" I prefer subtle elegance over obvious showiness. I pursue that same balance in music—honesty within natural expression. If I can convey sincerity within simplicity, that’s ideal."
SUMMARY. Your older boyfriend Jimin is the epitome of patience—kind, gentle, and endlessly composed, because this is definitely not his first rodeo. But every man has his limits, and patient, loving Jimin has his too. Your first night staying over teaches you what it really means to be touched by a man.
warnings. dom!jimin x sub!reader, age gap, jimin is in early 30’s reader is in early 20s, nasty filthy smut, NSFW, penetration, oral sex, light impact play, size kink, praise + degradation, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, light biting, light coercion theme but nothing crazy
Jimin was an incredibly patient man, you’d come to realize. He held open doors for you, refilled your wine glass, cracked open your jars when you cooked. He showed up when you were drunk at the club to drive you home, put up with your millions of questions, let you tease him about his small hands. That was one of the many pluses of pursuing an older guy, you thought. They were too experienced to be annoyed.
But his patience was now making the pits of your stomach sour and tightening at your throat.
You knew he was a gentleman, he would never push. But you didn’t want to disappoint the somehow incredibly gorgeous man that had fallen into your orbit. When he had requested to stay the night, you’d agreed eagerly letting a string of quick “yes’s” fall out of your lips on the phone. But you knew what that usually meant, and you weren’t sure how to go about it. It wasn’t like the thought of fucking him was anything less than surreal, but you were the type that spiraled into a spitball of anxiety at even the meerest of tasks, getting to this stage with Jimin was eating you alive.
Your gentle toned, dulcet voice Jimin was perched by your side, leaning in as you showed him your Prime day shopping cart. You liked having him so close, his scent was always a subtle mixture of soap and an earthy masculine cologne that was probably much more expensive than you realized.
“And I thought about refilling my primer, but this one is on discount so I might get the more expensive one.” You added, as you jabbed a finger at the computer screen.
“Hmm..” Jimin hummed, running a tight hand through his hair. How sweet, you thought. He always gave his full consideration to your questions, no matter how insignificant they were. “Seems like a decent idea. But you know they hike prices up before it actually goes on sale.”
“Oh, I didn’t even consider that.” You said quickly, and drew in your bottom lip between your teeth giving it a contemplative bite. Your eyebrows were scrunched in thought. Jimin chuckled and pinched at your cheek.
“Make a decision, kid.” He urged. You grinned in response, the nickname was so overused by him but you loved it nonetheless.
You scrolled further, adding to your cart and Jimin rested his head completely on your shoulder. His black frames reflected the blue light of your laptop, and you reached up, running an affectionate hand through his hair. He smiled.
“Ooh, how about we get you a new wallet, I know yours looks fucked.” You chimed, your nose scrunched up in thought.
Jimin chuckled, a honey rumble that vibrated across the skin of your neck. If he noticed the sudden goosebumps rising on your skin, he didn’t comment. “That’s very sweet of you, you don’t have to do that though.”
“But I want to.” You emphasized, while typing in the search bar. Jimin was generous with his money, unreasonably so and you snatched at any opportunity you could take to treat him even if it was a thirty bucks measly wallet.
A comfortable silence stretched between you two as you got absorbed in your hunt. Your mind was so fogged in concentration, you couldn’t even feel Jimin's heated gaze making its way to your doe features, taking in your pouted expression with an unwarranted hunger.
“You’re always so good to me.” He said. His hot breath gristled at your ear and you instinctively flinched. Jimin wanted to coo at your innocent reaction, how sweet and malleable you were.
“Well, I like taking care of you.” You rested your head on his, but your eyes didn’t leave your screen.
Jimin felt a bubble of excitement, and the perfect opportunity to leer you in. “Yeah?”
“Mhmmm..” You nodded, and rubbed your soft cheek against his ear.
Jimin suddenly shifted his head and sat up slightly, turning his head completely towards you. Suddenly, you became all too aware of how intense his eyes were. A feature you’d noticed before, but felt unusually predatory with his full attention on you. Your throat bobbed, but you couldn’t manage the weight of returning his gaze so you kept your attention fixated on the laptop.
Your fingers started trembling lightly, and you started clicking at random products. Not bothered by if they were relevant in any way.
Jimin could sense your unease from miles away, a characteristic of you he’d grown to adore. What a cute girl.
He couldn’t help but want to push at your nerves more wanting to see when you would relinquish control and give into his searing eyes. “You wanna take care of me more, kid?”
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish but you didn’t dare to turn your head, "W-what do you mean, Jimin?”
Jimin hummed in response, and took in your rapidly blinking eyes, like you were trying to blink away his undeniable presence. He didn’t say anything, but ran the pads of his fingers in a loose circle across your clothed thigh.
You jolted at the sudden touch, and you swore your hands looked lifeless as they clutched your laptop for dear life. Your knuckles went white, but you didn’t let go. You were silent, as if you moved Jimin would pounce on you and eat you alive. Or maybe that was what you wanted to happen.
Jimin only felt bolder at your weighted silence. The rational part of him would stop now, and realize he was pushing at you far too quickly. And god had he kept his rational side afloat for far too long with you, but now he wanted to nudge at your discomfort a bit more. To see how far you’d really let him take things.
He continued his slow, burning circles, and smirked lightly at your breath, visibly catching in your throat. “I’m asking..” He paused. You brought a finger up to your mouth to nibble at your cuticle, “For you to look at me.”
You paused, fully, completely. Your laptop hummed uselessly against your lap. Jimin reached a ringed hand out and closed the screen. The darkness of your apartment took over, succumbing to the lack of little illumination your screen was providing. You turned your head slowly to look at him, eyes wide and glassed over in anticipation.
“I-I was looking for wallets for you though Ji-” You started, but were shushed by the older man beside you. His fingers kept swirling on your thigh lightly, pressing in only enough to trace the texture of your smooth skin.
You looked at him like a deer caught in headlights, blinking sweetly at him. Jimin wanted to see those same eyes when he finally plunged into your poor pussy.
“Much better.” He cooed, his fingers danced across to the middle of your thigh, starting to pace up and down instead of in spirals. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
You wanted to die there and then. He had been so patient, so kind to you, and you were making him feel like he was doing a crime by wanting to touch you. In fact, his soft touch was evoking something in you that you didn’t know you could feel.
“No!” You said far too quickly, “No no of course you’re not.”
Jimin only sighed at your response, and let his fingers crawl to your inner thigh. You froze further, and your bottom lip started to quiver. You wanted to fill the tension starting to build between you two, “You’re always so patient with me, Jimin.”
He nodded, “That I am..” His thumb brushed further up, but still not near your most sensitive area. You wanted to swallow in your awkward demeanor so bad, and you tried to slowly build the courage to do something.
AMETHYST!READER and JIMIN watch Jennifer’s Body for movie night
The laptop sits open between the two of them, balanced on a feathery half-squished pillow, its pink case glossy even in the dim lighting. Her bedroom smells faintly of clean laundry and cherry blossom fabric softener, and the curtains are drawn, the city softened into a blur behind the glass. On the pink laptop screen, the opening credits of Jennifer’s Body flicker.
She’s lying side-by-side with Jimin, their shoulders nearly touching. Jimin has made himself at home in her bed—socks kicked off, one knee bent, his shirt riding up slightly to expose the bottom of his abs when he stretches. Next to him, she lies flat on her stomach, hair fanned out against her pillows, glitter still clinging to her eyelids even though she washed her face twice.
“Do people watch this movie for the plot or are they just pretending?” Jimin asks, already smiling.
“You said you wanted to watch something fun,” she says, huffing at him.
“I did. I’m having fun already,” and she can still hear the smile in his voice.
She turns her head to look at him, squinting slightly. “The movie hasn’t even started.”
“It has!” Jimin says with raised eyebrows, nodding at the screen. “See? Small town. Ominous high school. Bad things about to happen.”
She hums in acknowledgment and shifts slightly. The movement bringing her arm closer to his, skin brushing skin, and neither of them move away.
As the movie dances across the screen and progresses, Jimin keeps talking quietly—he truly can’t help it. He comments on the soundtrack, about how old everybody looks, on how he remembers seeing this movie years ago in a cramped dorm room with some guy. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen as she listens to his background commentary, the corner of her lips tugging up at his comments every once in a while.
Halfway through, as Megan Fox is onscreen, Jimin snickers a little under his breath. “They dressed her like that on purpose.”
“Duh,” she smiles a little bit despite herself. “That’s totally the point.”
“I know! I’m just saying it… works.”
He glances at her, quick and deliberate, just for a half-second. Her mouth curves upwards slightly, glossy even in the low light, and his eyes return to the screen like nothing happened.
As the movie really settles into it’s rhythm, the room grows quieter as Jimin becomes more engaged with it. His voice drops, his comments are less frequent. His arm rests comfortably along his side, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off his skin. If either of them moved even an inch, their arms would be pressed together fully.
Onscreen, Jennifer Check is leaning close as she talks to someone, smiling seductively. Jimin clears his throat softly.
“You do that sometimes.”
She turns to look at him, eyebrow quirking. “Do what?”
“You know.” Jimin gestures towards the screen. “Lean close like that, when you’re talking to someone. Sometimes.”
“Nuh-uh.” Her eyebrows furrow. “Just with you.”
He snickers again, “I’m flattered.”
His gaze lingers on her, and she doesn’t look away from him. Jimin’s eyes are dark in the glow of the laptop, lashes casting soft shadows against his cheeks. He looks soft like this, relaxed, but there’s a watchfulness to him that makes the back of her neck prickle.
She shifts onto her side, propping her head up on one hand—facing him now. The movement pulls the blanket down slightly, and her bare shoulder catches a gentle breeze from the air conditioning. Jimin’s attention flickers to her exposed bare skin briefly before he can stop himself.
“You talk during every movie,” she points out.
He smiles slowly. “What, you’re saying I shouldn’t be?”
She snorts softly and looks back at the screen. “I’m saying you’re distracting.”
“From the movie?”
“Yes.”
“Or from something else?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she adjusts the laptop, nudging it closer to the foot of the bed. The screen angle changes, forcing them to lay closer together if they want to keep watching. Jimin notices, but just suppresses a smile and doesn’t say anything.
As the movie continues, her knee brushes his thigh, and this time she doesn’t move it away. Jimin’s breathing changes—subtle, but noticeable if you’re close enough to hear it. She is.
He speaks again, breathy and quieter now. “Your makeup looked really good today.”
Her eyes flick over to him, eyebrow raising slightly. “Today?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You say that every time,” she says teasingly, thinking of the way Jimin’s eyes crinkled when he admired the shimmer on her eyelids, her baby pink blush, the little gems she’d stick to her eyes or her cheeks. She knew he appreciated the art of it—a small part of her always hoped he just liked looking at her face, too.
“Cause it’s always true.”
Her lips press together, holding back a smile.
Their legs are fully touching now, and the warmth spreads over their skin from the contact and the fuzzy blanket. Jimin’s hand shifts slowly, until it’s resting palm-down on the bed between them. It’s close enough that if she moved her hand, her fingers would brush his.
She’s still watching the movie as it gets to a part she really likes, but she can see him looking at her out of the corner of her eye, feel his gaze on her face. She can feel her attention getting pulled between the movie and him beside her, wanting to turn and ask him ‘what?’ with a cute little smile, hoping he’ll say something different than he always does. ‘Nothing.’
“Jimin,” she says softly, not looking at him.
“Mhm?”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
She turns to face him, and realizes quickly that they’re much closer than she thought. Close enough that she can see the tiny flecks of glitter still caught in his hair from earlier filming—close enough to count his breaths.
“The thing where you act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”
His lips tug upwards into a wry little smile when he asks: “And what do you think I’m doing?”
