[ extras ] diva warning on the cunttitude scale IJBOLLL no but srs cursing, period, he plays leol (bleughhhh), implied fem reader
ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! i love him saur much hes wrecking me SO bad lately??? also, once again!! promoting mine and zan'd net: @fish-and-cake-net !!! whether u r a writer or reader for piwon or other fnc groups... join us!!!! <3
SUMMARY: After accepting that your long distance idol boyfriend probably won’t make it to your graduation, you’re shocked to see such a familiar face after the ceremony!
WC: 2.4k
DISCLAIMERS: angst / fluff !!!!! this is explicitly for my best friend in the entire world. my eni. u da goat ok???? themes of long distance relationship!!!! andddd private bc he idol ok? ok.
You had spent your entire morning pretending it didn't bother you. Every time one of your friends asked if your boyfriend was coming, you just smiled and shrugged like it wasn't a big deal — even though your stomach twisted every single time with a sharp, nauseating pull that made you want to excuse yourself and hide somewhere quiet.
Dating Kim Jongseob meant learning how to swallow disappointment gracefully, smile through the ache, and to love someone whose life would never quite have room for you the way you needed.
Schedules changed constantly, last minute practices appeared out of nowhere. Sometimes all you got at the end of the day was a sleepy five-minute phone call before he passed out mid-sentence, his breathing evening out while you whispered "I love you" to silence.
But despite it all, you still knew how much he loved you — and how much he wanted to be there.
God, you knew and that made it hurt so much worse.
He'd been talking about your graduation for months, voice bright with excitement every time he brought it up because he was proud of how you’ve made it this far and fought all the many battles that had set you back.
He wanted pictures of you in your cap and gown. He wanted to buy you flowers, and sit through the painfully long ceremony just to hear your name called for five seconds, and be the one cheering the loudest when you walked across that stage.
But three nights ago, he'd called sounding exhausted and guilty all at once, and you'd known before he even said it.
"I don't think I can make it." His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
And even though your chest burned and disappointment crashed through you so violently you had to press your palm against your sternum to breathe — you still told him it was okay immediately.
Of course it was okay... you loved him too much to make him feel worse about something he couldn't control and you loved him enough to break your own heart quietly so his wouldn't hurt more than it already did.
"It's okay, my love. Really. I understand."
"I'm so sorry—"
"Don't apologize. You can't help it."
But you'd cried after hanging up — so hard that your roommate knocked on your door asking if you were alright… and then it all piled at once. You cried for him and you cried for yourself. You cried because you were so tired of understanding and you cried from the exhaustion of being the supportive girlfriend who never complained.
And you felt guilty for even feeling that way.
He worked so hard and had sacrificed so much.. so who were you to demand his presence when his dreams required everything from him?
So now, sitting in the sea of graduates while the ceremony dragged on endlessly beneath the hot afternoon sun, you tried focusing on literally anything else, like the speeches that blurred together into meaningless noise, or the friends around you that had been fanning themselves with their programs, and even the several cords and sashes that sat around your neck, playing with them between your fingers.
You tried not to look at the audience of families, friends and loved ones, but naturally, your eyes searched for him everywhere you went, even when you knew he wouldn't be there.
Even when you'd accepted his absence, your heart still looked for him like a compass pointing north.
The sun beat down mercilessly, and your gown stuck to your skin underneath, but you barely noticed at this point. You were too busy trying not to think about how this was supposed to be your day, but it felt pointless without the person who supported you through it all.
When your name was finally called, applause echoed around you as you walked across the stage with a practiced smile, accepting your diploma while cameras flashed from the crowd. The moment should have felt triumphant. But instead, it felt hollow.
You spotted your family immediately high up in the crowd, their proud faces beaming — your close friends beside them too, screaming your name enthusiastically.
But still no Jongseob.
For a second, disappointment hit harder than you expected. It was a physical blow that made your smile falter, and your eyes sting with tears you absolutely could not shed in front of hundreds of people.
But it was not enough to ruin the day. Never that.. but your smile still trembled once you stepped offstage, causing you to take three deep breaths before rejoining the fellow graduates in your row..
In that moment you wondered, just for a second, if loving him was worth feeling this alone.
After the ceremony ended, the stadium exploded into cheers, music, and applause. Families flooded the lawn with bouquets and balloons while graduates hugged each other as cameras clicked nonstop..
The air smelled like crushed grass and perfume and the faint sweetness of flowers. Everyone was celebrating loudly around you, but you still felt strangely distant from it all — like you were watching your own life through frosted glass.
And just when you were in the middle of taking pictures with your friends, forcing your smile wider.. you heard your name.
And it had come from a voice you'd recognize anywhere. A voice that lived in your chest, heard in dreams, and memorized in every tone and inflection.
Your head snapped around so fast it made your heart stutter so violently against your ribs.
But there he was — standing awkwardly near the edge of the crowd in a cream hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, holding the most ridiculously oversized bouquet you'd ever seen in your life.
White tulips, baby's breath, and pale pink roses, your favorites, you realized with a sharp intake of breath, far too many flowers for him to realistically carry properly.
For a moment you genuinely thought you imagined him the way your vision blurred and knees went weak. It was like the whole world twisted sideways.
Jongseob’s eyes found yours instantly, and the second they did, every ounce of tension left his shoulders — as if finding you was the only thing grounding him there. You couldn't move, breathe, or do anything except stare at him like he'd magically appeared from your desperate wishes.
"I'm late," He said breathlessly when you finally reached him — your legs had forgot how to work for a moment, but they carried you to him so fast you nearly tripped over your gown.
"You came…” Was all you managed back, your voice embarrassingly small.
Something in his expression softened immediately or.. crumbled, really. He'd been holding himself together by sheer force of will and your words had undone him completely.
"Of course I came." His voice cracked. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"
And suddenly you were crying.
Tears welled up before you could stop them, hot and fast and overwhelming, because he was here. Somehow through all the schedules and managers and flights and exhaustion and every obstacle that should have kept him away, he was standing in front of you at your graduation exactly like he promised and wanted to be.
He panicked instantly the moment he saw your face crumple. "No, no, don't cry — baby, please—"
He gripped the bouquet into one arm clumsily and pulled you against him so quickly you almost laughed through your tears. His arm wrapped around your waist tightly, desperately, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he didn't hold on hard enough.
His chin pressed softly on the top of your head over your graduation cap, and you felt him exhale shakily against you — a sound of pure relief. He smelled like airport coffee and his familiar cologne that made you cry harder.
"Shhh… it’s okay." He mumbled softly, and you could hear the smile in his voice now, affectionate and teasing. "Are you upset..?"
"God, no," You sniffled against his hoodie, fingers clutching the fabric at his back. "I just — I really missed you. So much. Every day."
That completely melted him.
You felt it happen physically with the way his grip tightened around you until you could barely breathe, the quiet exhale against you that sounded almost like a sob, and the tiny kiss he pressed near your temple before remembering where you were.
His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, thumb stroking gently through your nicely styled hair tucked beneath the cap.
"I missed you too," He whispered, voice thick. "Every second. I'm so sorry I made you think I wouldn't come."
