees you differently? What if he thinks you’re too much, just like he did? Your silence stretches between you, heavy and unbroken. Jongho doesn’t push. Instead, he just stays close, his hand gently smoothing over your back, as if he’s reminding you that he’s not going anywhere.
Eventually, you shift slightly, your arms moving just enough for the dim light to catch on the bruises beginning to bloom along your wrist, just enough for Jongho to catch in his eyes.
His hold on you doesn’t change—he doesn’t flinch or jerk away—but you feel his breath hitch, hand tightening his grip on his knee, his whole body tensing just for a second before he exhales slowly. When he speaks, his voice is somehow softer than before, but there’s something edged beneath it, something heavy. “Y/N… who did this?”
You don’t answer right away, just staring in disbelief at the darkened skin, an ugly reminder of hands that should have never touched you like that. It’s the first time you’ve really looked at it. You felt it at first, but never saw the sum of his actions earlier that night. It’s too much. You squeeze your eyes shut, another quiet sob slipping out before you can stop it.
Jongho doesn’t hesitate. In one swift motion, he shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulder, his warmth still lingering in the fabric. “Here,” he murmurs, adjusting it so it fully covers you. His fingers linger near your skin for a moment longer, hesitating just for a moment before gently brushing over the bruised skin, his touch feathering. Pulling you back into him again.
His jaw tightens, but his voice still remains gentle. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready,” he murmurs. “Just let me stay with you. Okay?”
You nod into him, the movement barely there, but he feels it. He feels the tears soak through his top and onto his skin.
You don’t know how long you sit there, curled against him, your breathing uneven but slowly steadying. Eventually, words start forming on your tongue, hesitant but needing to be said.
“I left,” you whisper, voice hoarse from your cries. “I finally left.”
Jongho exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. His hand comes up, fingers threading carefully through your hair before eventually coming to a halt at the base of your head, cradling it. “I’m so proud of you, I know it’s hard.”
Your chest tightens, drawing discomfort. You don’t feel proud, not at all. You feel small, broken, like you should have left sooner, like you should’ve never let it get this far. All your past decisions seem so illogical, you thought all your problems were solvable, because you thought he meant it when he said he’d change.
“I should’ve—”
“No.” Jongho’s voice is firmer now, but still gentle. His hand shifts from your head to your hand. Interlocking your fingers together, his thumb rubbing lazy motions on the back of your hand. “Don’t do that to yourself. You did what you could, and you’re here now. That’s what matters.”
A fresh wave of tears builds in your eyes, threatening to spill over again, but this time, it’s different. It’s not just grief or exhaustion—it’s something closer to relief. Relief that someone has you, and you’re safe.
You don’t say anything else for a while. Neither does he. He just stays with you, holding you like he has all the time in the world, like he’s promising to stay as long as you need him to. And right now, it’s exactly what you need.
The park is still silent with the silent hum of cars passing on a nearby street and the whistle in the wind. The night air is cold, but Jongho’s warmth lingers against you, in his jacket, in his hand wrapped around yours. Neither of you rush to leave, instead sitting in the silence, letting the moment be what it is.
Eventually, you shift against him, trying to pull yourself up, but he beats you to it. He doesn’t let go of your hand as he helps you to your feet. You’re not sure what to do, but you need to go somewhere.
“Come on,” he says gently to you, squeezing your hand just a little. “Let’s go home.” You’re not quite sure where home even is right now, but you know you’ll be able to figure that out as you go with him.
synopsis: a late night call to a friend in search of comfort
wc: 1.2k
tags: fluff, slice of life, comfort, minor mentions of stress, and allusions to insomnia
etc: this is my first post here on tumblr… and this is not proofread either!
It was clear past two in the morning when you finally caved in, thumb barely hovering over Jongho’s contact before pressing the call button. You had spent the last hour just staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning under the blankets, trying every trick in the book you could think of to lull yourself into sleep, but your mind wouldn’t quiet down. The stress that had been piling up over the past few weeks refused to ease, keeping you tangled in your thoughts, all alone. You weren’t even sure why you called him of all people—maybe because he had noticed the small bits and pieces, maybe because he was always steady, so reliable. Or maybe because you just wanted to hear his voice.
The call rang longer than expected and your thumb once again hovering over your phone, you considered hanging up before a groggy voice answered, “...What?” You could hear the rustling and the sounds of sheets shifting, the phone picking up on all the details.
His voice was thick with sleep, and he sounded exhausted, and for a moment, you felt guilty, and it weighed heavily on your chest. “Jongho,” you murmured, voice quieter than you intended.
He inhaled sharply, sounding as if trying to force himself to wake up. “It’s two in the morning. Why are you calling me Y/N? Are you okay?” There was a drop of frustration in his voice, but still laced in concern, his firm tone just a bit softer than usual.