The movie continues to play, forgotten, the laptop humming softly at the foot of the bed. Jimin’s breath is warm, he’s so close it fans across her face and she can smell his rose mint toothpaste. She doesn’t say anything back, and he holds her gaze, his eyes so dilated it looks like they’re actually sparkling.
His fingers finally move, just enough to brush against hers. The touch is feather-light, so gentle it almost seems like an accident, but the glint in his eye tells her it wasn’t.
She inhales slowly, then lets her fingers curl around his.
The laptop screen keeps glowing pink in the dark, ignored.
Summary: You and Jiyong used to date and after a year of no contact an accidental text leads to a series of unfortunate events.
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: Angst, but that’s about it.
Author’s Note: This is something I found in my drafts the other day that I had started in June right after HITC. Due to certain life events that transpired I never finished it and forgot about it, but after reading it I knew I had to finish it and share it with the world. I’m kind of playing this as a part one to Cruel World, but I also like them both as stand alone’s as well so I’m not sure if I’ll make this an official part one. If you want to check out Cruel World you can find it here.
When you and Jiyong first got together you couldn’t imagine a life without him. And now you were standing outside a house you’d called home for years, car packed to the brim with all your belongings about to start over. Again.
It had been one stupid fight that led to this rash decision to end it. You weren’t the one to stay and work things out when it got hard. Always closing doors after one wrong move, you didn’t have the patience to stay and try to work things out. You needed out. No matter how much you loved him, it was time.
“Bye Ji.” You whispered as you slid into the car. You didn’t bother to look back as you drove off.
It took almost a year before you’d spoken again. A wrong text that had meant to go to someone else had been delivered to Jiyong, who’d texted back immediately.
Finally watched Old. It was so stupid, I should’ve listened to you.
I never saw it?
Fuck. Sorry, I meant to text someone else.
Ah. Good to know it doesn’t need to be added to the list. Hi.
….hi. Congrats on the album. It’s good.
You listened?
Yeah. It’s kind of everywhere? Hard not to.
So you’re not stalking me?
No.
You’d laughed at how easy the exchange had gone. Considering you’d swore you’d never speak again. Even if you’d never deleted his number. It took you a few days to reply to him after that. And when he’d asked to go get coffee, you’d agreed.
“Hi.” You waved when you walked up to his table, taking note of his security team surrounding the place. He’d really amped it up.
“Hey!” He cracked his knuckles and stood up to hug you. “You look great.” He said lamely before sitting back down.
“Thanks. You do too.” You nodded, drumming your hands on the table. “So uh. What’s new?”
“Just getting ready for tour. You already knew about the album. So. What’s new with you?”
“Not much. Got promoted at work. Just staying busy, you know?”
He nodded, he did know. One of the reasons he was making sure to be out of Korea every weekend was so he wasn’t sitting here thinking about you. He’d had a ring picked out, ready to buy when you’d broken up with him.
You’d had your problems, sure, but he’d thought your were moving past it to a better place. How wrong had he been when he’d come home to all your things packed up.
“I’m sorry.” You said after what felt like hours of silence, a sigh following.
“For what?”
“How I left. I was a dick. You deserved better.”
“I did.” He nodded. “But so did you. We just didn’t work anymore.”
“No. But maybe we can be friends?”
“Yeah.” He gave you a sad smile before looking down into his coffee. Jiyong had never wanted to just be your friend.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
A few more months went by, casual texts exchanged here and there. When he’d heard you’d transferred to LA for work he’d invited you to the show he was doing there. You declined claiming you had to work. But you knew the reality. If you went to his show you’d have to deal with the fact that you still loved him. You couldn’t do that. Not now when you’d finally moved on.
You leaned over the railing of the yacht you’d rented with your friends, scrolling your phone to see Jiyong was at the airport heading to the same city as you. How ironic.
“Oh. My. God. G Dragon is in LA?!” Your friend squealed next to you. You sighed and put your phone away. Sometimes you forgot how big his fan base was.
“Yeah.” You shrugged.
“I didn’t know you were a fan!” She exclaimed, reaching for her phone.
“I’m not.” You turned back to the water. You weren’t going to explain your history with G-Dragon to a new friend.
It was weird watching Jiyong at the airport while you were on a boat. In a past life you would’ve traveled with him. Your friend rolled her eyes, reading over the news article about Jiyong.
“Then why were you looking at photos of him?”
“He pops up sometimes, you know, because of everything I do for work.” You shrugged, and because you had to make sure he and your current boyfriend weren’t at the same events.
“Mhm.” She paused, looking up at you. “He’s playing a festival tomorrow, we should go.”
“Oh. No. I’m not going to that. But you should go.”
You turned your attention back to the water, the sun was starting to set. You knew if Jiyong was there he’d enjoy this view the most. You shook your head as you leaned against the railing, you’d moved on so why couldn’t you shake him from your thoughts?
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Jiyong looked for you, not that he could really make out faces in the crowd, but he would’ve been able to spot you anywhere. He channeled his energy into his set, trying not to let it show how much it bothered him you weren’t there. He’d known this would be the outcome but he’d remained hopeful you’d change your mind.
After the show, he met up with his friends who were also in town for various projects for dinner. That’s when he saw you, sitting across from some other man. His hand gripped his glass a little tighter. Of course you’d moved on, it had been over a year and you had left him. That didn’t make it any easier to watch.
“You okay, bro?” Seunghyun's voice broke his thoughts and he turned to his best friend and nodded.
“Yeah.” His eyes drifted back to you and he downed the rest of his drink. Seunghyun’s eyes followed Jiyong’s and widened in realization.
“Is that?” Before he could say your name Chaerin had spotted you and called out.
You turned, wide eyed when you spotted the three of them and let out a sigh. Excusing yourself, you stood and made your way to them. Los Angeles was apparently not a big enough city to not run into your ex and his best friends.
“Hi.” You nodded at everyone.
“Hey girl!” Chaerin stood up hugging you tightly. She’d always been one of your favorite people.
“How was the show?” Jiyong shrugged and Chaerin rolled her eyes.
“He killed it like always. My group plays tomorrow. You should come.”
“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded.
“I won’t be there, I leave in the morning.”
“Oh. Okay.” You looked between the three friends. “I’ll think about it.” You turned back to your friend and sighed. “I should get going. It was really good to see you all!” You waved, turning back to your seat.
You watched them leave a few minutes later, a sad smile on your face. Maybe that would be the last time you’d ever see Jiyong. You had no plans to go to Korea, unless work sent you out that way.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Sorry we interrupted your date.
That wasn’t a date? He’s just a friend.
Oh.
Either way, though, we can’t keep doing this. Talking like we’re friends when we’re not.
We’re not friends?
Ji.
I’ll see you around then.
You sighed as you sat your phone down. You couldn’t help but wonder how it would’ve felt to see him sitting across from someone that wasn’t you. The thought made you feel sick and you groaned as you laid back in your bed. It wasn’t fair to think like that. You’d walked away from him so many times. It also wasn’t very to the guy you were very much dating (not the guy from dinner, but your very real boyfriend) to be talking to Jiyong or thinking of him for that matter.
You’d broken up with him, you had to let him go. So you picked your phone back up and did what you should’ve done a year ago, and blocked his number. You also took the time to block his socials, including the private Instagram of his that still followed you.
Jiyong had noticed, of course, when he’d done his scrolling that night that he no longer followed you. It was probably for the best, but that didn’t make it sting any less. He’d do his best to let you go, even if it had already been a year and no luck on his part. He had a feeling he’d always love you.
Synopsis: Jiyong has been your best friend since you were little. Over the years, his love for you has given him more frustration than he could ever explain, but he never had found the perfect moment to finally tell you. Jiyong becomes impatient, so impatient, in fact, that he ends up just using the mistletoe above your heads as an excuse to get the kiss he has been desiring for so long.
Warnings: flirting, kissing, fluff.
A/N: Christmas special for rei and moonies Xmas special
The night air in Seoul was crisp and sharp, biting at your cheeks as you walked with your arms linked with Jiyong's, trying to steal as much of his warmth as you possibly could.
"How are you not dead yet, Ji? You're not even wearing a jacket!" You exclaimed, pulling up your thermal neck warmer so it also covered your face.
Jiyong chuckled softly, keeping his gaze set ahead as you walked slowly down the street, his speed lowered to accommodate yours as you shuffled awkwardly, all the layers of hoodies and windbreakers making your stride less than elegant.
"Good metabolism." He replied calmly.
You huffed, displeased.
"That's not fair. Why do you get to be the skinny hoe out of the both of us?" Your tone was dead serious, which only made your friend laugh harder.
"Hoe? Me? You're the one who has just gone through her 7th man." He remarked, his voice snarky in a way that made you want to either kiss him or slap him.
"That's not that bad." You mumbled, watching your feet as they dragged along the snow-covered pavement, leaving thin trails in the frosty white.
"That's only this year." Jiyong snickered.
You cringed, leaning your head back and letting out an exaggerated groan.
Had he been counting just so he could ridicule you? You wouldn't put it past him. Then again, that was kind of in the job description of 'best friend'. Still, he didn't have to be so good at it.
"At least I have actually felt love this year."
"OOo, would we call it love, though?" He teased. "I think emotionally unavailable situationship suits just that little bit more."
A scoff escaped the back of your throat before you could stop it. "Oh yeah? Where have you been all year, G-DRAGON?"
"Maturing."
The grin on his face was so smug. You just wanted to rip (kiss) it off with all of your force.
In the moment, your mind stumbled over a witty response, leaving you to settle for your usual "Shut up." line, that Jiyong was more than familiar with by now.
As the walk continued on, a warm silence settled in the air. It was the type of silence that made you sneak a side glance at your best before smiling contently.
He was so pretty.
You could never deny how you felt about him.
You had tried. Told yourself it was just physical attraction, that it meant nothing and it never would. But deep down, you knew exactly what it was.
And you knew there was nothing you could do about it.
The two of you continued on down the sidewalk, you latching onto him as he guided the journey back to a finish at your apartment, even though you would have much rather spent Christmas Eve at his luxurious, spacious, penthouse. But he had insisted on staying at yours, mumbling something about how it felt warmer and safer than anything money could ever buy.
The wind had just begun to pick up as the pair of you stepped inside the lobby of your building, making you extremely grateful for the soft light and the crackling fireplace that stood proudly in far end of the room, adjacent to the elevators.
"At least it's warm in here." You muttered, rubbing your gloved hands together in an attempt to claim back some feeling in your numb fingers.
Jiyong hummed, stepping in behind you, leaving the both of you standing in the inside arch that followed the doors.
"Are you staying the night?" You asked, looking back over your shoulder to meet his eyes.
"If it's no issue." His arms came up, wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against chest.
His embrace felt warm and familiar, a feeling that seemed to seep into your heart and then be pumped through your vains, making your whole body feel fuzzy in the best way.
You knew early on that your friendship wasn't as platonic as you made it out to be.
Cuddling and sweet forehead kisses were nothing out of the ordinary for you two, even though they were things that were usually very off limits in male plus female friendships, especially in the way that you both exercise them, with such sincerity and content.
It never seemed to matter much to him, though.
He had always treated things like that as if they were the most normal thing ever, and anyone who questioned them was clearly the weirdo instead.
But even with him being so calm and accepting, you still felt a slight twinge in your chest. you knew his heart didn't falter the same way yours did when someone brought up how romantic the two of you acted. You knew he didn't blush secretly when he heard your friends discussing how compatible you were.
His stomach didn't ever flutter.
His breath didn't ever catch.
At least, that's what you thought.
You tilted your head back, closing your eyes and resting it softly on his shoulder, eliciting a warm chuckle from the back of his throat.
"We should probably get out of the way in case more people want to come in." He murmured in your ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin on the nape of your neck.
"It's like, 11pm, and this building is pretty much only occupied by old ladies who live with way too many cats. No one else is coming in anytime soon." You hummed back, eyes staying shut.