"How come you said you couldn't—"
"I lied." He pulled back just enough to look at you fully, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "I wanted to surprise you. I took the earliest flight. I've been awake for thirty-six hours. I was going to crawl here if I had to."
Before you said anything else, you noticed hard states and cameras from people you didn’t quite recognize. This sweet moment had convinced you so hard that for a moment this was private but.. no.
This was very public.
You let out a small smile before the two of you pulled apart at the exact same moment, suddenly aware of the attention he’s gathered.
Some were whispering already, hands covering their mouths in shock. A few students nearby had their phones out, eyes wide with recognition, fingers trembling as they tried to discreetly record. One girl looked seconds away from losing her mind entirely, gripping her friend's arm so hard her knuckles were white.
Usually, that would've been enough for Jongseob to take a couple steps back immediately. Your relationship had survived this long because you were careful since the two of you had built your love in the shadows because the light would destroy it.
But today, he looked at you like none of that mattered.
Because you were the only thing that mattered and lord, he would’ve gone crazy if he had to continue hiding the best thing in his life.
"You look really pretty," He mumbled quietly, eyes scanning over your graduation gown and cap with as much admiration. He looked so in awe, gazing at you with a love that was so overwhelming it couldn't be contained. “Sorry I was late.. I kinda missed most of your ceremony.”
You laughed weakly, wiping at your cheeks with shaking hands. "You brought enough flowers to make up for it."
"Yeah — I thought bigger would help."
"It did a little." You touched one of the tulip petals gently, and it was silk-soft against your fingertips. "They're perfect. You remembered my favorites."
"Of course I did.” He smiled. “I remember everything about you." He grinned, sweet, crooked, and so unbearably cute that your heart hurt.
He was going to be the death of you — seriously.
And maybe it was the emotions from the day finally catching up to you, or maybe it was because he looked so openly in love with you despite the crowd watching, but before you could overthink it, you reached up and fixed the chain sitting crooked beneath his hoodie collar.
Such a tiny gesture but so familiar as it was something you'd done a hundred times in private,m like in his bedroom or just in any of the quiet moments when it was the two of you and the rest of the world didn't exist.
But the look on his face afterward made your breath catch.
His eyes went soft and vulnerable, lips parting slightly like you'd done something profound instead of simply straightening his necklace. His hand came up to catch yours, pressing your palm flat against his chest where his heart was racing.
"Can I kiss you?" He asked suddenly, voice quieter now, almost nervous. God he was nervous??? He’s kissed you millions of times before yet you still had this affect.
Your eyes widened immediately. "Here?"
"I don't really care right now." His thumb stroked across your knuckles. "You're the most important person in my life, and I need to show you what that means to me."
You glanced around nervously, hearing the whispers growing louder by the second, seeing more phones appear.
"Seob… what if—"
"I don't care." His voice was firm now, certain. "I want everyone to know you're mine and how proud I am."
Your heart was going to explode. "Are you sure you’re thinking clearly—"
"I've never been more sure of anything." He stepped closer, his free hand coming up to cup your cheeks, warm and gentle and steady. "I'm proud of you. I'm so proud I could burst. And I want to kiss my girlfriend right now. Please."
Honestly? You couldn't say no to him even if you tried.
So without another word, you let him lean down carefully, one hand warm against your cheek while the other held the absurd bouquet. He kissed you sweetly right there in the middle of the field.
His lips were gentle against yours, tasting like mint chapstick and desperation and home. It was chaste yet devastating — a promise, a claim, and an apology all at once. The kind of kiss that screamed, “I’m here, I love you, and I'm never letting go.”
When he pulled back, he stayed close, nose brushing yours and breathing you in like oxygen. Your family had laughed brightly, your friends cheering you on knowing how important his presence was to you.
Beyond your close circle of special people though, there was definitely a bigger crowd watching. Somebody gasping while you could hear squeals in the distance.
But Jongseob only rested his forehead against yours afterward, smiling so brightly you thought your chest might burst, eyes crinkling with sweet joy and relief.
"Hi," He whispered, just for you.
"Hi," you whispered back, laughing through fresh tears.
"Congratulations, baby. You did it."
"We did it." You touched his face gently, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "You helped me through so much from miles away. I couldn’t do this without you.”
"That’s what I’m here for.” He promised. "I’m yours. Always."
By the time photos hit social media that night, neither of you bothered hiding anymore.
Especially when every picture captured the same thing so clearly anyway: The way he looked at you like making it there was the most important milestone this year and the way you looked at him like he'd hung every star in the sky just for you.
💌 mika’s message! HAPPY GRAADDDD SEASSONNNN!!! everybody congratulate eni now. i’m proud of my girl ok? airing out her business lowk but idgaf. HEHEHEHEHE been a min since i wrote straight up fluff too. i’m ngl ive had this in the works since monday, i just got to work deadass during my shift in the fitting room so :P derp idk. ok bye ily.
sexy people get tagged: @seobmoji @chccnne @endoll @aesprn @wonwounds @ericlvr @hardbeingcasual @applewormz @kyoluvrs @theosflower @seobsongz @xionvlog @sugaryemma @kamxstar @frambesitos
When you adopt an aggressive cat hybrid from the center just hours before he's transferred to a harsher facility, you expect hostility and distance. For five long months he remains cold and haughty, slowly warming up to you. Until one disappointing night you return from a failed date and Jongseob offers the raw relief you both desperately need.
Hybrid au, enemies to ?, smut, fluff
Wc:~5.9k
Warnings: mention of abuse on hybrids, unprotected sex, fingering, hickey, multiple orgasms, knot, creampie, scent marking
A/N: my first piwon fic! I'm so happy!
The adoption center smelled of antiseptic, wet fur and the faint metallic tang of fear. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like insects, casting shadows across rows of reinforced glass enclosures. You clutched the strap of your bag tighter as you followed the staff member down the sterile hallway, your shoes squeaking against the floor.
"Ma’am, I really need you to understand what you’re walking into" the handler said for the third time, her voice clipped with professional caution. She was a middle-aged woman with a clipboard and a no-nonsense bun. "Jongseob is… difficult. Orange tabby hybrid, 23 years old. He’s been here eight months and has racked up more incident reports than any resident in his age group."
You nodded, throat tight. You had read the online listing twice before coming. The photo showed a young man with messy blonde hair that fell into sharp, golden-brown eyes, matching the striped ears perched atop his head. His tail: thick and fluffy with distinct darker rings, had been caught mid-lash in the picture, as if the camera itself annoyed him.
"Bit three handlers last month" the woman continued. "Shredded his bedding, refused meals for four days straight and yesterday he threw a chair at the wall when we told him about the transfer. The facility up north is… stricter. They handle aggressive hybrids with reinforced protocols. Sedation if necessary. Shock collars in extreme cases."
Your stomach twisted. You had come here on impulse after seeing the urgent notice: "Urgent Relocation: Behavioral Risk." The idea of a living being, hybrid or not, being shipped off to a place that sounded more like a prison than a shelter made your chest ache. You weren’t naive. You knew hybrids with "bad behavior" often ended up in cycles of punishment that only made them worse. But something in that angry photo had pulled at you.