You hesitated, swallowing hard. “I… I couldn’t sleep. And I didn’t know who else to call.”
Silence stretched worlds between the two of you, except for the distant hum of the city outside your window. Then, with a sigh. “You should really be sleeping, you know.”
A dry chuckle left your lips. “Trust me, I know.” And you did, too many nights had been spent restless, and you were practically at your wits end.
There was another light rustling sound, like he was shifting in bed, getting more comfortable. “Alright, since you clearly refuse to touch the off switch, let’s try something else. You have any snacks at home?”
The question caught you off guard, thrown out of nowhere. “What?”
“Snacks,” he repeated once more, this time just a touch softer. “Or tea. Or anything good for a late night movie.”
You blinked up at the ceiling. “I have some chocolate chip cookies? And chamomile tea, I think?”
“Good. Next night, you’re making yourself tea before bed. And the cookies—” He paused for a second. “Actually, I’m taking those.”
You felt a small smile tug at your lips. “You’re becoming a cookie thief now?”
“I think it’s well deserved, I picked up a very important call at two in the morning, I deserve to be pampered.”
You just hummed in response. “Mmm, I’ve been thinking about a spa day, maybe I’ll do that at some point.” You said, sparked from nothing in particular.
“Do you even have face masks?”
“No, but I was thinking about getting some the next time I pick up groceries. I’ve been running low on my moisturizer lately too.”
He exhaled, long and slow. “Then you’ll get them next time I see you. And before you decide to argue, just let me do this, alright?”
And you didn’t argue, you didn’t even say anything. There was something grounding about his voice, about how he didn’t need to say much to make you feel safe. You let the silence settle again, but this time, the worlds didn’t seem too far apart, fairly aligned, actually. The quiet was somewhat comforting, his presence in the phone was enough to quiet the noise in your head.
His voice came softer now, almost as if he too was drifting off. “You still there?”
“Mhm,” you mumbled.
“Good. Just… try to rest, okay?”
You nodded slowly, even though he couldn’t see you. He waited a few more moments, long enough that you could hear his breathing slow, like he was about to fall asleep himself. There was a small pause, the sound of sheets shifting again, then a quiet exhale—like he was debating whether or not to say something else. But he didn't. Instead, he waited just a little longer, just until he was sure you were close to sleep, and minutes later, the phone call ended.
The morning light streamed through your blinds when a soft knock at your door startled you awake. You groggily shuffled toward the entrance, trying you best to rub the sleep out of your eyes, hair a mess from tossing and turning the night previous. The knock came again, this time a little louder. And when you cracked the door open, there stood Jongho, arms full of bags, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, looking every bit like he had just rolled out of bed himself.
“You look… terrible,” he deadpanned, eyes crinkling as he smiled.
You scoffed, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks. That’s exactly what a girl wants to hear first thing in the morning.”
He only huffed, setting the bags down on your coffee table in front of the couch. “You didn’t sleep much after we hung up, did you?”
You sank onto the couch behind you, pulling a throw blanket around your shoulders as you watched him start unpacking. Face masks, a box of chamomile tea packets, some of your favorite assorted snacks, the moisturizer you had briefly mentioned, and a new pair of fluffy socks—he really thought of everything.
As he walked out of the living room and into your small kitchen to start the kettle, you sat for a moment. Your chest ached in a way you couldn’t explain, it felt like a string was attached to a rib and someone pulled harshly.
“Jongho…”
He didn’t look up. Just tossing you the socks before plopping down beside you. “I told you not to argue, no? I’m taking care of it.” He faced his body towards you, but not his head. His voice was less teasing than before, “You don’t have to say anything, you know? Just, let me be here.”
You stared at him for a long moment, warmth creeping up your neck, and to your ears. Then, in a haze of your previous sleepiness, you leaned against him, letting yourself settle onto him. He only stiffened for a second before sighing, tugging your blanket up so it fully covered you.
His hand lingered at your shoulder for a moment before dropping back to his lap. “You just need to stop overthinking everything.”
You huffed a small laugh and ever so slightly crossed your arms, pulling the blanket away. “Easier said than done.”
“Maybe. But I’ll keep saying it.”
His voice was steady and warm, and before you could think much of it, before the worries could creep back in, you let yourself relax against him. The stress hadn’t disappeared, but in that moment—with the scent of chamomile filling the air, his warmth beside you, and the soft crinkling of bags as he pulled out more items he brought, you felt lighter.
Jongho reached over, fixing your blanket again, making sure you were tucked in properly. He adjusted the blanket so your arms were covered, but his grasp never left. His arms remained around yours as he said, “Just close your eyes. Try to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And for the first time in weeks, you might just do that.