You heard him sigh before muttering something about how there is no such thing as having too many cats.
The two of you stayed like that for a few more quiet moments.
That was until you opened your eyes and let out of soft gasp as your eyes fixated on the roof of the archway.
"What?" Jiyong asked softly, pulling back so he could look at you.
"Erm... nothing." You stuttered, quickly turning to face him to keep his attention on you and only you.
"Just dont look up."
Now, why on earth would you say that?
You knew that he was now going to look. He really had no choice.
Maybe a small part of you wanted him to.
A confused expression sat on his face as he tilted his head back, looking up to investigate what you so desperately wanted him not to see.
Dangling only a metere above your heads was something you only ever read in books or saw in highly unrealistic dramas.
Mistletoe.
It seemed to hang almost smugly, as if it were saying "haha got you. You know what happens next."
And you did.
Atleast, you knew what was supposed to happen next.
What you wanted to happen next.
But you assumed Jiyong would just brush it off easily, chuckling about how you should make hot chocolate when you got upstairs or how silly of a tradition it was, definitely not something you should engage in.
Right?
Wrong, actually.
His gaze slowly lowered back down to you as you fidgeted anxiously with a loose string on your sleeve. He stayed quiet. Calm. He just looked at you, something awfully close to longing flashing behind his eyes.
The silence seemed to drag on, forcing you to smile awkwardly and mutter;
"Er... it's fine. We should probably head up if we want to be at my place by midnight."
Your voice was slightly shaky. The humour clearly forced. But Jiyong didn't respond.
Instead, he took another step closer to you, his chest brushing yours.
You felt your cheeks heat up as you tried to look anywhere but his eyes, sure your expression would give you away if you did.
"All these years." He murmured, seemingly to himself.
"Im tired of waiting."
Very suddenly, though you probably should have caught on earlier, his lips were pressed softly against yours, causing you to almost stumbled back. But you managed to steady yourself.
And when you did, you melted.
Your hands found his shoulders, holding on tightly to keep you grounded, as if he was your only lifeline.
His returned to your waist, holding you close and letting his warmth consume you until you felt like a floating bubble of passion.
His movements were gentle and loving, just as always, but now in a different way.
A better way.
He was no longer holding back, and neither were you.
He was addicting, tasting like jam doughnuts and creamy coffee and slightly smokey from his cigarettes, but not so much that it was off-putting. Quite the opposite, actually. It felt intimate and familiar.
A taste you were more than ready to get used to.
It took a moment for the both of you to be brought back to the present as you slowly pulled apart.
You wished to stay like that forever, though.
He smiled sweetly down at you.
"I thought I had dropped enough hints."
Your mouth fell open in realisation. That's why you had never felt platonic.
You never were.
A/N: okayyy so this is very late, and im very sorry. And especially sorry to rei and moonie because this was supposed to be out on the 17th. Im also sorry for i fear that the end of this is very rushed and my wording is not the best at all. Despite this, I hope everyone who has read this enjoyed it and thank you to the writing challenge creators for letting me be a part of this challenge. ❤️
Event Taglist: @evilburg3r @kitty-catttttss (im really sorry if I missed anyone)
My taglist: @pinkrifle , @ldydeath , @wanna-plan-world-domination (let me know if u would like to be added)
Summary: It’s your first Christmas living with Jiyong and he goes out of his way to make sure it’s special for you.
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: So much fluff
Author’s Note: Merry Christmas, everyone! This is my little contribution to A Very Merry KPOPmas. I hope you all have/had a wonderful Christmas! Thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of this and for giving me Christmas day. Not to be a sap, but this has been a rather unfortunate year for me and I have not been looking forward to Christmas, but I have been looking forward to posting this. So for any of you out there feeling a little sad or lost or lonely today - I hope this fic makes you feel a little warm and fuzzy today.
Christmas had always been Jiyong’s favorite holiday. A fun fact you’d learned on your first date. Every year you did something special for him, as special as you could spending the holidays apart. This year though, you were finally living together. It had been a magical month of decorating the penthouse, buying unnecessary outfits for the cats, and baking up all kinds of wonderful treats.
Well, you baked - he watched. Jiyong had been banned from the kitchen after burning soup he’d been making for you when you were sick. You didn’t even know soup could be burnt, but it was comforting to know he wasn’t perfect at everything.
It was Christmas Eve and Jiyong had planned many surprises, but there was only one he could give you tonight. After dinner with friends, he snuck off to the bedroom with a sneaky grin on his face. You, used to his antics hadn’t paid him any attention as you flipped through the channels, Iye curled up on your lap, as you looked for the perfect movie to watch.
Jiyong came back a few minutes later, a neatly wrapped package in his hand. You frowned as you eyed the tree. Gifts had been wrapped for weeks under there, why was this one hidden?
“Go on, open it!” He bounced with excitement and a bit of impatience.
You rolled your eyes, tearing into the packaging, Iye completely unfazed by the paper as it fell around you both. You held up a pair of pajamas and raised a brow.
“Ji, whats this?”
“Pajamas?” He rocked back on his heels, an excited grin on his face.
“But there’s two?”
“Four. Actually.” He moved to sit next to you, pointing out the two little shirts, one for each cat.
You rummaged through the package, matching Batman pjs for the entire family. It was perfect. Maybe a little untraditional, considering they weren’t Christmas themed, but you loved them all the same.
“Matching PJs?” You grinned and nodded.
“Batman, so we can match more than once a year.”
“It’s perfect.” You bit down on your bottom lip, before leaning over to kiss Jiyong quickly.
Not giving him an option to deepen the kiss, you stood up and made your way to the bedroom, quickly changing into your new pajamas. It was a silly gesture, but a cute one and you couldn’t wait for many more Christmas Eve’s spent just like this.
When you returned to the living room, Jiyong had also changed and managed to get the cats in their matching sets as well. How he did it with such ease was always surprising to you. You hadn’t felt like you’d even been gone five minutes. Jiyong pulled you to him as you sat down placing a kiss to the top of your head.
You both stayed up much later than you’d meant to, Christmas would be here before you knew it and you knew you had a busy day ahead of you. But the option to stay curled up together on the couch drinking hot cocoa and watching Christmas movies had won out in the end.
Somewhere between Home Alone and The Grinch you’d fallen asleep against the warmth of Jiyong. He let you sleep for a while, you looked too content to move but as his eyes grew heavy he gave you a slight nudge.
“Santa won’t come if we’re not in bed.” He whispered as your eyes fluttered open.
“Santa’s not real.” You smirked as you stood slowly.
“Yes he is!” Jiyong faked shock, shaking his head. “You’re getting coal for Christmas now, Jagi.” You swatted his arm and turned to head off to bed.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Christmas Morning was just as magical as you expected, “Santa” had in fact come in the night, coffee and assorted baked goods lined the large kitchen island and you rolled your eyes, a grin on your face as you spotted Jiyong lounging against the counter.
“Morning, Santa Halabuji.” You teased as you kissed Jiyong’s cheek before sitting down.
“I am not Santa Halabuji!” He whined, taking a bite from his cake.
“Sure. Sure. You’re just practicing for when we have kids.” You shrugged, grabbing your coffee and taking a sip, hiding your smirk as he choked on his cake.
It was no secret that Jiyong wanted kids, but it still always took him by surprise when you would mention it so casually. Which was exactly why you kept doing it. His eyes found yours and he rolled his eyes when he saw your face.
“Should we go make one?” You raised a brow at his question and looked at the clock.
“We have lunch with your parents today. It’ll have to wait until later. I know how you like to take your time.” You teased and he groaned.
You finished your breakfast in comfortable silence, Jiyong practically bouncing up and down as he waited for you to finish.
“You make it very hard to eat.” Jiyong rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand.
“I’m just excited for you to open your gifts.” He led you over to the tree and plopped down on the ground, pulling you down next to him.
“Okay, five year old. Calm down.” You turned to the tree, eyes widening when you realized there were even more gifts now than had been the night before.
“Told you Santa was real.” He grinned, placing a carefully wrapped gift into your lap.
After what felt like years, the gifts were all opened, wrapping paper had been cleaned up, and the gifts perfectly arranged under the tree. A proud display of all the ways you’d spoiled each other that day. Not that either of you needed gifts, you had everything you could want in each other, this was just another way to say I love you. None of it was over the top, it was all things you’d both use and a couple flashy things to show off to friends and family. And of course, a couple more matching outfits.
After a lazy morning of coffee and cuddles, you both got ready to head to his parents for lunch. His sister greeting you at the door, a smile on her lips as she saw you both matching.
“Ji insisted.” You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
“Of course he did.” She laughed, hugging you both before you fully entered the home.
A feast had been laid out, including all your favorites - bulgogi, hobak jeon, manduguk, tteokbokki, and japchae. There was also Christmas Cake, yaksik, and sujeonggwa. You couldn’t wait to dive in.
You had no idea how you’d be able to eat at the dinner reservation Jiyon had for you later that evening, but you’d cross that bridge when you got to it. It has been a very kind jester for his family to include your favorites in their Christmas meal, noting that you wouldn’t be seeing your family for the holidays.
After lunch was over, with leftovers in tow, the two of you headed back to your house. It was now early morning on the east coast and you two had a FaceTime date with your family to watch them open gifts.
The rest of the afternoon and early evening was spent lounging around the house, more Christmas movies playing in the background as you two dozed in and out. It had been a simple Christmas, but it was the perfect first of hopefully many Christmas’ spent together. Christmas in Korea wasn’t much different from the States but Jiyong did a good job of highlighting what made Christmas so special here.
It was more of a couples holiday than anything else and thus, dinner reservations had only felt right. Even if you two were stuffed to the brim, he wanted to take you out, show you off. You two dressed in your Christmas best before you headed out of the apartment.
The restaurant had been a short walk away, at one of your favorite places. A shame you had to order light, not that you minded of course.
“Why are you eating so fast?” You laughed as you realized Jiyong’s plate was nearly cleaned. Jiyong always viewed meals as an act of love, taking his time. Most meals you had lasted hours as you enjoyed the food and company.
“You said after dinner we could get to the kid making part of the night.” He shrugged before lifting his bowl and slurping the rest of the soup up.
“Ji!” You shook your head. “I was kidding.”
“Nope. No take backs.” He locked eyes with the waitress, signaling for the check.
You laughed again, setting your spoon down and leaned back in your seat. You weren’t sure how it was possible to love him more, but here you were, heart feeling warm and happy, and definitely more in love with the man every day.