"I still want to meet him" you said quietly.
The handler sighed but led you to the last enclosure on the left. The glass was thicker here, with visible scuff marks and a hairline crack in one corner. Inside, a lean figure sat on the narrow bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up. Bright orange tabby ears twitched at the sound of footsteps. A long, striped tail flicked once, then stilled.
Jongseob didn’t look up.
Even slouched, he had an undeniable presence: sharp jawline, full lips pressed into a thin line and those golden eyes that finally lifted when the handler tapped on the glass.
The glare he leveled at both of you could have curdled milk.
"Jongseob" the handler said through the intercom, voice artificially bright. "You have a visitor. This is-"
"Don’t care." His voice was lower than you expected, a little raspy, like he hadn’t used it much lately. He looked back down at his hands, claws short but visibly sharp, digging into the knees of his sweatpants.
You stepped closer to the glass. "Hi."
No response. His tail gave one irritated lash against the mattress.
The handler cleared her throat. "He’s scheduled for transfer tomorrow morning. If you’re serious about adoption, we can fast-track the paperwork. But I have to warn you, once he’s in your home, he’s your responsibility. No refunds, no returns. And if he becomes violent, authorities will intervene."
You swallowed. "I understand."
Twenty minutes later, you were in a small meeting room signing documents while Jongseob waited in the hallway, wrists loosely cuffed as per protocol for high-risk transfers. The handler kept shooting you worried glances, but you kept your focus on the forms. Name. Address. Hybrid care agreement. Acknowledgment of behavioral history.
When everything was stamped and filed, they brought him in.
Up close, he was taller than the photos suggested, lean but not fragile, with the quiet muscle tone of someone who paced enclosures instead of exercising willingly. His orange ears were pinned flat against his messy hair and his tail lashed behind him in wide, aggressive arcs. A faint scent of citrus and something warmer, like sun-warmed wood, clung to him beneath the clinical smell of the center.
Jongseob stared at you without blinking. Golden eyes narrowed, pupils slitted.
"You’re making a mistake" he said flatly. It wasn’t a threat exactly, more like a bored statement of fact.
"Maybe" you replied, keeping your voice soft. "But I’d rather make it than let them ship you somewhere they’ll hurt you."
His ears flicked once (surprise, maybe) but the scowl returned instantly. "I don’t need your pity."
"It’s not pity." You signed the final page and slid it across the table. "It’s a chance."
The handler removed his cuffs with visible reluctance. Jongseob rubbed his wrists, rolling his shoulders like the restraints had personally offended him. When they handed him a thin plastic bag containing his few belongings: a couple of worn shirts, a notebook and a small plush mouse toy that looked like it had been through war, he snatched it without thanks.
The drive home was silent. You kept both hands on the wheel, glancing sideways every few minutes. Jongseob sat in the passenger seat like it was a cage, spine straight, tail curled tightly around his own waist. He stared out the window at the passing city, jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump.
"You can play music if you want" you offered after ten minutes.
No answer.
"Or adjust the seat. Whatever’s comfortable."
Still nothing.
You bit your lip and focused on the road. The apartment wasn’t far: twenty minutes through light traffic, but it felt eternal under the weight of his silence. When you finally pulled into the underground parking, he didn’t move even after you turned off the engine.
"Jongseob?"
His ears twitched at his name.
"This is home now. My place. Yours too, if you want it to be."
He let out a short, humorless breath through his nose. "Home" he repeated, tasting the word like it was bitter. "Right."
You unlocked the door to your apartment and stepped inside first, leaving it open for him. It was a modest two-bedroom place, cozy living room with a big couch, small kitchen and a second bedroom you had hurriedly prepared with fresh sheets, a cat tree by the window, and a scratching post. Nothing fancy, but safe. Clean. His.
Jongseob crossed the threshold like he expected the floor to bite him. He stopped in the middle of the living room, bag still clutched in one hand and scanned everything with those sharp golden eyes. His tail flicked once, twice, then wrapped around his leg again.
"Your room is down the hall on the left" you said gently. "Bathroom is next to it. Fridge is stocked, help yourself to anything. No locked doors here. You’re free to move around."
He didn’t acknowledge you. Instead, he walked straight past you toward the hallway, shoulders tense. At the door to his room, he paused, one orange ear swiveling back toward you.
"You’re either incredibly stupid or you have a death wish" he muttered without turning around. "Either way, don’t expect me to play nice."
Then he stepped inside and closed the door with a firm click.
You stood there for a long moment, heart pounding. The apartment felt different already, charged with the presence of someone who clearly didn’t want to be here, yet whom you had chosen to protect anyway.
From behind the closed door came the faint sound of the bag hitting the floor, followed by the creak of the bed as he dropped onto it.
You exhaled slowly, leaning against the kitchen counter. This was going to be hard. But as you looked at the closed door and pictured those angry golden eyes and the bright orange stripes on his ears, you felt something stubborn settle in your chest.
The first week with Jongseob felt like living with a storm cloud that had learned how to walk on two legs.
He barely left his room. The door stayed closed most of the time and when you passed by in the hallway you could hear the faint rustle of pages or the soft thump of his tail hitting the mattress. You left food on the counter: simple things like grilled chicken, rice and fresh salmon you’d read hybrids liked and it would disappear by evening, but he never ate in front of you. Never said thank you. Never even looked at you directly.
His orange ears were almost always pinned back whenever he did emerge and that thick, striped tail lashed like a warning flag. One morning you caught him in the kitchen, standing on tiptoes to reach a high cabinet, his hair messy from sleep and his tail flicking irritably. The moment your footsteps sounded, he dropped back down and retreated without a word, leaving the cabinet door swinging.
You gave him space. Lots of it. You worked from home most days, typing quietly in the living room with headphones on so he wouldn’t feel watched. At night you left the hallway light on low, just in case his nocturnal hybrid instincts made him wander. Sometimes you heard him at 3 am: soft pads of bare feet, the click of the fridge, a low grumble that might have been a complaint or a purr you weren’t allowed to hear yet.
By the end of week two, small changes appeared.
He started leaving his door cracked open an inch. Not enough for easy conversation, but enough that you could glimpse the orange tabby ears twitching when you walked past. One evening you came home from grocery shopping and found him on the couch, not sitting properly, but perched on the armrest like a wary gargoyle, golden eyes fixed on the television. You had left a nature documentary playing by accident. Big cats stalking through tall grass.
He didn’t move when you entered. Didn’t acknowledge you. But he stayed for the entire episode, tail occasionally curling in slow, thoughtful loops instead of angry lashes.
You risked a quiet comment. "They’re beautiful, aren’t they? The tigers."
Silence. Then, barely audible "They’re not locked in glass boxes."
Your heart squeezed. You didn’t push. You just put the groceries away and left a bowl of cut strawberries on the coffee table before retreating to your own room.
Month one bled into month two.
