times like this
pairing : boyfriend! jongseob x fem! reader
synopsis : A blackout, a single candle, and a quiet room. Wrapped in blankets and soft laughter, you find that the smallest moments, shared cocoa, gentle touches, and whispered stories, can feel like the warmest home.
genre : slice of life, fluff, comfort, romance, domestic au, contemporary
warnings : none
author’s note : requested by anon ! <3 hope u like it 🫶
word count : 2.5k
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The evening begins gently, like soft piano notes drifting through the quiet of the apartment.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by scattered notebooks, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn, and the television streaming some movie that neither of you is particularly invested in.
Jongseob lounges on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, scrolling lazily through his phone but occasionally tossing a glance at the screen, making small commentary. “Seriously, who writes these plot twists? The main character has zero logic,” he complains, leaning back into the cushions.
You snort, tossing a small throw pillow at him. “And you think you’re better? You’d probably get lost trying to order a coffee.”
He catches it without even trying, laughter spilling out, warm and easy, making your chest tighten in that soft way it always does around him. He rolls his shoulders, stretches one arm behind his head, and lets the laughter fade into a quiet hum, like a gentle background melody.
The rain outside begins tapping lightly against the windows, a soft rhythmic pattern that feels comforting rather than bothersome.
You glance out at the gray blur beyond the glass, then back at him.
Somehow, the patter of raindrops plus the cozy familiarity of the room makes everything feel… right.
Safe. Simple.
You stretch your legs and reach for the mug of cocoa sitting within arm’s reach, steam curling up in delicate swirls, carrying the faint scent of chocolate.
The candle on the table nearby flickers gently, releasing a soothing vanilla scent into the air. You take a slow sip, savoring the warmth, and notice Jongseob’s gaze lingering on the candlelight more than on the screen.
“You like the rain, huh?” you ask softly.
“Yeah… especially nights like this,” he replies, voice low and calm, “it makes everything feel quieter… like the world’s just ours for a little while.”
His shoulder brushes against yours when he shifts slightly on the couch, and you feel the tiniest flutter in your chest. The warmth of his arm against yours is faint, but comforting.
Then, abruptly, the lights flicker once. Twice.
The hum of the refrigerator pauses briefly. The laptop dies mid-scene. You look around the dim room, blinking.
“Uh… did we just lose power?” Jongseob asks, eyebrows knit in mild concern.
“Looks like it,” you say, shrugging with a laugh. “Perfect timing, huh?”
He groans dramatically, leaning back against the couch cushions, arms crossed behind his head, as if surrendering entirely to the situation. “Well… no movie then. Great.”
You grin. “Better, even.”
He smirks, glancing down at you. His lopsided smile is gentle, warm, and the soft candlelight flickering across his face makes it almost glow.
For a heartbeat, the world feels perfectly small, contained, and only yours and his.
He gets up, moving with an easy grace that somehow always looks effortless, and rummages through the kitchen drawers.
A few moments later, he returns, holding a small candle in one hand and a box of matches in the other. The flame flares softly, flickering and casting dancing shadows across the room.
His face is illuminated in gold, eyes soft, hair catching the light just enough to look almost magical.
“Not exactly how I imagined movie night,” he murmurs, voice gentle, almost hesitant. “Maybe it’s better this way,” you reply softly, meeting his gaze for just a fraction longer than usual.
He smiles at that, a little caught off guard, but his expression softens immediately, as if he agrees. There’s something about the darkness, the candlelight, and the quiet togetherness that makes everything feel… tender.
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Next, he rummages in the kitchen again, emerging with two mugs. The cocoa smells rich, chocolatey, and comforting.
He hands one to you, the warmth seeping into your hands, radiating slowly up your arms. “Emergency supplies,” he says proudly, setting the mugs down beside you.
You take a careful sip, letting the heat spread through your chest. Jongseob sits down again, close but not intrusive, shoulder brushing yours lightly.
The rain outside has grown heavier, drumming against the windows, and the candle flickers softly, filling the room with a cozy, golden glow.
You lean slightly closer under the soft blanket that’s draped over your knees. His shoulder brushes yours again, a little more deliberate this time, and your fingers twitch, brushing against his accidentally-on-purpose.
“Want to tell stories?” he asks softly. You nod, smiling.
The candle flickers softly, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. You curl a little closer under the blanket, cocoa warming your hands, and Jongseob adjusts slightly so your knees are pressed together.