As the night came to an end and you curled up next to Jiyong that night, you vowed to give that man everything he could ever want or need. Seeing him this happy and carefree was all you’d ever wanted for him. You couldn’t wait to spend a lifetime of Christmas’ with him.
includes. fluffflufffluff, established relationship, very light suggestive themes, 95rkives’ dream man
nerd bf!jimin who always looks a bit too handsome when he’s focused, his thick rimmed glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose as he hunches over his desk, only for him to catch your reflection in his monitor and offer a slow, knowing smirk because he knows exactly how much that look does for you.
nerd bf!jimin who is the embodiment of self assured, never needing to brag about his intellect because the way he handles complex problems is attractive enough, but he’s most confident when it comes to you—pulling you onto his lap mid call without breaking his stride in the conversation he’s having with a classmate over his headset.
nerd bf!jimin who uses that same focus to memorize every little detail about you, from the way you take your tea when you’re stressed to the specific way your breath hitches when he leans in close to "help" you with a task.
nerd bf!jimin who isn’t shy about his affection at all, often trailing behind you like a shadow when he needs a break from his books, resting his chin on your shoulder and whining low in his throat until you turn around and give him the attention he’s clearly starving for.
nerd bf!jimin who gets a little dangerous with his words when you’re alone, using his soft, articulate voice to describe exactly what he wants to do to you.
nerd bf!jimin who decides he’s done sharing the desk and pulls your chair flush against his, hooking his ankle around yours, occasionally leaning over for a kiss that tastes like caffeine, leaving you dazed while he calmly goes back to his laptop like he didn't just ruin your entire train of thought.
nerd bf!jimin who eventually finds that the distance of two separate chairs is still too much, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pulls you up, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you onto the edge of the desk so he can get between your knees.
nerd bf!jimin who doesn't even bother taking his glasses off when kissing you, even though they usually get in the way—but that never stopped you.
nerd bf!jimin who breathes out a chuckle when you reach up to straighten the frames for him after, peppering dozens of tiny, worshiping kisses all over his cheeks, his jaw, and the tip of his nose, making his heart race faster than any deadline ever could.
genre ↠ friends to enemies to lovers (it’s more complicated though) | (high school + bet AU) | fluff, angst, smut
word count ↠ 28,758
18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, swearing, there’s a high school au (in the form of a flashback), there’s a pool and a party– stuff happens 🤭, arguing, there’s a kiss in the rain, explicit sexual content: lots of kissing, nipple play, dirty talk, softdom!jimin, spit kink, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, grinding, a blowjob, unprotected sex (this is fiction!).
summary ↠ When your car breaks down late at night in your hometown and the door you knock on just happens to belong to the man that was almost yours, it opens the floodgates to memories you had hoped to keep suppressed and those you’ve never forgotten about.
Jimin remembers it all too — the many words that were left unsaid between you, and the many feelings left unresolved. And now he wants to make it right.
a/n: askdhflkghs it’s here! 😋 this was supposed to be a short story (but i’m clearly incapable of that lol) inspired by the recent bangtan shoots 😍 i forced myself to keep it a short as i could so there might be some parts where it’s a bit abrupt/i don’t set the scene smoothly..? 😅 idk, also a disclaimer: the flashback is in past tense and I’m sure some of it is messed up, sorry! but on another note, i do think this might be some of the hottest smut i’ve written?!? 👀 also this is the first time i’ve written a spit kink lmao ;) a huge thank you to @noranj for beta-reading! 💓
here’s the song recs for this oneshot:
believe it — partynextdoor & rihanna
best mistake — ariana grande feat. big sean
hanging by a moment — lifehouse
only hope — mandy moore
make it right — bts
Summary: She's nervous, inexperienced, and trying to be professional. He's confident, teasing, and maybe falling faster than he expected.
Warnings: age gap (legal), teasing/flirting, fluff
Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x reader
a/n: Hey guys, I’m back with part 4! Hope you enjoy!! <3 Also, these recent concert videos are killing me… He sounds and looks so good.
You knock on his apartment door with your tote bag slung over your shoulder, nerves spiking. Despite getting to know him better over the past few weeks, this is completely different terrain. Sure, you’ve gotten more comfortable around him, less shy, more steady, but this… coming to his home to watch his cats, feels intimate in a way that has nothing to do with a mentor–protégée dynamic.
You absolutely feel like you’re going to die, but when he told you he needed you, you sure as hell weren’t going to deny him.
You square your shoulders, mentally rehearsing the list he texted:
Feed the cats. Scoop litter. Fresh water. Don’t let Iye explore the balcony alone. Simple, efficient, in-and-out.
You expect him to be long gone. You expect silence.
You do not expect the door to open immediately.
And you definitely do not expect… him.
Standing right in front of you, in sweatpants, barefoot, hair fluffy and messy, like he’s been pacing or running his hands through it all evening.
Your brain short-circuits.
“Oh- ” you gasp. “I… thought you’d already left.”
For a split second, something like pure panic flashes across his face.
Then he tries to fix it, horribly, terribly, unsuccessfully.
“Ah. Right. Yes. I was. Leaving. I was literally about to walk out.” He gestures vaguely behind you, toward the hallway. “In that direction.”
You blink at him.
He looks nothing like someone who was about to walk out the door. No suitcase. No coat. No shoes. Not even socks.
“Oh. Um… okay.”
He steps aside a little too quickly.
“Come in.”
You slip inside, careful, almost afraid to disturb anything. His penthouse is warm, bright, and lived-in, nothing like the glossy museum you imagined. Soft blankets draped over the couch, a half-finished cup of tea on the table, a hoodie tossed over a chair, a few music notebooks fanned out on the kitchen counter.
It feels… human. Personal. Private.
He clears his throat, trying to act casual despite clearly being caught off-guard.
“So,” he says, forcing steadiness into his voice. “I guess I should… show you around.”
“Oh, you don’t have to. I’m sure you have a flight or something to catch.”
“No,” he blurts.
Then he winces at himself.
“I mean… it’s fine. I have time.”
You follow him into the living room. He keeps a small distance ahead of you, almost like he isn’t used to someone else being in his space. You know he’s a very private person, which somehow makes this feel even more significant, that he’d trust you like this.
He gestures to the couch.
“This is where they usually hang out. They’re shy with strangers.”
Iye chooses that exact moment to trot straight toward you, chirping loudly before rubbing against your ankles like you’re his favorite person in the world.
Jiyong stares at him in betrayal.
“…Traitor.”
You laugh, soft and surprised, and crouch to pet him. Iye immediately flops onto his side, showing his belly.
“He… likes me,” you say quietly, almost in awe.
“Apparently,” he mutters.
There’s something warm in his expression when he looks at you, something soft and unreadable. Your skin prickles with awareness under his gaze and when you look up, he quickly glances away.
He gestures to the kitchen next.
“Food’s there. I portioned everything. Water filters here. Treats in that cabinet, don’t give too many, Zoa has no self-control.”
You nod.
“And the litter box is down the hallway. You don’t have to do it every day. Every other day is fine. Only if you want to.”
“I don’t mind,” you reassure him.
He swallows, a small, almost invisible motion.
Then he leads you to the balcony, sliding the door open. The city spills in like a river of lights.
“This is the only place you have to be careful,” he says quietly. “Iye likes to test his boundaries.”
You step beside him, closer than you mean to. He smells faintly of cedar and laundry detergent. Your heart jumps.
“Don’t let him out here without you,” his voice barely above the wind.
“Okay,” you whisper.
For a moment, neither of you speak. You’re too scared to look at him because you already feel the weight of his attention, warm and focused, like he’s memorizing the shape of you in the city light.
He clears his throat and steps back.
“So.” He claps his hands lightly. “That’s… everything.”
Then he hesitates. Scratches his neck. Avoids your eyes even though you can feel how aware he is of you.
“Ah, almost forgot. I should show you where you’ll sleep tonight.”
You straighten, face going hot.
Right. You hadn’t actually thought about that. You figured you’d feed the cats and head home before it got too late.
“I- I really don’t need to stay over,” you rush. “I can just take the tube home after- ”
He gives you that look. The one he uses when he pretends he’s not as stubborn as he is.
“Absolutely not,” he says, tone firm. “You know how I feel about you taking the subway at this hour.”
Your face heats again, partly because he’s right, partly because he says it so confidently, like your safety is non-negotiable.
He leads you down the hallway, and you expect a guest room.
But then he opens a door and flicks on a light, revealing his bedroom.
You stop dead. He doesn’t.
He walks in like this is completely normal, gesturing around casually.
“You can sleep here,” he says simply. “It’s the warmest room. And Iye likes to sleep at the foot of the bed, so he’ll probably keep you company.”
Your face burns.
You’re standing in his space. His actual private space. Soft sheets, a faint trace of his cologne, books stacked unevenly by the nightstand, a guitar propped in the corner.
It feels wrong to be here. It feels right to be here. You can’t decide which is worse.
He turns, finally noticing the look on your face.
“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“Nothing, I‘m fine,” you say too fast.
His eyebrows knit slightly.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
Before you can answer, he steps closer, instinctively, unthinking and suddenly he’s right in front of you, close enough that you can see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises.
“You look kind of flushed,” he murmurs. “You’re not getting sick on me, are you?”
You open your mouth to deny it, but then his hand lifts.
He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. Then slides it lightly to your cheek, slow, gentle, careful.
And then it just… stays there.
Not a quick check. Not an accidental touch. Just resting against your skin like it belongs there.
Like touching you is normal. Like touching you doesn’t make your entire body go hot.
Your breath catches, and the air between you changes, warmer, thicker, charged with something you don’t have a name for.
He speaks softly, so quietly you almost think you imagined it.
“Thank you for doing this,” he says, thumb brushing the edge of your cheekbone. “It… really means a lot.”
You barely hear him over the pounding in your chest.
This position, him leaning in slightly, his eyes focused on your lips, your cheek cradled in his palm, it’s familiar. Too familiar. It’s exactly like the day of the music video shoot. The moment he’d cupped your face just like this. The moment you’d shared your first kiss with him.
You never forgot it. You haven’t stopped thinking about it. And being around him these past weeks, the teasing, the sudden shift to when he started treating you gently, has been torture.
Because you know exactly how you feel. And you know exactly how impossible it is. He doesn’t date. He doesn’t get attached. Most importantly he doesn’t… fall for trainees.
Someone like him would never… He couldn’t possibly…
But then why is he looking at you like this? Why does he seem afraid to blink, like he’ll miss something? Why does it feel like he’s about to…
Your gaze drops to his mouth. You can’t help it. It’s instinct. Hunger.
He notices.
You feel it, in the way his hand grows still against your cheek, in the quiet inhale he tries to hide, in the barely-there tilt of his head that carries him closer to you.
You don’t know who moves first. Maybe you both do.
But suddenly he’s inches away. Your noses nearly brush. You feel his breath against your lips, soft and warm and unbearably close.
He leans in, and then-
thump
The closet door nudges open.
Zoa saunters out like a celebrity making a late entrance, meowing with dramatic offense.
You jump. He jerks back even faster.
“Oh!” you blurt. “Zoa! Hi.”
Your face is lava. He looks like he might spontaneously combust.
“Right,” you stammer, clinging to the first logical sentence that enters your panicked brain. “Don’t you… need to leave? For your trip?”
He blinks at you.
Then blinks again, like the word trip reminds him he’s supposed to be somewhere.
“Oh. Uh. Yes. Leaving.” He grabs the nearest shirt blindly. Then a charger. A random book. Then a hoodie.
Something that looks suspiciously like pyjama pants. All of it goes into a bag that is absolutely not meant for travel. He doesn’t even check what he packed.
You watch him, torn between confusion, disbelief, and the uncontrollable urge to laugh.
After one last frantic scan of the room, he shuffles toward the door and pauses.
“Text me if you need anything,” he says softly.
“You too- ” Then you correct yourself, flustered. “I mean… safe travels.”
“Right. Yeah.” He nods a little to earnestly. “Of course.”
And he disappears into the hallway.
You stand in his bedroom, heart pounding, cheeks burning, skin still tingling where his hand had been.
And you realise, breathless, overwhelmed, terrified, that none of that felt like a simple favor at all.
That maybe… just maybe…
You aren’t imagining things.
***
He doesn’t stop walking until the elevator doors slide shut. And even then, he still can’t breathe right.
His heart is doing something completely unreasonable in his chest, pounding too fast, too loud, like it’s trying to break out. He tightens his grip on the bag stuffed with absolute nonsense and stares at the glowing elevator numbers.
He left. He actually left.
He left her. In his penthouse. In his bedroom.
He scrubs a hand over his face.
“Fuck.”
It comes out low, helpless.
He hadn’t meant for tonight to go like this. It had been his stupid jealousy, that ridiculous, possessive flash he absolutely could not let her or Hajoon see, that had started this whole mess. He hadn’t planned on getting flustered when he saw her in his doorway, small and bright-eyed and nervous. He definitely hadn’t meant to panic like someone caught doing something wrong.
Because yes, technically, he had lied to her.
But honestly? He doesn’t feel nearly as guilty as he probably should.