Jongseob’s haughtiness remained, but it softened at the edges. He scoffed less. He watched you sometimes: quick, sidelong glances when he thought you weren’t looking. His orange stripes caught the sunlight beautifully when he lounged near the window in the afternoons, ears perked toward distant birdsong. You noticed he liked warmth. He would stretch out on the rug where the sun pooled, belly up in the most undignified pose, one paw dangling lazily. The first time you saw it, you had to bite your lip to keep from smiling. The fierce, cold hybrid from the center looked… almost silly. Goofy in that classic orange-cat way.
He still refused to speak much. When he did, his voice carried that same raspy edge, laced with superiority.
"You’re burning the rice again" he muttered one night from the doorway while you cooked.
You turned, surprised. "Want to help?"
His ears flattened. "No." But he didn’t leave. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, tail swaying. After a moment he added, grudgingly, "Add more water or it’ll stick."
You followed the advice. The rice turned out perfect. He ate his portion in his room again, but the next evening he brought the empty bowl back to the sink himself. Little victories.
By the end of month three, the distance had shrunk further.
Rain hammered the windows one Friday night. Thunder rolled low and heavy. You were curled on the couch with a blanket and a book when the power flickered once, twice, then died completely. The apartment plunged into darkness broken only by faint city glow through the curtains.
You heard his door creak open. Soft footsteps. A low, unhappy grumble that sounded suspiciously like a muffled hiss at the weather.
"Jongseob?" you called gently. "There are candles in the drawer under the TV. Flashlight too, if you want."
No answer at first. Then the couch dipped at the far end. You glanced over. He had settled on the opposite armrest, knees drawn up, tail wrapped tightly around his ankles. His orange ears were visible even in the dimness, swiveling toward every rumble of thunder.
You lit a couple of candles. Warm light danced across the room, highlighting the darker stripes on his tail and the soft fluff at the tips of his ears.
"Scared of storms?" you asked, keeping your tone light and non-judgmental.
A scoff. "I’m not a kitten."
But he didn’t move away. When the thunder cracked especially loud, his tail puffed up slightly before he forced it back down. You pretended not to notice.
After twenty minutes of silence, you offered "I can put on some music from my phone. Or we can just sit. Whatever you prefer."
He didn’t reply for a long time. Then, quietly "Music. Something without words."
You played soft instrumental piano. The rain eased into a steady patter. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jongseob slid down from the armrest until he was actually sitting on the cushion, still at the far end, still rigid, but closer than he had ever been.
When the power came back an hour later, he stood without a word and returned to his room. But the next morning you found a single flower stem left neatly on the counter, like a tiny thank-you note he couldn’t voice.
Month four brought the first deliberate touch.
You had come down with a nasty cold: fever, aches, the works. You spent the day drifting in and out of sleep on the couch, tissues scattered like fallen leaves. Jongseob had been unusually absent all morning. You assumed he was avoiding your germs.
Around dusk, you woke to the smell of ginger tea. A steaming mug sat on the coffee table, along with a plate of plain crackers and a small bottle of medicine you kept in the cabinet.
Jongseob was perched on the back of the couch like a cat on a fence, watching you with those golden eyes. His ears were forward for once, not flattened.
"You look pathetic" he said, but there was no real bite in it. More like observation.
You managed a weak laugh. "Thanks."
He jumped down gracefully, tail balancing him. For a moment he hovered, claws flexing against the carpet. Then, with visible effort, he reached out and brushed the back of his knuckles against your forehead, testing temperature the way hybrids sometimes did, instinctive and careful.
"You’re too warm" he muttered. His voice had dropped lower, almost gentle. "Drink the tea. It helps with the congestion."
Before you could thank him, he retreated to the kitchen, but he didn’t close his door that night. You fell asleep to the faint sound of him humming an off-key, raspy little tune that might have been embarrassment or comfort.
By the start of month five, the ice had truly begun to melt.
Jongseob greeted you when you came home from errands. Not with enthusiasm, exactly, but with a quiet "You’re back" and a flick of his striped tail that no longer looked angry. He started watching shows with you, sitting on the couch properly now, though still leaving a full cushion between you. His favorite seemed to be anything with animals or quiet slice-of-life stories. During one particularly emotional scene, his ears drooped and his tail curled toward you without him seeming to notice.
You risked reaching out one evening. Slowly, telegraphing every movement, you rested your hand on the cushion near his tail. He tensed, golden eyes narrowing.
"I won’t touch without asking" you promised softly. "But… if you ever want scratches or anything, just say."
He stared at your hand for a long moment. Then, with the haughtiness that still lingered like an old habit, he shifted so the fluffy tip of his tail brushed your fingers once. Testing. It was warm. Silky. The darker rings felt slightly coarser.
You stayed perfectly still.
After that, the touches grew braver on his terms.
He would lean against the kitchen counter while you cooked, close enough that his shoulder occasionally bumped yours. One rainy afternoon he dragged his cat tree closer to your desk so he could "supervise" your work from above, orange ears perked, occasionally batting at your pen when you set it down.
The breakthrough came on a quiet Thursday night.
You were on the couch, half-watching a drama, when Jongseob padded in and sat directly beside you, no gap this time. His body heat radiated through the thin fabric of his shirt. He smelled like warm citrus and the faint woodsy scent that was purely him.
Without looking at you, he tilted his head slightly, exposing the soft spot behind his left ear.
You understood immediately.
Your fingers were gentle, slow circles at first, then light scratches. A deep, rumbling purr vibrated through his chest almost instantly. He tried to swallow it, cheeks flushing beneath the ginger hair, but the sound rolled out anyway, rich and involuntary.
"Shut up" he grumbled, but he leaned into your hand, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
You smiled. "It’s a nice sound."
"Annoying" he countered, yet he didn’t pull away. His tail curled loosely around your wrist, holding you there as if afraid you’d stop.
That night he fell asleep on the couch beside you, head eventually dropping onto your shoulder. His orange ears twitched in dreams, and his purr never fully faded.
The remaining weeks of the fifth month settled into something warmer, quieter, and infinitely more comfortable.
Jongseob still had his haughty moments: scoffing at bad jokes, claiming he only watched your shows because there was nothing better, rolling his eyes when you cooed over how cute his stripes looked in the sunlight. But the coldness was gone. He helped with chores without being asked, silently loading the dishwasher while you cooked. He left little gifts: a perfectly folded blanket on your bed when you seemed tired, or a single flower he’d plucked from the balcony planter tucked into your notebook.
Conversations grew easier. He told you fragments of his life before the center: street days, rough shelters, the anger that had kept him alive but isolated. You shared pieces of yours in return. He listened with those golden eyes focused entirely on you, ears forward, tail occasionally brushing your leg in quiet solidarity.
One evening, as the five-month mark approached, you found him curled up on the couch waiting for you, a bowl of popcorn already made, slightly burnt, but the thought counted.
He looked up when you entered, orange hair tousled, a small, almost shy smirk tugging at his lips.
"Took you long enough" he said, voice warm with that familiar rasp. "Movie’s starting. Sit."
You did. And when his tail wrapped comfortably around your waist this time, neither of you commented on it.