Somehow, in the quiet darkness, everything feels closer — your laughter, the rhythm of the rain, the soft brush of his shoulder against yours.
“Alright,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “story time. You first.”
You think for a moment, trying to choose a story that isn’t too embarrassing, but still fun. You settle on the time you accidentally wore two different shoes to school, walking all morning before anyone noticed.
As you recount the details, Jongseob laughs until his chest shakes, eyes crinkling at the corners. His laughter is so warm and unguarded, it makes your cheeks heat up, and you find yourself grinning uncontrollably, wishing this moment could stretch forever.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that happened to you!” he teases, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own.
“Hey! It was a fashion statement,” you defend, playfully poking his ribs.
His laugh turns into a soft chuckle, more intimate this time. He leans back slightly, brushing the back of his hand over his forehead, and you notice how close he is.
Your hands brush — not on purpose at first, just by accident — but the contact lingers. Neither of you moves away.
“Okay, my turn,” he says finally, a little breathless from laughing.
He tells a story from his trainee days, the one where he got lost in the practice building and had to crawl through a vent to get back to the main room.
His words are light, funny, but there’s a softness in his voice you’ve never noticed before. It makes you realize how rare these quiet, shared moments are, and how much you treasure them.
“I can’t believe you actually did that,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.
He glances at you, eyes catching the candlelight. There’s a faint smile tugging at his lips, something tender and gentle, and he brushes a stray hair from your face.
“You’d do the same for me,” he says quietly.
Your chest warms. You nod without thinking.
The blanket slips a little lower, tangled around both your legs, and you scoot imperceptibly closer. His shoulder nudges yours, subtle but deliberate. Your fingers brush again.
This time, neither of you moves away.
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The rain has grown steady now, a rhythmic drum that fills the silence between your words.
Candlelight flickers across the room, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. Your cocoa mugs lie empty beside you, marshmallow remnants sticky on your fingers.
The blanket is fully tangled around the two of you, soft and warm, and Jongseob’s shoulder rests lightly against yours.
“Hey,” he says, voice low, “want to play a game?”
You glance at him, curious. “What kind of game?” “Something fun,” he says, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Shadow puppets.”
He scoots slightly away from the couch, and the candlelight creates a perfect wall of shadows. He starts shaping his hands into a clumsy dog, complete with flapping fingers for ears.
You can’t help but laugh, throwing your head back, the sound mingling with the soft tapping of rain against the window.
“That’s… terrible,” you tease, trying to create a cat but ending up with something that looks more like a blob.
“It’s perfect,” he says with mock seriousness, crouching closer to correct your fingers. His hands hover near yours, brushing softly, and a shiver runs through your chest.
You both laugh so much that the shadows keep falling apart, collapsing into unrecognizable shapes, only to be rebuilt again.
The playful competition stretches on — whispering silly riddles, tossing tiny challenges, pretending to have a “marshmallow duel.”
Each time your fingers touch, each time his shoulder presses a little closer, your chest flutters in a warm, gentle way.
After a while, you collapse against him, laughing until your ribs ache. He drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his chest.
You can feel the warmth radiating from him, steady and comforting.
“I could stay like this forever,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low, almost a sigh. You nuzzle your head against his chest, closing your eyes for a moment. “Me too,” you whisper.
The game ends, the shadows fade, but neither of you moves. The quiet, the warmth, the gentle touch of his hand holding yours — it all feels like home.
“Wanna tell more stories?” he asks, fingers brushing softly along your arm.
You nod, settling more comfortably against him.
You trade memories — funny moments from your childhood, embarrassing encounters, dreams that feel safer shared in the candlelit darkness.
Jongseob listens attentively, eyes soft, occasionally brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, thumbs stroking the back of your hand.
At some point, the stories become less about the past and more about feelings.
Little confessions slip out, almost without thought, gentle truths about how much the night matters, how safe it feels, how much you both treasure these small moments together.
“I like that we can just… be here,” he admits softly. “No one else, no distractions… just us.”
Your chest tightens, warm and full. You squeeze his hand gently. “I like it too,” you murmur.
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The night stretches on.
The candle burns lower, shadows flickering across the walls. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he tilts his cheek against the top of your hair.