Because the second he’d seen her standing in his home, everything inside him had tilted.
She’d looked so soft under the warm lights. So out of place and somehow exactly right at the same time. Like she belonged there in a way no one else ever had.
And then she flushed. That tiny, pink, startled flush that knocked the air right out of him.
He didn’t stand a chance.
He leans back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, pressing a hand to his chest. Not in panic.
In disbelief.
In relief. In victory.
The way she looked at him. The way she leaned in. The way her eyes darkened, her breath caught when he touched her cheek…
He knew it. He knew she felt something. And now he’s sure.
By the time he reaches the hotel, he’s buzzing. Alive in a way he hasn’t felt in years.
He tosses the useless bag onto the bed and sits down heavily, a breathless laugh escaping him as he runs a hand through his hair.
She’s sleeping in his home.
In his room. In his bed.
He can still feel the shape of her cheek under his palm.
He’d meant to check her temperature. He’d meant to be casual. He’d meant to be responsible.
He’d completely failed.
He lifts his head as the memory hits him again: her wide eyes, the soft intake of breath, the way she stared at his mouth before she leaned in, just a little.
She wanted him.
He drops back against the headboard, eyes closing as a slow smile spreads across his face.
God. They were going to kiss, again.
No cameras, no script, just them.
He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters, with genuine pain:
“…Fucking Zoa.”
He loves that cat. He also wants to put her in time-out for the rest of the decade.
He drags both hands through his hair, pushing it back roughly as he tries, and fails, to settle the heat that’s been simmering in him since she walked into his apartment.
He’d been careful around her the past few weeks. Measured. Holding himself back so she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. He hadn’t been sure if he was imagining the tension.
But tonight?
Tonight she made it obvious.
He laughs softly into the quiet room.
“Finally.”
Because right now she’s in his penthouse, in his space, surrounded by the things that mean something to him. Breathing in his air. Leaving traces of herself everywhere she steps.
He imagines her curled under his blankets. Her head on his pillow. Her scent sinking into the sheets.
She’ll fall asleep surrounded by him. She’ll wake up surrounded by him.
It feels right. It feels good.
And thinking about her in his bed? Yeah… that does something to him.
His jaw tightens, not with frustration, but anticipation.
Because now he knows she wants him. Now he knows he can stop second-guessing every look, every smile, every moment he let his guard down around her.
He doesn’t need to chase blindly anymore. He doesn’t need to guess.
She likes him. She wants him.
He can take his time, move steady. Make sure she feels safe, wanted, chosen, not overwhelmed. But he’s done pretending he doesn’t want her.
He closes his eyes, letting the image wash over him again: her lips inches from his, her body leaning toward him, that soft, hopeful look in her eyes…
Yeah.
Next time?
He’s not stopping. Not unless she tells him to.
And something tells him… she won’t.
***
The moment the door clicks shut behind him, the entire penthouse feels too quiet.
You stand there for a few seconds, frozen, pulse thudding in your ears.
He’s gone. And you’re… here.
In his home. In his space. In his bedroom.
Your face heats just remembering how close you came, how close he came, and you press both palms lightly to your cheeks.
“Get it together,” you whisper to yourself.
Zoa trots over, tail high, as if sensing your incoming meltdown. She bumps her head against your shin, purring so loudly it echoes off the wood floors.
“Okay,” you murmur, kneeling to pet her. “Right. You’re here. I’m here. It’s fine. Totally fine. Just… cat-sitting. That’s all.”
Zoa blinks at you like she absolutely does not believe that.
You eventually peel yourself off the floor and wander slowly through the place, turning off lights he left on, checking the balcony door lock exactly three times because he told you to be careful.
When you reach his bedroom doorway, you pause.
Then hover.
Then pause again.
The bed looks so soft. You shouldn’t stare at it this long. You do anyway.
You place your bag down on the floor and move carefully inside, like you’re afraid to disturb something sacred. You sit at the edge of the mattress, just sit, and the moment you do, his scent rises around you.
Clean laundry. Cedar. Something faintly smoky and sharp.
Your stomach flips violently.
You lie back slowly, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before your eyes slide shut and you turn your head to the side, burying half your face into the pillow.
It smells like him.
Of course it does. It’s his bed.
But still.
You inhale again, deeper this time, and your chest tightens. Your spine tingles.
You open your eyes way too fast and sit up, flustered.
“Nope,” you mutter. “Absolutely not. We’re not doing… that.”
You escape to the bathroom quickly, desperate for something to do other than think about Jiyong in a bed-related context.
The bathroom is warm, softly lit, and stocked like a luxury hotel. Towels rolled perfectly, soaps arranged aesthetically, one of his colognes sitting on the counter like it’s watching you.
You eye the shower.
You really need one. The day, dance practice, the almost kiss, the panic.
You peel off your clothes and step inside. The hot water hits you all at once, melting knots in your shoulders you didn’t even know you had. You lean your forehead against the tile, letting steam wrap around you.
Then the realization slams into your brain like a thunderclap, you don’t have pajamas.
You freeze mid-rinse.
Oh no. No no no…
You literally didn’t pack anything because this was supposed to be an “in-and-out” situation. Feed cats. Scoop litter. Go home. Not “sleep in his bed and shower in his bathroom like you live here.”
You finish your shower as fast as humanly possible and wrap yourself in one of his huge towels that smells faintly like eucalyptus.
Back in the bedroom, Iye hops onto the bed and watches you like he’s enjoying the show.
“Do not judge me,” you whisper to him.
You stare at your phone.
Then at the closet.
Then at your phone again.
You could text him. Ask if you can borrow something to sleep in.
But he’d… read that and picture you in something of his. Which would immediately make your brain explode.
You pace the room three full laps.
You pick up your phone. Put it down. Pick it up again. Put it down harder.
Finally you sigh, long, dramatic, defeated. You’re only other option is sleeping naked and you’re definitely not doing that in his bed.
You type and erase the message six times.
Then:
You: Hi, um… do you maybe have something i can borrow to sleep in? I forgot to pack. Sorry
You stare at the message. Then at the ceiling. Then at your soul leaving your body.
Before you can chicken out, you hit send.
Iye chirps and flops on his side like he’s watching peak comedy.
“I know,” you groan, flinging yourself onto the mattress beside him. “I’m never going to survive this.”
You bury your face into the pillow again, heart racing, waiting for your phone to buzz.
You’re in his bed.
Wrapped in his towel.
Smelling like his soap.
Every thought in your head is a chaotic, a looping real of:
We almost kissed. He almost kissed me back. What if he wanted to? What if he did?
What if-
Your phone vibrates.
You flinch so hard Iye startles.
You snatch the phone of the sheets.
One message from him.
Jiyong (oppa): Of course. Bottom drawer on the left. Take whatever you want.
Your heart stops, restarts, then stops again.
His contact name alone is still enough to make you blush.
“Whatever… I want?” you whisper.
You’re not sure if you’re breathing anymore.
Because suddenly this doesn’t feel imaginary. Or hopeless.
Or one-sided.
Not like an unrequited crush you been trying to ignore.
It feels real.
Real enough that your hands shake when you open the drawer.
Inside: soft shirts, loose sweats, hoodies worn at the collar, a few things that definitely smell like him.
Your fingers brush the fabric and your breath catches.
You pick one up hesitantly, a black vintage tee, worn soft, the hem a little frayed from years of use.
You hold it to your chest.
Then whisper into the empty room, “…I’m so screwed.”
***
You don’t remember falling asleep.
One second you were face-down in his pillow having a crisis, and the next, something heavy lands on your stomach. You jolt awake with an embarrassing squeak.
Zoa blinks down at you, entirely unbothered, plops her full weight onto your ribs, and starts kneading your shirt like you’re a very disappointing pillow.
“Ow, okay. Good morning to you too,” you groan, voice rough and sleep-thick
You rub your face, trying to force your brain to boot up. It takes ten whole seconds for reality to hit.
This isn’t your ceiling. This isn’t your bed. This definitely isn’t your shirt.
You are in Kwon Jiyong’s bed, wearing Kwon Jiyong’s shirt, after a night of spiraling over the fact that he almost kissed you.
Heat crawls up your neck so fast you swear you hear it.
“Nope,” you whisper, gently nudging Zoa off your abdomen. “Nope nope nope, we’re not thinking about that yet.”
Zoa meows at you like she absolutely is thinking about that and has thoughts.
You push yourself upright, the hem of the shirt slipping off one shoulder, and immediately tug it back up like the world’s most flustered nun. His scent clings to the fabric, cedar, clean laundry, something smoky and your stomach flutters so hard you genuinely consider lying back down and pretending you died overnight.
Instead, you drag yourself out of the bed and pad across the cool floor. You catch your reflection in the mirror across the room and freeze.
You look soft. Sleep-rumpled. Pretty, in an unfamiliar way.
Like someone who fits here.
You immediately look away before that thought can ruin you.
Iye chirps and trots past you, tail flicking like he’s herding you toward the living room. You follow him, rubbing your eyes, still half asleep.
The city spreads out below the floor-to-ceiling windows, sun rising, sky pale and quiet. The whole apartment feels like it’s holding its breath.
You yawn, stretch and your phone. No messages. Right. He’s probably busy.
Your chest sinks a little before you can stop it.
“Okay,” you mumble, forcing down the stupid feeling. “Just do your job. Feed the cats. Lock up. Breath.”
The cats weave around your legs as you scoop their food, Zoa brushing you’re ankles like sees been starved for days.
You fumble with the bag, nearly knock over a very expensive looking vase, and catch it at the last second with a panicked gasp.
“O-okay, nobody saw that,” you tell the cats.
They absolutely saw that.
Once their bowls are down, they dive in with dramatic enthusiasm. You’re smiling at them when your phone buzzes.
Your heart flies into your throat so fast you actually choke on air.
You grab your phone like it’s a live grenade.
Jiyong (oppa): Morning. Did they eat?
You stare at the message like it’s in another language.
Then, after overthinking for a solid five seconds, you type:
You: Yeah! They were… uh… very enthusiastic.
You hesitate.
You hesitate, then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you crouch and snap a quick selfie: you, sleep-soft, oversized shirt swallowing you, cats munching away behind you.
You add:
You: Good morning.
A moment later.
Jiyong (oppa): Good. And good morning.
Another message comes trough.
Jiyong (oppa): That shirt’s big on you. Cute.
You breathe out, a quiet, shaky smile tugging at your lips.
You’re doomed.
You decide, like an idiot, that you can handle making coffee. How hard could it be?
Turns out, very, very hard.
The machine is huge, sleek, intimidating. You press one button. It whirs ominously.
You press another. It hisses like it’s about to launch into orbit.
“Oh my god, please don’t explode,” you whisper.
You mash one more button in desperation. The machine SCREAMS steam.
You flinch so hard you nearly throw yourself across the counter.
You end up with something vaguely warm and definitely caffeinated, and honestly that’s enough. You sip it carefully, grimacing, and pray Jiyong never asks how much chaos you inflicted on his kitchen appliances.
With coffee in hand, you wander the penthouse, straightening tiny things that feel too intimate to touch but you do anyway.
Then you stop at the bedroom doorway again.
Your heart tips sideways in your chest.
He let you stay here. He told you to take whatever you wanted.
You realise, slowly, terrifyingly, that you slept better here than you have in weeks.
Eventually you gather your bag and head toward the door, checking the balcony lock exactly three times the way he told you to.
When you turn to say goodbye, Iye is sitting near the couch, staring at you with an expression that can only be described as betrayal.
You crouch down with a soft laugh.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, reaching to scratch his chin. “I’ll be back tonight.”
His ears perk. Like he understands.
You straighten, heart doing something unhelpful and warm.
You shouldn’t like being here this much. You shouldn’t feel this… attached.