The front door clicked shut behind you with a sound far too loud in the quiet apartment. Your heels, already kicked off in the entryway, left damp prints on the floor from the light drizzle outside. The date had been a disaster from the appetizers onward: awkward small talk, a guy who spent half the evening checking his phone, and a polite but unmistakable "I’ll call you" that really meant "never again". You felt hollow, the kind of lonely that settled heavy in your chest and made every step toward the living room feel like wading through water.
The lights were low, just the warm glow of the floor lamp and the faint blue flicker of the TV on mute. Jongseob was sprawled across the couch exactly where you had left him five hours ago, orange tabby ears perked slightly at the sound of your return, one leg dangling off the cushion, striped tail lazily flicking over the armrest. He wore the oversized black hoodie you’d bought him last month. Golden eyes lifted from the screen and narrowed the moment they landed on your face.
"You’re back early" he observed, voice carrying that familiar raspy edge, though softer now than it had been months ago. He sat up slowly, tail curling into a loose question mark behind him. "Date sucked?"
You dropped your bag on the chair and rubbed your temples, trying for a laugh that came out brittle. "Yeah. Spectacularly. He talked about his fantasy football league for forty minutes straight and then asked if I minded splitting the check because he didn't want to pay for a girl he wouldn't fuck." You shrugged out of your jacket, shoulders slumping. "I just… wanted to feel wanted for one night, you know? Not like a backup plan."
Jongseob’s ears twitched backward, then forward again. He watched you with an intensity that had grown familiar over the last five months: less hostile, more attentive. The cold, haughty hybrid who had once glared at you through reinforced glass was gone. In his place was someone who left flowers on the counter, who purred when you scratched behind his ears, who curled his tail around your wrist like an anchor. But he still carried that proud tilt to his chin, the subtle superiority in the way he moved, like the world owed him softness and he was only now learning how to accept it.
He stood in one fluid motion, bare feet silent on the rug. The hoodie hung loose on his lean frame, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his tail lashed once before settling. "You smell like disappointment and cheap cologne" he muttered, stepping closer. Citrus and warm wood from his deodorant filled the space between you: his scent, stronger now that he no longer hid in his room all day. "And you look like you’re about to cry in the shower again."
"I’m not-" Your protest died when his hand came up, knuckles brushing your cheek in that instinctive hybrid way he had developed. Testing temperature, comfort, truth. His claws were retracted, but the rough pads of his fingers were warm.
"Sit" he said simply, nodding toward the couch.
You obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a tired sigh. Jongseob didn’t retreat to his usual spot at the far end. Instead, he sat right beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours. The contact sent a small spark through you, familiar comfort mixed with something new, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. His tail flicked, then draped casually over your lap, the fluffy striped tip brushing your knee.
For a long minute, neither of you spoke. The muted TV cast shifting lights across his blonde hair. His ears stayed forward, listening to every small shift in your breathing.
"I hate this" you admitted finally, voice small. "Coming home feeling like… like I’m too much or not enough. Like no one actually sees me."
Jongseob’s golden eyes darkened. He turned toward you fully, one arm resting along the back of the couch so his fingers could toy with a strand of your hair. The gesture was gentle, but there was tension in his jaw, a faint flush beneath the light freckles scattered across his nose. "You’re not too much" he said, raspy tone dropping lower. "And you’re definitely not invisible. Not to me."
Your heart stuttered. In five months he had never been this direct. Playful jabs, quiet admissions during late-night talks, the occasional nuzzle against your shoulder when he thought you were asleep, yes. But this? This felt like the final crack in the wall he had built around himself at the center.
He exhaled through his nose, ears flicking with visible frustration at his own hesitation. "Look… we’ve both been dancing around this. You come home from these shitty dates smelling like rejection. I sit here every night, pretending I’m not waiting for you, pretending I don’t notice how your scent changes when you’re lonely. We’re both alone. Both deprived." His tail tightened slightly around your leg, possessive in a way that made heat bloom in your belly. "I’ve been sex-deprived for longer than I want to admit. And you… you deserve to feel wanted tonight."
Your breath caught. "Jongseob…"
"I’m not offering romance or promises right now" he continued, voice husky, golden eyes locked on yours with that haughty intensity softened by genuine need. "Just relief. We’re both frustrated. Both stuck in this apartment pretending we don’t want each other. So let me fuck you. Let me make you forget that idiot who couldn’t see how fucking perfect you are."
The words hung between you, heavy and electric. Five months of slow warming, his cold distance melting into quiet companionship, tentative touches turning into comfortable cuddles, haughty scoffs becoming soft purrs, crashed into this moment. Your body responded before your mind could catch up: a rush of warmth, thighs pressing together instinctively.
He noticed. Of course he did. Those sharp hybrid senses picked up the shift in your scent, the quickening of your pulse. A low rumble started in his chest, not quite a purr yet, but close. "Say yes or tell me to fuck off. I won’t push."
You reached up, fingers brushing one orange ear. It twitched under your touch, then angled into your palm. "Yes" you whispered. "Please."
The tension snapped.
Jongseob moved with feline grace, cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss that started fierce and quickly deepened. His lips were softer than you expected, warm and insistent, the faint roughness of his tongue tracing your lower lip before slipping inside. He tasted like the mint tea he’d been drinking earlier, with an underlying sweetness that was purely him. One hand slid to the back of your neck, claws lightly pricking your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine without hurting.
You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, purring now: deep, vibrating, the sound you had come to love over the months. His tail wrapped fully around your waist, tugging you closer until you were nearly in his lap. The hoodie he wore brushed against your shirt, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the lean muscle hidden beneath soft fabric.
"Bedroom or here?" he murmured against your lips, voice rough with want. His free hand trailed down your side, slipping under the hem of your blouse to stroke warm skin.
"Here" you decided, breathless. The couch had witnessed so many quiet evenings together; it felt right.
He didn’t need telling twice. In one smooth motion he had you on your back, hovering over you with orange ears folded back in concentration, golden eyes glowing with hunger. His tail lashed once before curling around your thigh, holding you open as he settled between your legs. Clothes came off in a hurried, clumsy dance: your blouse tossed aside, his hoodie yanked over his head to reveal the striped markings that trailed down his chest and along his ribs, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants. You traced them with your fingertips, earning a shudder and a low growl.
"Sensitive there" he admitted, voice strained. He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm, then nipped lightly at your wrist with sharp teeth. "Been wanting your hands on me for weeks."
You arched up, kissing him again while your fingers explored the warm skin, the faint roughness where fur would be in his more feline moments. Jongseob’s hands were everywhere, cupping your breasts through your bra, thumbs circling until your nipples hardened, then sliding lower to unbutton your pants. He peeled them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving you bare beneath him. The cool air made you shiver; his body heat chased it away as he pressed flush against you.
"Beautiful" he rasped, golden eyes raking over you with open appreciation. No haughtiness now, just raw, honest desire. His tail stroked the inside of your thigh, the fluffy tip teasing sensitive skin. "Smell so good when you’re like this. Wet for me already."
Heat flooded your cheeks, but you didn’t deny it. His fingers found you slick and ready, circling your clit with practiced care that made your hips buck. One digit slipped inside, then two, curling just right while his rough tongue lapped at your neck, tracing your pulse point. The purr in his chest intensified, vibrating against your breasts as he kissed lower, sucking a mark just above your collarbone.