The blanket slips further down, cocooning the two of you in warmth. Every brush of his fingers, every gentle squeeze of your hand, every soft laugh feels slow and deliberate, like time itself is stretching to accommodate this quiet, perfect night.
Eventually, the warmth, the comfort, and the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you toward sleep. You hear him whisper, almost dreamily, “Goodnight…” and you murmur it back without opening your eyes.
The rain outside becomes a lullaby, the flickering candlelight a gentle glow, and the world feels safe, quiet, and entirely yours.
Even as sleep takes you, you feel his hand loosely entwined with yours, his shoulder pressing gently against yours, and a faint, soft smile lingers on both your lips.
Tonight, with Jongseob, is everything — laughter, warmth, tenderness, and the kind of comfort that makes your chest ache with quiet happiness.
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The first light of morning seeps softly through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold.
Outside, the rain has faded to a gentle drizzle, leaving the world fresh and quiet. The hum of the refrigerator, the faint buzz of the returning power — it all filters in slowly, but the magic of last night hasn’t disappeared.
You stir, blinking against the gentle light. The blanket is tangled around both of you, warm and comforting, and your shoulder is pressed against Jongseob’s chest. He’s still there, eyes half-closed, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.
His hand rests lightly over yours, thumb brushing in soft, languid circles.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice husky from sleep. “Morning,” you reply, voice soft, almost a whisper, your chest still full from the warmth of last night.
Neither of you moves immediately. Why would you?
The cocoon you shared — the gentle warmth, the soft comfort of his body against yours, the faint smell of cocoa lingering — feels like the safest place in the world.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, voice low.
“Perfectly,” you say honestly, smiling as your fingers tighten lightly around his. “Better than I ever could have expected.”
He chuckles softly, the sound still warm and comforting even in the early morning. His thumb strokes yours absentmindedly as he sits up slightly, careful not to disturb the blanket that keeps you both nestled together.
Eventually, hunger — mild but persistent — reminds you both of the world beyond the couch. Jongseob stretches, the movement slow, casual, golden-hued morning light catching the curve of his hair.
“I can make breakfast,” he offers. “Pancakes? Or waffles?”
“Both sound amazing,” you say with a grin, sitting up a little and brushing the blanket off your legs.
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In the kitchen, he moves with easy grace, still half-asleep but fully attentive to you.
Flour dusts the counter as he mixes the batter, and you can’t resist playfully poking his shoulder when a small puff lands on his sleeve.
“Hey! That’s cheating,” he protests, laughing softly as he flicks a tiny bit back at you. “All’s fair in pancake wars,” you tease.
By the time the batter is ready, the kitchen smells like warm vanilla and sizzling butter.
He hands you a spatula for flipping, and you can’t help but notice how natural it feels — your hands brushing as you take it, the easy laughter, the gentle teasing. It’s ordinary, mundane even, but somehow, with him, it feels like magic.
The pancakes are imperfect — slightly uneven, a little too golden in spots — but you don’t care.
He places the plate in front of you with a proud grin. “Masterpiece,” he declares. “Absolutely,” you reply, and your fingers brush again as you reach for a fork.
You eat together, sharing bites, sipping the leftover cocoa, and laughing over small jokes. Every glance at him, every accidental touch, makes your chest warm in a way that words can’t fully capture.
After breakfast, you curl up on the couch again, this time with fresh blankets, soft sunlight streaming in.
Jongseob drapes an arm around your shoulders, holding you close while you both talk quietly about nothing in particular — plans for the day, the lingering drizzle outside, what you want to watch next.
“I wish mornings were always like this,” he murmurs, voice soft, almost dreamy. “Me too,” you reply, leaning into him. “With you.”
He smiles, resting his chin lightly on your head.
The sunlight warms your face, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth radiating from his shoulder against yours.
Fingers intertwine again, soft and lazy, and you realize that mornings with him — quiet, unhurried, wrapped in small comforts — are as magical as the blackout night that preceded it.
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For the next hour, the world outside can wait.
There are no obligations, no noise, no rush. There’s only you, Jongseob, blankets, sunshine, and the afterglow of laughter and candlelight.
Every touch, every soft word, every quiet laugh cements the feeling that moments like these — ordinary yet extraordinary — are what you’ll remember forever.
And as he strokes your hair gently, humming a little tune under his breath, you think: maybe home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s a person.
And right now, it’s him.
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© lcvejjoong, 2025