But as you step into the hallway and the elevator doors close around you, his scent still clinging to your skin, you know the truth:
You’re already gone for him.
And you have no idea how to stop.
By the time you reach the YG building, your heart has mostly stopped racing.
You keep tugging at your jacket, trying to hide the fact that you’re still wearing his shirt underneath. It’s ridiculous, no one here knows what Jiyong’s clothes look like. No one here knows you slept in his bed. No one here knows you spent the morning smiling at your phone like a lovesick idiot.
You take a breath.
You’re fine.
Except you’re absolutely not.
Because the second you walk into the practice room, your friend Nari looks up from stretching, freezes, then narrows her eyes at you like she’s staring directly into your soul.
“Wow,” she says immediately. “Someone’s glowing.”
You blink. “Glowing?”
“Yes.” She points at your face accusingly. “That’s a glow. A post-something glow.”
Another trainee, Minseo, glances over. “You do look… different today,” she agrees, squinting at you. “Like you slept well for once.”
Your brain short-circuits. Slept well? In his bed?
Wearing his shirt?
“No!” you blurt. Too loud. Way too loud. “I mean- I just- I was home early. I did laundry. I cleaned my room. I slept. That’s- that’s it. Really.”
Nari raises a brow so high it could touch the ceiling.
“You did laundry?” she repeats slowly. “That’s your lie? You look like someone who got carried home in a drama.”
You’re positive your face is bright red by now, still you try to act nonchalant as your soul tries to leave your body.
You let out a high-pitched scream-laugh. “HAHA, what? No. Nobody carried me. That’s- that’s ridiculous.”
Minseo’s jaw drops. Nari gasps dramatically. You clap a hand over your mouth.
“I mean it. No one carried me anywhere! I was just- exaggerating! For… emphasis!”
You want to climb inside the nearest air vent and never come out.
Nari pats your shoulder like you’re the funniest person she’s ever met. “Uh-huh. Sure. Definitely no mysterious man involved. Definitely not.”
There was. A very famous one. Who nearly kissed you last night. And told you to “take whatever you want.“ And texted you cute thirty minutes ago.
You decide you need to shut up forever.
Thankfully the instructor arrives and calls everyone to warm up. Music fills the room, loud and bright, and you stretch your arms above your head, trying to bury yourself in routine.
But you’re distracted.
Hopelessly, embarrassingly distracted.
You dance well, surprisingly well, considering your head is somewhere else entirely.
Every time you roll your hips, you remember his hands guiding you. Every spin brings back the memory of him stepping behind you, his breath brushing your neck. Every time the shirt slips against your collarbone-
You choke on air again.
Focus. Focus. FOCUS.
After running through the routine three times, your instructor claps sharply. “Good. Take ten.”
You sink to the floor, wiping sweat off your jaw, trying to breathe normally. Nari plops down beside you and nudges you gently with her knee.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks softer this time, genuine concern replacing teasing.
You nod for to quickly. “Totally. I’m just… tired.”
“Tired,” she repeats. “Right. Didn’t you say you want to bed early?“
You mentally punch yourself for blowing your own cover again.
“I-I did. I mean, I meant, I was…”
Nari gives you a look. The kind that says, you are absolutely lying and doing it badly.
You whine into your hands.
Nari laughs and leans back on her palms. “Whatever happened, it’s making you dance better. Use it.”
You peek at her through your fingers.
She winks.
You wish you could tell her nothing happened. You wish you could pretend everything is normal. But your heart gives a heavy, traitorous thud. Because something did happen.
Even if it was only almost.
***
Jiyong stares at the ceiling of the hotel suite like it personally offended him.
He’s been here less than twenty-four hours and he already hates it. The generic art on the walls, the air-conditioning humming too loudly, the stupid modern lamp that flickers when he looks at it wrong. Everything feels sterile. Temporary. Wrong.
He drops his arm over his eyes and exhales.
He should’ve just told her he’d be gone for the night. But that wouldn’t explain why he needed her to watch his cats.
Not that he really regrets lying. If anything, the lie got him something he never expected:
Proof she likes him back.
But still, this distance he put between them himself? It feels like a punishment.
The warmth of her pressed against him. Her breath ghosting across his mouth. That tiny, shaky inhale before he almost kissed her.
He groans into the pillow.
This is torture. Why did he think leaving was a good idea?
He flips over, snatches his phone from the nightstand, and opens her message again, the one he keeps pretending he isn’t checking every five minutes.
And there it is.
Her selfie.
Sleep-soft. Hair messy. A smile so sincere it knocks the air out of him. His shirt swallowing her whole, slipping off her shoulder in a way that should be illegal. His cats eating behind her like she’s lived there forever.
He breathes out, slow and helpless.
Taking a picture like that should be classified as a weapon.
He zooms in without even thinking.
First the cats. Zoa looks smug. Iye looks like he’s judging him for not being home.
Then her face.
Eyes half-lidded from sleep. Cheeks flushed. A tiny, hesitant smile. The kind someone wears when they’re thinking of the person they’re sending it to.
His fingers tighten around the phone.
God.
She took this for him. She’s in his space. She’s wearing his clothes.
He scrolls to the message he sent back, the one he regrets and doesn’t regret at all:
That shirt’s big on you. Cute.
He shuts his eyes, pressing his phone to his forehead.
Why did he say that? Why that word?
He knows why.
Because he wasn’t trying to be subtle. Because he wasn’t thinking about restraint.
He was thinking about her.
About how small she looked in his shirt. About how she must have slept curled up in his bed. About how she probably woke up warm and soft and-
He cuts himself off before his brain gets him into trouble.
He tosses the phone aside and scrubs both hands over his face.
“Get it together,” he mutters.
But he knows he won’t.
Not when she’s the only thing he wants to think about.
He tries to distract himself.
He opens Instagram, scrolls aimlessly, then closes it two seconds later because everything feels wrong, too loud, too bright, too far from the person he actually wants to see. He turns on the TV, lasts maybe five seconds, turns it off again. Opens Instagram a second time. Closes it again. Stands. Sits. Stands again. Paces.
Nothing helps.
Eventually he gives up and reaches for his laptop.
If he can’t stop thinking about her, he might as well pretend he’s doing something productive. Work usually helps. Music usually helps. Losing himself in sound is the one thing that reliably pulls him out of his head.
Usually.
He puts on his headphones and pulls up a project file, specifically, the demo they recorded together.
The moment her voice fills his ears, something in him eases. Calms. Softens. Warms.
Her first takes are exactly how he remembers them: careful, shy, a little breathy, like she wasn’t sure if she deserved to be in the booth at all. Then the chorus arrives, the moment she relaxed, and her tone blooms, bright, rich and unmistakably hers.
He closes his eyes.
He can see her standing beside him in the studio again, hands tucked behind her back, shoulders a little tense. He remembers the way she kept sneaking glances at him, waiting for any kind of reaction, and the way her whole face lit up when he told her she sounded good.
A small ache curls in his chest. God, he wants to hear her sing for him again.
He shakes his head, forcing himself to refocus. He adjusts levels, smooths out the harmonies, tunes one rushed line. Slowly, the entire track comes together, cleaner, brighter, almost glowing.
It feels alive.
Mostly because she’s in it.
By the time he finishes, hours have passed without him noticing. It’s the first time in days that anything has felt effortless.
He leans back in the chair, listening to the final mix play through the speakers, and instead of satisfaction, a strange hollowness settles in his ribs.
He’s proud. But he’s lonely.
He shouldn’t be the only one hearing this.
She should be here, beside him, listening with him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, twisting the hem of her sweater the way she always does when she’s nervous.
He listens to the last seconds of the song fade out, then reaches for his phone without thinking. He shouldn’t text again. He’s already messaged her once this morning.
But the room feels too quiet without her voice. And he wants, God help him, he wants to know how her day went.
He types before he can talk himself out of it:
Jiyong (oppa): Practice go okay?
He sets his phone down, pretending he’s not waiting, pretending he isn’t ridiculous.
It buzzes almost immediately.
You: Yeah!! It was good. Tiring but good.
He smiles before he can stop himself. He‘s sure she worked hard, wishes he could’ve seen it.
He types:
Jiyong: Don’t forget to eat.
Her reply is instant:
You: I will! Well… eventually. Still at YG actually. Gonna head to your place after to feed the cats.
Something warm flickers in his chest.
She’s going back to his home.
Back to his space.
He exhales slowly, thumb hovering.
Jiyong: Good. They’ll be happy to see you.
Her typing bubbles appear. Disappears. Appears again.
Then:
You: I think they like me more than they like you lol
His mouth curves.
Jiyong: Impossible. But if they do, I’ll have to win them back.
A pause.
Long enough for him to imagine her biting her lip, thinking too hard.
Then:
You: You can try ;)
He sits up straight.
Did she- Was that- Is she flirting with him? His pulse spikes.
He reads the message again.
And again.
And again.
Jiyong: Is that a challenge?
This time she takes longer to reply. He imagines her flushed from practice, leaning against a wall at YG, trying not to smile too obviously.
Finally:
You: Guess you’ll have to find out…
He goes still.
She’s opening a door she’s never opened before.
And he’s supposed to stay here another night?
No chance.
Absolutely not.
He wants to see her so badly it feels physical.
Something in him snaps cleanly, decisively.
He stands so fast the chair skids across the floor. He grabs his jacket. His bag. His cap.
“Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath.
He’s done pretending to be on a trip. Done waiting three days when every part of him is dragging him in one direction only… home
To her
He leaves the hotel without looking back.
The hall outside his penthouse is dim, the motion lights flickering on as he approaches. His pulse is hammering, ridiculous, considering this is his place, his home.
But she’s inside.
And he wasn’t supposed to be back.
He slides the keycard, the lock clicks open, and he pushes the door gently.
The lights are low. Soft, golden light spills across the floor.
“Hey- ” he starts, softly.
Nothing.
The space is still.
Then he notices movement. A shadow near the kitchen island.
His brows knit together.
“Hello?” he says gently.
And then he sees it.
The top of her head peeking out from behind the kitchen island. Just barely. Like she’s hiding. She’s crouched low, clutching one of the cat bowls like it might save her life, eyes wide, shoulders tense.
It takes everything in him not to laugh.
Oh.
Realization hits, followed immediately by something warm and absurdly fond. She thought he was an intruder.
He steps forward slowly, careful not to startle her further, jacket still in his hand.
And then she looks up.
Her eyes widen the moment she sees him.
“J-Jiyong?”
His heart stutters at the sound of his name like that, soft, breathless, relieved.
“Hey,” he says quietly, warmth flooding his voice before he can stop it.
She’s standing now, flushed and embarrassed, hair still damp from a shower, wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie, his hoodie, he realizes a beat later.
He steps inside further, and for a moment the world narrows to just the two of them. Suddenly, coming home early feels like the only choice he ever could have made.