"Jongseob..." Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly at the base of his ears. He moaned, the sound breaking into a needy growl and pumped his fingers faster, thumb pressing firm circles until your thighs trembled.
"Not yet" he whispered, withdrawing his hand despite your whine. He shoved his sweatpants down, freeing his cock: hard, flushed, with a slight upward curve and faint ridges that made your mouth water. The base had a thicker swell, hinting at hybrid anatomy you hadn’t fully explored yet. Precum beaded at the tip and he stroked himself once, eyes half-lidded. "Want to feel you around me when you cum the first time."
He positioned himself, rubbing the head through your folds, coating himself in your arousal. The teasing drag made you both groan. Then he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you with a burn that quickly melted into pleasure. His tail tightened around your waist, anchoring you as he bottomed out with a shaky exhale.
"Fuck… so tight" he growled, forehead dropping to yours. His ears were flat against his hair, pupils blown wide. "Been dreaming about this. Holding back every time you touched my ears or let me curl up on you."
You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper. "Then stop holding back."
That was all the permission he needed.
Jongseob’s thrusts started deep and measured, rolling his hips in a way that hit every sensitive spot inside you. Each stroke dragged those subtle ridges along your walls, sending sparks of pleasure radiating outward. His claws dug lightly into your hips, not breaking skin, just enough to ground you as he picked up pace. The couch creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. His purring had turned into low, rhythmic growls that vibrated through his chest and into yours where your bodies pressed together.
You met him thrust for thrust, hands roaming his back, feeling the flex of muscle and the soft fur at the base of his tail. When you scratched there, right where the stripes met skin, he hissed in pleasure and slammed in harder, angling to brush your clit with his hips with every movement.
"Again" he demanded, voice wrecked. "Scratch harder...fuck, yes..."
You obliged, nails digging into the sensitive spot. His rhythm faltered for a second, then resumed with renewed urgency. Sweat slicked your skin; his orange hair stuck to his forehead, golden eyes locked on your face like he was memorizing every gasp and moan.
He shifted, hooking one of your legs higher over his arm, opening you wider. The new angle made him hit deeper, the swell at the base of his cock catching on your entrance with every thrust. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, building fast.
"Close" you gasped.
"I know." His lips brushed your ear, rough tongue tracing the shell. "Cum for me. Let me feel it."
The command, delivered in that raspy, haughty-yet-desperate tone, pushed you over. You came with a cry, walls clenching around him in pulsing waves. Jongseob groaned loudly, hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, drawing out every tremor until you were boneless and panting.
But he wasn’t done.
He slowed only long enough to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you were on your knees, chest pressed to the cushions. His tail wrapped around your thigh again, holding you steady as he slid back in from behind in one smooth thrust. The new position made him feel even bigger, deeper. He draped himself over your back, one hand bracing beside your head, the other reaching around to rub your oversensitive clit.
"Second one" he murmured against your shoulder, nipping the skin. "Then I’ll fill you up. Been dying to cum inside you. Mark you so you smell like me instead of some useless date."
His words, filthy and possessive, sent another wave of heat through you. He thrust harder, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room alongside his growls and your moans. His knot began to catch more noticeably, stretching you deliciously on every inward stroke. Orange ears brushed your hair as he nuzzled your neck, purring brokenly.
You reached back, fingers finding his ear again and stroking firmly. Jongseob shuddered violently, hips snapping forward with a choked moan. "Shit, do that and I won’t last."
"Good" you breathed. "Want you to lose control."
He did. The careful rhythm shattered into desperate, deep thrusts. His claws pricked your hips, tail squeezing tight. The hand on your clit moved faster, rough pads circling until you were shaking again, teetering on the edge.
"Cum with me" he moaned, voice breaking. "Now..."
You came for the second time, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed over you harder than before. Jongseob followed right after, burying himself deep as his knot swelled fully, locking you together. He came with a raw, shaky moan that dissolved into a loud, rumbling purr, pulsing hot inside you. The sensation of being filled, claimed, while his body trembled against yours, prolonged your orgasm until you were both gasping, spent.
For several long minutes, the only sounds were heavy breathing and the fading purr vibrating through his chest. Jongseob carefully maneuvered you both onto your sides on the wide couch, still connected by his knot. His tail wrapped fully around your waist, possessive and warm. One arm draped over you, claws retracted as he stroked lazy circles on your stomach. His orange ears, no longer flat, twitched contentedly against your hair.
"You okay?" he asked softly, the haughtiness gone, replaced by quiet concern. The cold hybrid from the adoption center would never have asked. This version, the one who had warmed over five months, pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
"More than okay" you murmured, reaching back to scratch under his chin. He leaned into it with a soft trill. "That was… exactly what I needed."
He hummed, nuzzling closer. "Good. Because I wasn’t joking about the marking thing. You smell like me now. Better than any cologne from a bad date."
"Only other hybrids can smell it." You laughed weakly, the sound turning into a contented sigh as his knot gradually began to ease. "No more bad dates for a while?"
"None" he agreed, voice dropping back to that husky rasp. "Stay here with me instead. We’ve got five months of catching up to do… and I’m nowhere near done with you tonight."
His hand slid lower, teasing, while his tail stroked your thigh. The promise in his golden eyes, warm now, no longer distant,made heat stir again despite your exhaustion.
The apartment, once filled with tense silence, now held only the soft sounds of two bodies shifting closer, a deep purr and the quiet understanding that the hybrid you had saved from a worse fate had finally saved you right back, in his own haughty, orange-tabby, unexpectedly tender way.
Summary: An ancient Chinese proverb suggests a theory that an invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place and circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle. But it will never break. This theory is known as the "Red String Theory".
Pairing: Jongseob x reader (established relationship)
Genre: Fluff, slice of life, Cheesy but i love cheese so
Word count: 1.3k
Authors note: this may or may not lowkey suck because when I got the idea it seemed so good but idk if it was conveyed well.... anyways wanted to write it regardless so i hope u enjoy:')
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"Oh my God! Is this you?" Jongseob held the glossy photo up with a wide smile.
There you were, a round-cheeked baby with soapy hair sticking up every which way, sitting in a tub full of bubbles. You were mid giggle, toothless and overjoyed by whatever was happening behind the camera.
"I was adorable," you said, trying to snatch it from him.
He pulled it back, holding it closer to his face. "No, please, look at those cheeks." He tapped the photo with his fingertip, his smile overly fond. "You were the cutest baby I've ever seen. What happened?"
You smacked his arm despite your laughter. "Rude."
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." He finally let you take it only after memorizing every detail. "You're still cute. Just less... squishy."
"Wow. Thanks."
He was already digging back through the box of old photos your parents had passed onto you, on a mission to find more adorable baby photos while you continued sorting them into different piles.
From the corner of your eye you saw the smirk creep up on his face.
"What?" you asked, immediately suspicious.
"Oh, nothing," He said smugly, holding a photo just out of your line of sight. "I've just discovered gold."
When he flipped it around you felt your soul leave your body.
You were maybe twelve or thirteen, in what could only be described as your awkward phase. The glasses you wore were far too large for your face, and your hair was choppy and uneven from the craft scissors you'd used to secretly cut it. Not to mention the graphic tee you were wearing with an image of a stylized wolf on it, for reasons you still couldn't explain.
Your eyes widened in alarm, and you lunged.
"No!"
Jongseob scrambled backward just out of reach, clutching the photo above his head safely. "Wait, wait, I need to appreciate this properly—"
"Give it to me!"
"What's with the wolf—"
"I will end you!"
He was laughing so hard he could barely keep his arm up. You launched yourself at him again, landing successfully on his lap, your knees caging his hips as you stretched upward.
His free hand wrapped around your waist to steady you all while still laughing and trying to keep the photo just out of reach.
You finally managed to snatch it from his fingers, crumpling it against your chest as you slumped against him. "This is so embarrassing."
"Well, I think it's cute. Awkward you is still you."
You rolled your eyes at him, fighting to hold back a grin. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever..."
You climbed off of his lap and settled beside him on the floor. You placed the photo in the "don't let see the light of day" pile and continued sorting in silence.
As you neared the bottom of the box, your fingers closed around a photo that made your breath hitch.
It had a small tear at the corner, the colors slightly faded, but the memory of it was vivid in your mind. You were five, sunburned and grinning, standing knee-deep in turquoise water. You smiled at the photo, your chest aching with nostalgia, as Jongseob slid behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder to peer at the photo.
"What's that from?" Jongseob asked, noticing your far away expression.
"My first real trip," you said, the words coming out quitter than you'd intended. "The first one I can actually remember, I mean."
His heart swelled at the warmth in your eye. "You look happy."
"I was," You traced the edge of the photo with your thumb, a smile tugging at your lips. "Actually, I met this kid there. We spent the whole week together, building sandcastles and collecting seashells. I was so upset when we had to leave."
"Your first vacation romance," Jongseob teased, his voice gentle.
You laughed, shaking your head. "I was convinced I was in love with him. But I was like five, so that's unlikely. But I thought about him for months afterward. I kept asking my mom if we could go back because... maybe he'd be there still waiting for me."
You felt your cheeks warm at the memory of your childhood innocence, so earnest and heartbroken over a boy whose name you couldn't even remember.
"I used to make up stories about him. That he was a prince from a faraway land, searching for his lost princess. My mom probably still has the drawings I made."
Jongseob was quiet for a moment as he took in your story. "That's really sweet."
"Embarrassing is what it is." You dropped the photo onto the pile of keepers, your gaze still lingering on it. "Anyway, ancient history."
You didn't notice Jongseob frozen behind you, a different picture from the same trip clutched in his hand.
"Wait," he said.
You turned to see him staring at the photo with an expression you couldn't read, his face paled, his fingers gripping the edges tightly.
"What's wrong?"
Slowly, he turned it toward you. His finger tapped against a figure building a sandcastle at your feet; the boy from your vacation.
You smiled and hummed, "That's him."
"No, that's me."
You blinked at him with a frown. "What?"
"That's me," he said, eyes wide with disbelief. He jabbed the photo again, more insistently. "Look. That's me. Summer 2010. Jeju Island. My family went there for a week."
Jeju Island. You hadn't even mentioned that's where your vacation had been. You stared at the photo as your heart began racing faster.
"What?" you breathed. "A-are you sure—"
"Baby, that's me!" His voice was rising, excitement bleeding through the shock. "Was your trip also on the island?"
Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. You grabbed the photo from him, holding it beside his face, searching to compare their features.
The shape of their eyes. The curve of their smiles.
"Oh my God," you whispered.
"See?" Jongseob was practically shaking beside you. "See? It's me. Oh my god... We—you and me—we—"
"We met when we were kids," you finished, the words barely audible. "Jongseob, I thought about you for months. I—" Your voice broke.
"You were my first love."
You couldn't fathom it. When you first met Jongseob, the connection was immediate. You'd never felt that comfortable with someone so quickly, so understood from just moments of being in each other's presence. There was a familiarity that made you feel safe, seen. Little had you known it was because you weren't meeting for the first time, you were simply reconnecting.
"It's fate," He said it—cutting off your train of thought—like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like there was no need for any other explanation because you were simply meant to be together. "It has to be."
You were crying. You hadn't even noticed when the tears started, but they were streaming down your cheeks, and you couldn't explain the overwhelming feeling that exploded in your chest.
Jongseob reached up and brushed them away with his thumb, his hand lingering against your skin.
"Why are you crying," he murmured, his bright eyes lighting up your own. "This is a good thing. It's incredible."
"I know," you managed. "I know, I just—I love you so much."
You shook your head and then your lips were on his. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head back as his mouth pushed against yours with a desperation to pour every ounce of his feelings into it.
He pulled you back onto his lap as everything but the warmth of his lips melted away.
"Meant to be," he murmured into the kiss. "You and me. We were always meant to be."
You sighed against his lips as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until he made a sound low in his throat that sent warmth cascading down your spine.
You pulled back with a smile, nuzzling against his chest as you held the photo out between you. He kissed your forehead then wrapped his arms around you, tucking you against him like you—and this moment—were the most precious of all the memories scattered across the floor.
synopsis : You play with your boyfriend’s long hair, trying different styles while he pretends to complain—but in the quiet, soft moments, it becomes clear he doesn’t mind at all.
author’s note : since seob's long hair has been driving me crazy, here's a short oneshot about it 😍
word count : 1.2k
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
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You notice it first on a random Tuesday night.
How much longer his hair has gotten.
It’s not just “a little past his ears” anymore.
It brushes his shoulders now, soft and light, slightly wavy at the ends from being tied up too often.
He’s sitting cross-legged on your bed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, phone in hand, completely unaware of the way you’ve been staring at him for the past five minutes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jongseob finally asks without glancing up.
You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you shift closer, reaching out to gently tug on a strand near his shoulder.
“It’s so long now,” you murmur, almost to yourself.
That gets his attention.
He looks up, blinking. “Yeah? I was thinking of cutting it soon though.”
Your grip tightens instantly. “No.”
He laughs, startled. “No?”
“No,” you repeat, more serious this time, fingers still threaded in his hair like you’re afraid he’ll grab scissors right now and ruin everything. “Please don’t. Not yet.”
Jongseob tilts his head, studying you. There’s a small smile tugging at his lips, the kind he gets when he knows you’re about to say something a little ridiculous.
“…Why?”
You hesitate for half a second—then decide there’s no saving your dignity anyway.
“Because I want to try some hairstyles on you.”
There’s a pause. Then he bursts out laughing.
“Hairstyles?” he repeats, incredulous. “On me?”
You pout, lightly smacking his arm. “I’m serious! Your hair is literally perfect for it right now. It’s soft, it’s long, it’s—” you pause, gathering a handful of it and letting it fall through your fingers, “—cooperative.”
“Cooperative,” he echoes, amused. “Didn’t know my hair had a personality.”
“It does,” you insist. “And it likes me.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling—soft, fond, completely gone for you in that quiet way he always is.