And everything feels painfully, beautifully inevitable.
synopsis: your dating history had been nothing but bad sex and even worse goodbyes. he showed you a patience and certainty that silenced every doubt, proving you weren’t hard to love; you’d been loved by him all along.
warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, dom!jiyong, sub!reader, soft power play, heavy praise kink, multiple orgasms | best friends to lovers, swearing, fluff, aftercare.
author’s note: this is one of my fics for @jiyongsangel’s man’s best friend writing event!! as per usual, it’s pretty lengthy because apparently i’m incapable of writing anything under five thousand words. i know a lot of people have been looking forward to this one, so hopefully you all enjoy it! ♡
you weren’t heartbroken; that would’ve implied there was something left to break.
you’d been on dates.
enough of them to know when there wouldn't be a second one before the drinks even hit the table.
enough to hear the same compliments repeated back to you like a script.
enough to recognize the tone men used when they were trying to impress you without actually learning anything real.
you’d slept with some of them, too.
sometimes because you wanted to. sometimes because you were desperate for relief. sometimes just to prove to yourself that you could still feel something, even if it didn’t last.
you weren’t bitter. you didn’t walk around openly hating men or rolling your eyes at every couple on the street.
you just didn’t have it in you anymore.
the hope. the performance. the energy it took to pretend someone’s bare minimum was enough.
so when you got home from yet another date that left you completely drained, you didn’t even bother with the lights.
you left your bag by the door, kicked your shoes aside, and sank onto the kitchen floor with a box of cookies at your side.
you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even sad. it was quieter than that; almost like resignation.
maybe it wasn’t that love never came; maybe it was that you were never the kind of person people stayed for.
being alone didn’t scare you.
what scared you was how much work it always seemed to take to avoid it.
every man felt like a mirror you kept wiping down, but no matter how clean you made it, the image was never your own.
it was smudged with their ego, clouded by their expectations, and warped by the way they looked at you like you were a puzzle they were entitled to solve.
you were tired of carving yourself down. of softening your edges. of apologizing for being too much or not enough.
tired of folding yourself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left of you at all, except whatever version might finally be enough to make someone stay.
your phone buzzed against the counter, a small sound that cut through the stillness and broke the spiral of your thoughts.
you kept your focus on the cookies in your lap, thumb working over the cardboard as though the solution to all of your problems might appear if you traced it long enough.
until it buzzed again. then again. and again.
you let out a weary sigh and reached for the phone, answering blindly, not bothering to see who it was before lifting it to your ear.
mostly because you already knew who was on the other end of the line.
“hi,” you said, voice low and a little scratchy from disuse.
“you sound like shit,” jiyong replied, warm and easy.
you smiled without meaning to. “thanks.”
fabric shifted on his end, a soft thud like he was throwing himself deeper into a couch.
“you didn’t text me today,” he spoke, not accusing, just noticing.
“mm.” you agreed quietly. “didn’t really feel like it.”
a quiet hum of understanding slipped out before his voice turned lighter. “hold on. didn’t you have that date tonight? with moustache guy?”
you shut your eyes. “unfortunately.”
“so…how bad was it?” he asked, already seeming to know the answer.
your head tipped back against the cupboard, the cool surface steadying you.
“he called me dramatic,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“ouch.” he made the sound like a real wince. “what’d you do, insult his shirt?”
despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “no. i just didn’t want to sleep with him.”
the quiet that followed was brief, but you felt it; he was biting back his first thought and thinking of something more appropriate to say.
“ah,” he said finally, voice dry. “god forbid you make a decision about your own body.”
you snorted, the sound sharp in your throat. “right? how dare i.”
“so you blocked him?” he asked, though it sounded more like certainty than a question.
“while he was walking me home,” you admitted, reaching into the box for another stale cookie.
his laugh rolled through the receiver, low and warm. “brutal and efficient…i respect it.”
the sound pulled a laugh out of you too, small and worn around the edges, before it faded back into quiet.
his voice softened in the pause. “you doing okay, though?”
you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you couldn’t figure out how to shape the heaviness in your chest into words.
“i’m tired,” you said at last, the words too small for what you actually meant. “not just tonight. it’s the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.”
“mm.” his agreement was soft, a sound that told you he knew exactly what that felt like, and that he’d been there more times than he could count.
his breathing stayed steady in your ear, present in a way that made the silence feel less empty.
“how did you even know it went badly?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.
“because you picked up,” he answered simply, like that explained everything.
you frowned at the ceiling, not satisfied. “that doesn’t even make sense.”
there was movement on his end again, the soft rustle of fabric and a dull thud in the background, though his voice never faltered.
“you never pick up during good dates,” he reasoned. a pause stretched, just long enough for the smile in his voice to be obvious. “not that you’ve ever actually had one.”
your mouth fell open, half offended, half amused. “you’re such an asshole.”
“tell me i’m wrong.” the grin in his voice was obvious, even without seeing his face.
you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. you knew he was right.
“yeah. that’s what i thought.” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.
“you’re insufferable,” you muttered.
“and right,” he shot back without missing a beat, the faint shuffle of noise still bleeding through the line.
you squinted, suspicion tugging. “seriously, what are you doing? it sounds like you’re losing a fight with your furniture.”
“i’m coming over,” he said easily, the kind of casual certainty that came from years of getting away with it.
“jiyong—” you started, fully ready to argue with him.
“don’t even start,” he cut in. “you’re not winning this one.”
“you don’t have to come,” you mumbled, curling tighter on the kitchen floor. “my apartment is a disaster, and i look like i’ve been hit by a bus.”
“cool,” he said, not missing a beat. “and?”
you blinked. “and i don’t want you to see me like this?”
his laugh slipped through, low and amused. “please. i’ve seen worse. like that night you got super wasted, missed the bathroom stall completely, and made me hold your hair while you cried into the toilet about how you were ‘too pretty to suffer like this.’”
you let out a dramatic groan, dragging your palm down your face. “you swore you’d never bring that up again.”
“i lied,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “messy hair and a graveyard of takeout boxes don’t even crack your top ten. i’ve watched you full-body sob during tangled.”
“that was emotional,” you defended.
“it was,” he agreed easily. “your eyes were swollen for hours afterwards.”
“you’re unbearable,” you muttered.
“maybe,” he said lightly, “but i’m still coming over. you don’t get to argue with me about it, either. i’m already out of the house.”
you shook your head, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “this feels like harassment.”
his laugh came easy, smug enough to make your chest tighten in spite of yourself. “yeah, yeah. file a complaint when i get there. i’ll see you in ten.”
he ended the call before you could get another word in.
you stayed on the floor a little longer, the kitchen tiles cool against your legs.
your bra strap had slipped down your arm, the dress from earlier felt too tight, and the lingering scent of ramen from your date was starting to make your stomach turn.
eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and padded toward your bedroom, tugging at zippers and straps as you walked.
you made it to your room without bothering to flick on the light.
the soft outline of jiyong’s hoodie was easy to spot in the dark, still draped over your desk chair like it had been waiting for you.
you slipped it on and tugged a pair of cotton shorts from the drawer without bothering to check which ones they were.
you were already turning back towards the kitchen before you’d fully registered the choice; like your body had already decided for you.
the only light came from the lamp in the living room and the soft glow above the stove, casting a dim warmth over the mess you said you’d clean hours ago.
piled up boxes. dirty dishes. the garbage you should have changed yesterday.
none of it was catastrophic; just enough to be annoying.
you lingered in the doorway, taking it all in. like maybe, if you stared hard enough, the mess would clean itself.
you thought about moving. picking up a box, rinsing a dish, doing the bare minimum to prove that you weren't completely useless.
you stood there long enough to accept it wasn't going to happen.
you couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic it all felt.
it was a five minute job at best, yet you still allowed yourself to sink back down to the floor, because avoidance had always came easier than effort.
the apartment was quiet for all of thirty seconds before his voice crashed through it, loud and certain, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.
“yo,” jiyong called out. “sorry i’m late—traffic was actual hell, and your street is like a one-way to satan. also,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “i brought some noodles and that weird mango drink you like. worship me accordingly.”
you leaned off the cupboards to glance toward the entrance. “you’re not late,” you said, flatly. “i told you not to come.”
“and yet,” he replied, already kicking off his shoes. “here i am.”
he crouched down to fix them; heel to toe, perfectly aligned with yours like it was second nature.
it was just shoes. nothing more.
except most men you’d gone out with would’ve kicked halfway across the floor, expecting you to deal with it later.
the care he gave to something so small shouldn’t have meant anything, but the heat that flickered low in your stomach said otherwise.
you dismissed it just as quickly as it came, telling yourself it was just the bad date making scraps of effort look bigger than they actually were.
with a groan, you tipped onto your back, landing against the tile with a quiet thud. one arm draped across your eyes, the other one splayed out like you’d officially given up. “god, you're annoying.”
“love you too,” he muttered, easing the bags onto the counter, careful not to knock over the leaning tower of unopened mail.
he turned and pulled the fridge open with one hand, already bracing himself. “wow. shredded cheese, expired oat milk, and…ranch? you’ve really outdone yourself.”
“oh my god,” you peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “i literally had ramen earlier.”
he glanced at the takeout container still sitting on the counter; unopened and untouched.
“that from your date?” he asked, already tugging off the lid. “what, was the guy’s moustache so gross you lost your appetite?”
“can you not,” you sighed, laughter sneaking into your voice despite your best efforts.
he barely reacted. “you didn’t even eat this. the broth has a film.”
you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. “stop inspecting my trash like a raccoon.”
“stop living like a raccoon,” he shot back. “and sit up. this is getting depressing.”
“no,” you said. “maybe i like the floor.”
“my bad,” he said, stepping over you without hesitation. “i’ll leave you two alone, then.”
he picked up your container of ramen you'd abandoned on the counter, emptied the broth into the sink, and scraped the noodles into the trash.
there was no hesitation. no second thought.
only quick, deliberate movements carried out with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly what needed to be done.
if it were up to you, the container would have gone straight into the trash, broth and all.
yet for some reason, it stayed in his hands.
he held it under the stream of hot water, and watched it spill over the sides until the cloudy film began to dissolve. he made it look so natural, as if rinsing it had always been the obvious choice.
without breaking his rhythm, he crouched down and tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink. his hand slipped inside, bypassing the clutter you usually shoved in there, until his palm landed on the caddy tucked against the wall.
he didn’t fumble or search. his fingers closed around the sponge instantly, and pulled it free in one smooth motion.
you stayed frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the way he worked it over the container.
the water slid over his tattoos like it had chosen that path on purpose, dragging your gaze there and daring you to keep staring.
every drop seemed designed to make you notice the strength in his hands and the flex of his fingers, until you couldn’t stop imagining what else they could do if they turned their attention to you instead.
before you could spiral any further, he rinsed the last of the bubbles away and placed the container neatly into the drying rack, never once glancing in your direction.
he wasn’t doing it for praise. he wasn’t trying to make a point, either.
he simply noticed what needed to be done, and instead of judging you or making you feel guilty for letting it sit, he took care of it himself without needing a single thank you.
it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop. it shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry.
yet the heat was already there, rushing low until you felt damp against the cotton of your shorts. you pressed your thighs together, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
but there was no denying it. your body didn’t care about the logic. it only cared about the way his hands moved, sure and unbothered, as if caring for the mess you’d left behind came easier to him than leaving it.
your eyes followed him as he moved towards the garbage. he gathered the bag in his hands, twisting it into a knot with an easy strength that made his forearms flex, tattoos shifting with every pull.
it was quick and efficient; the kind of movement that never asked to be noticed.
he placed it by the door, not just to move it out of the way, but with the unspoken intention of taking it out later. the kind of small, thoughtless promise no one else had ever made you.
when he stepped back into the room, you told yourself he had to be finished by now, though every part of you already knew he wasn’t.
the fabric of his sweats pulled tight across his thighs as he crouched again, reaching for the cabinet.
a new bag rustled open in his hands, his fingers working with quiet certainty as he slipped it into the bin. each edge was pressed down carefully, tucked into place until it held exactly the way you liked it.
a task that should’ve looked mundane somehow carried weight in his hands. your pulse climbed in uneven beats, chest tight, as if the air in the room had turned heavier just because he was in it.
there was nothing seductive in what he did, yet every precise movement drew the heat higher until your body responded as though he’d touched you directly.
too many bad dates had taught you to not expect this kind of care.
you were used to men who thought effort stopped at sending a text, and who never lifted a finger unless it benefited them.
the guy from tonight hadn't even bothered to hold the door open for you, so the thought of him replacing a garbage bag was almost laughable.
most men had always treated care as an obligation; something only performed because they felt they had to.
with jiyong, it was instinct; as natural as his next breath.
something in you gave way the longer you watched him.
it became too easy to let your mind wander, to twist the steady rhythm of his hands into something else; something meant just for you.
suddenly, his hands weren’t cleaning anymore. they were gripping your hips, sliding lower until his fingers pressed between your thighs, stroking through the damp heat he’d already put there without even trying.
you could almost feel them pushing inside, filling you with the same easy certainty he carried into every small thing he did.
the realization of what you’d just imagined made your eyes snap shut, mortified at your own mind and yet powerless against the pulse it left thrumming through you.
by the time you found the courage to open them again, he was drying his palms against his sweats, shoulders rolling back as if he’d just wrapped up a shift.