“So what,” he says, setting his phone aside. “You’re just going to turn me into your personal mannequin now?”
You grin.
“Exactly.”
There’s another pause.
He studies you again, this time a little longer.
Then he sighs, dramatic, like he’s about to make a huge sacrifice.
“…Fine.”
Your eyes light up instantly. “Really?”
“Really,” he says, already shifting so he’s sitting with his back facing you. “But if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”
“You won’t,” you promise quickly, already reaching for your scrunchies on the bedside table. “You’re going to look so cute.”
“‘Cute’ is not what I’m going for.”
“Too late,” you mumble.
You start simple.
At first, it’s just a low ponytail.
Your fingers are gentle as you gather his hair, smoothing it back, occasionally brushing against the nape of his neck. He flinches slightly at the contact.
“Ticklish?” you tease.
“No,” he lies immediately.
You smile to yourself and do it again—just a little slower this time.
He exhales. “Okay, maybe a bit.”
You laugh softly, finishing the ponytail and tying it neatly.
“Done.”
He turns his head slightly. “Well?”
You pause.
“…Wait, stay still.”
You grab your phone, snapping a quick picture before he can protest.
“Hey—”
“You look good!” you insist, shoving the phone in front of him.
He squints at the screen. There’s a moment where his expression is unreadable—then his ears turn faintly pink.
“…It’s not terrible,” he admits.
“Not terrible?” you gasp. “That’s basically a compliment from you.”
“Don’t push it.”
You giggle, already reaching for another hair tie.
“Next.”
“What do you mean, ‘next’—”
But he doesn’t actually stop you.
You try a half-up style after that, carefully sectioning the top portion of his hair and tying it into a small bun. Your fingers linger longer this time, absentmindedly combing through the strands as you work.
It’s quiet. Comfortable.
The kind of quiet that only exists when you’re completely at ease with someone.
“…You’re really into this, huh?” Jongseob says softly.
You hum in response, adjusting a few loose strands. “Your hair is nice. I like touching it.”
There’s a small pause.
“…I don’t mind,” he replies.
You freeze for a second—not because of what he said, but how he said it.
Soft. Honest. Like it matters to him that you like it.
Your hands slow.
“Good,” you whisper, almost shy now. “Because I’m not done.”
He chuckles under his breath.
“You’re scary.”
“Shut up.”
You move on to braids next.
It takes longer—your fingers carefully weaving the strands together, occasionally messing up and having to start over. Each time you do, Jongseob just sits there patiently, barely complaining.
“Hold still,” you mumble for the third time.
“I am holding still.”
“You moved.”
“I breathed.”
“That counts.”
He snorts.
Eventually, you manage to finish a simple braid down his back. It’s not perfect—some parts are tighter than others—but you step back anyway, admiring your work like it’s a masterpiece.
“…Okay!” you say. “Now you really look cute.”
He groans. “Again with the ‘cute’—”
But when he turns to face you, there’s no real annoyance in his expression.
Just warmth.
You lean forward before you can think too much about it, gently fixing a stray strand near his face. Your fingers brush his cheek for a second too long.
He stills.
Your breath catches.
“…What?” he asks quietly.
“Nothing,” you say quickly, even though it’s obviously not nothing.
Your hand lingers anyway.
And then—without really planning to—you press a soft kiss to his cheek.
It’s quick. Barely there.
But it’s enough to make him freeze completely.
When you pull back, his face is noticeably red now.
“…You’re so weird sometimes,” he mutters.
You blink. “Me?”
“Yeah,” he says, reaching up to touch the braid like he’s suddenly aware of it again. “You do all this and then act like it’s nothing.”
You tilt your head. “Do what?”
He looks at you—really looks at you this time.
Then he sighs, shaking his head with a small smile.
“Never mind.”
Before you can ask what he means, he reaches out, gently tugging you closer by your wrist until you’re sitting right in front of him.
“Your turn,” he says.
Your eyes widen. “What?”
“You did my hair,” he points out. “It’s only fair.”
“But your hair is longer—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
You open your mouth to argue—but then close it again when you see the way he’s looking at you.
Playful. A little determined.
“…Fine,” you mumble.
He grins.
And it’s a mess.
He’s not nearly as careful as you are—his fingers get tangled, he accidentally pulls too hard at one point (earning a sharp “Ow!” from you), and the end result is… questionable at best.
You stare at your reflection on his phone screen.
“…I look like I lost a fight with a hairbrush.”
“I think it looks good,” he says, completely serious.
You turn to him, deadpan. “You’re lying.”
He shrugs. “Maybe a little.”
You smack his arm, but you’re laughing.
And he’s laughing too.
Eventually, you both collapse onto the bed, side by side, still smiling. His head turns slightly toward you, braid now slightly messy from lying down.
“…Don’t cut it yet,” you say quietly after a moment.
He hums. “Still thinking about that?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a small pause.
“…Okay,” he says.
You blink. “Okay?”
“I won’t cut it,” he repeats. “Not yet.”
You turn your head to look at him. “Just because I asked?”
⋆˚࿔ synopsis. in which you kiss your boyfriend with lip plumper on.
⋆˚࿔ warnings. jongseob is dramatic, kissing.
⋆˚࿔ requests and taglist are open.
author note: something i thought of :o lmk if you guys like more shorter drabbles like this. this was fun to write
your boyfriend was gaming in his room, and you were bored out in the living room.
so a little idea popped into your head to prank him.
you had just gotten a new lip gloss the other day anyway. so it was perfect.
it was a lip plumper.
you got up off of the couch and headed into the bathroom where you had your makeup at.
and you grabbed your lip plumper.
you applied a few layers making sure he would be able to feel it on his lips.
you couldn’t help but giggle as you finished applying it.
you walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where your boyfriend was. “hi seob.” you said softly.
he was sat back in his chair focused on the screen. you could hear the soft clicking of his keyboard and mouse as he played minecraft with his friend shota.
he took one side of his headphones and slid it off his ear. “hi princess. everything okay?”
you nodded as you looked at him. “i just want a kiss.” you pouted trying to make it not suspicious.
his raised his eyebrow. “a kiss? is that all?”
“yes?” you said looking at him.
from the headset, shota’s voice crackled through.
“seob if you die again i’m leaving the server—”
“hold on.” jongseob muttered rolling his chair toward you. “my girlfriend wants attention.”
he then grabbed your waist lazily and pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your lips.
jongseob slowly pulled away, his eyebrows scrunching together. “why is it spicy?”
you bit your lip tryinf to not laugh. “what do you mean?”
“why are your lips spicy?!” he said immediately rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.
you couldn’t help but laugh. “it really worked!”
“you did this on purpose?!” he gasped dramatically “my lips are burning.”
from the headset, shota started laughing. “bro what happened?”
“my girlfriend poisoned me.” he said with a pout.
“it’s lip plumper!” you rolled your eyes playfully.
you wiped the gloss off of your lips and grabbed his face kissing him a few times before he tried to turn it into a makeout.
“HEY I’M STILL ON THE HEADSEAT!” shota laughed.
you pulled away from the kiss. “is that better you big baby.”