“alright,” he said, stretching with a groan, joints popping as his hoodie slid higher. “time to get up, princess.”
you didn’t budge. your cheek stayed pressed to the tile, knees pulled in close, hair half-in your face.
he tipped his head at you. “hello? earth to y/n.”
you blinked. “what?”
“i said it’s time to get up,” he repeated, flat like it was obvious. “we’re not eating dinner with you laid out like a crime scene.”
“i’m fine here,” you muttered into your arm.
he gave your hip a light kick with his socked foot. “i know i look sexy doing dishes,” he smirked, already catching the eye roll you tried to hide. “but come on. pull it together.”
your head tipped just enough to glare at him. “you’re delusional.”
“and you’re dramatic,” he shot back without missing a beat, crouching just enough to extend his hand toward you. “now get up before i drag you to the couch myself.”
your lips twitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “i’d like to see you try,” you mumbled, even as your hand slipped into his.
he tugged you up in one smooth pull, steadying you with a hand at your back until your feet found the floor again.
the touch was brief, casual, but your skin still burned under it.
you shook him off a little too quickly, ducking your head like maybe he wouldn’t notice. his brows lifted anyway, but he let it slide.
“come on,” he said, already reaching for the takeout bags on the counter. “i didn’t bring all of this food over just so you could mope on the floor.”
you trailed him into the living room, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted under his hoodie as he carried the takeout.
he collapsed onto the couch, bags spread across the table like he owned the place.
you hovered for a beat before sitting beside him, close but not too close, hoping he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your body.
“so,” he started, tearing open the first container, “daesung threw a tantrum when i told him you weren’t coming to rehearsal today.”
your lips tugged at one corner. “define tantrum.”
“like…fully rolling on the floor,” he said, chopsticks already clicking into place. “claimed he couldn’t get through practice without his number one fan watching.”
“sounds about right.” you said, easily picturing his dramatics in your head.
“youngbae even backed him up,” he went on. “got all serious about how you’re ‘the glue that holds us together.’” he mimed quotes in the air, rolling his eyes.
your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
he turned his head upon hearing the sound, like he’d been waiting for it, then reached for another container. the lid snapped open, steam spilling up between you.
“they’re ridiculous.” you said, shaking your head.
“it gets worse,” he assured, “seunghyun told everyone in the studio that you were cheating on him.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing to say.
your brows shot up. “cheating? he and i aren’t even—” you cut yourself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head again. “my god, he’s so delusional.”
jiyong’s smirk tilted, like he wanted to say more, but he just went back to portioning noodles.
you watched him work. how his hands moved quick and precise without thought. the crease in his brow when the chopsticks slipped.
the way his shoulder brushed yours when he reached for another box, like he didn’t even register the contact.
it left you warm and restless, shorts clinging, pulse tripping over itself.
you forced yourself still, arms wrapped tight around your stomach, hoping he couldn’t read what was written all over your body.
without warning, he slid the plate onto your lap, already reaching for another.
you glanced down ready to thank him, only to freeze.
every bite was exactly what you liked; no stray toppings, no sides bleeding into each other. even the noodles sat neat, twisted in their own space like he’d portioned them with care.
your brows furrowed. “wait…this is for me?”
“yeah?” his tone was flat, chopsticks already busy over his own plate.
“no, but—you separated everything.” you gestured vaguely at the plate, thrown. “none of the food’s even touching.”
he shrugged like it wasn’t worth noticing. “yeah. you hate when it does.”
your mouth opened, stalled. “since when do you—”
“since always.” his smirk tugged faint, eyes still on the food. “i just pay attention. relax, it’s not that deep.”
you sat there, pulse loud in your ears, trying to pretend it wasn’t.
your shorts clung tighter when you shifted, and the heat crawling up your neck made the plate almost too warm to balance on your lap.
by the time he leaned back with his own food, your eyes hadn’t left him once.
his brows drew together, catching it instantly. “what?”
you blinked. “what?”
“you’re staring,” he said, chopsticks frozen midair like he’d caught you red-handed.
“am not,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked on the plate in your lap.
“are too,” he shot back, smirk tugging as his chopsticks hovered. “seriously, what’s your deal?”
your pulse jumped. you shifted, tugging your knee in closer, the words spilling before you could catch them. “you’re just…way too thoughtful.”
he blinked, deadpan. “that’s a crime now?”
“no, it’s—” you waved a hand at the table, words tripping. “you cleaned, you set everything up, you made my plate exactly right without even asking—”
he glanced up mid-bite, chopsticks pausing. “uh-huh.”
“and you didn’t even hesitate, you just—” your voice pitched higher, flustered. “you just did it, like it was nothing—”
he reached for his bottle of water, lifting it toward his mouth, eyes narrowing with a half-smile. “because it is nothing.”
“it’s not nothing, ji!” you shot back, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s—it’s hot, okay?”
he choked mid-sip, coughing and laughing all at once, nearly spraying water across the table as his shoulders shook.
at the same time, you slapped your hand over your mouth, instantly mortified. “oh my god.”
he was still coughing through a laugh, sleeve dragging across his mouth as his grin broke wide. “hot?” his voice cracked, half-raspy. “you think me scrubbing your dishes is hot?”
“nope,” you blurted through your hand. “you’re hearing things.”
his eyes lit like he’d just been handed blackmail material for life. “unbelievable. years of friendship, and this is how i find out your kink is…choreplay?”
“shut up.” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.
“no fucking way.” his hand patted at his sweats like he was checking his pockets. “where’s my phone. the boys have to hear this—”
your stomach dropped, panic snapping through you. “don’t you dare.”
his grin only widened, his hands now patting down the front pocket of his hoodie like he was already halfway to victory. “oh, i definitely dare.”
you scrambled to shove your plate onto the coffee table, causing the chopsticks to clatter against porcelain in your rush. “nope. nope. absolutely not—”
he’d barely gotten his fingers inside of his pocket before you launched yourself across the couch, tackling him sideways into the cushions.
he landed flat on his back with a thud, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips while reaching desperately for his hoodie pocket.
“this is an invasion of privacy!” he gasped, twisting under you, but his laugh broke through every word.
“you don’t need privacy!” you shot back, breathless, hair falling in your face. “you need to shut up!”
his free hand darted to your side, fingers digging right into the spot he knew would make you squeal.
you squirmed against him, shrieking through your laughter. “stop, you asshole!”
he was laughing so hard his voice cracked, words tumbling out between breaths. “you picked the fight—i’m just defending myself!”
you finally slipped your hand into his pocket and yanked his phone free.
“mine!” you yelled triumphantly as you tossed it gently onto the carpet, way out of reach.
he burst out laughing, head sinking back into the cushion, chest shaking under you. “unreal,” he wheezed, grin splitting wide. “you just committed straight-up theft.”
“it was self-defense,” you corrected, still straddling his hips as you tried to hold him down. “you were about to ruin my life.”
his hands came up half-heartedly, bracing against your thighs as his laugh cracked again.
“you literally said i was hot when all i did was rinse a bowl—” he bucked his hips just enough to throw you off balance, making you squeal. “imagine if i started mopping the floors.”
“stop talking.” you slapped your hand over his mouth, desperate to stop the teasing.
he looked at you with mock innocence, then dragged his tongue across your palm.
you yanked it back with a yelp. “gross!”
he laughed so hard it broke into hiccups, chest still shaking.
your forehead pressed into his hoodie, both of you still caught in the aftershock of laughter.
the sound trailed off in little bursts, until it faded completely. quiet settled around you, thicker than it had any right to be.
you lifted your head without meaning to, hair falling forward, your fists still bunched in the fabric of his hoodie.
he was right there; flat on his back, smile softening into something slower that tugged at your ribs.
the awareness of it all seeped in slowly, until every place your body touched his became impossible to ignore.
your thighs hugged his sides. your hips were pressed flush against his. his palms rested warm and steady on your bare legs, fingers splayed like he didn’t trust himself to move.
your faces hovered only inches apart from one another, the remnants of his grin fading as the air thickened between you.
the echo of laughter still hummed in your chest, but it was drowned beneath the heavy thud of your heartbeat.
the ache you’d been pushing down all night came rushing back, hot and relentless, flooding every nerve until there was no disguising it.
every slight shift of your hips made it worse. your slick heat pressed tight against him; betraying just how badly you wanted more.
his eyes held yours, steady and certain, as if he could read every thought you were trying to bury.
a quick flicker down to your lips slipped past his control; small enough to deny, but impossible for you to miss.
the second his gaze lifted to yours again, the tension cracked.
you closed the gap in a rush, kissing him with all the want you’d been choking down.
he answered immediately, almost as if he’d been holding back just as much. the kiss was deep from the start, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of certainty that stole your breath.
his palm skimmed up your bare thigh until it fit at your waist, while his other hand curled behind your neck, coaxing you closer, unable to bear an inch of distance.
the pressure of his hands anchored you as he shifted beneath you, pushing up from the cushions until he was sitting.
the movement never broke the kiss; it only dragged you closer, chest to chest, your legs tightening instinctively around his hips.
his mouth worked over yours hungrily, lips parting like he couldn’t get enough. you clutched at his hoodie, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric, pulling harder to erase whatever little space remained.
every brush of his mouth made your pulse spike harder. every drag of his lips left your lungs aching, but neither of you were willing to stop long enough to breathe.
his lips moved against yours like he already knew every secret you’d been hiding. each shift was deliberate, practiced without practice, pulling raw sounds out of you before you even realized you were making them.
his hand left the back of your neck first, dragging slow over your skin before slipping down to join the other at your waist.
his hands slipped lower in a slow drag, following the natural curve of your body until both palms curved around your ass, pressing you down against the growing buldge in his sweatpants.
the press of him right against your center dragged a moan from your throat before you could stop it, hips rolling down on instinct, desperate to feel more of the friction you’d been aching for all night.
“breathe,” he murmured against your mouth, voice steady even through his own ragged breath. “i’ve got you.”
your hips rolled again before you could stop them, chasing more of the thick heat beneath his sweats. the noise he made vibrated through your chest, deep and broken, sending sparks racing down your spine.
you clenched around nothing, thighs tightening at his sides, every nerve screaming for more.
“ji,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please.”
his thumb brushed slowly over your side through your hoodie, grounding you even as his mouth swallowed your plea.
“i hear you,” he said, rough and certain. “but we’re not doing this here. not on a couch.”
the protest tangled with want on your tongue, but you gave a shaky nod. “okay,” you breathed.
his grip tightened, both hands already firm at your ass, and in one motion, you were lifted off the couch.
your legs wrapped around his waist before you even thought about it, a startled laugh breaking from your chest as his mouth chased yours again.
he carried you like he’d done it a thousand times, steady even with your legs locked tight around his waist.
your back met the mattress before you realized you had made it to your bedroom, the mattress dipping under your shared weight as he laid you down without breaking the kiss.
he hovered above, his weight balanced on one arm, while his other hand found your jaw. his thumb traced lightly along your skin as his eyes searched yours. “still with me?”
“still with you,” you whispered.
he brushed a strand of hair away from your lips, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before adjusting the pillow under your head.
he caught the details no one else ever did, every small adjustment only served as proof that he knew exactly what you needed before you said a word.
his hand drifted lower again, pausing at the hem of your hoodie. “can i?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.
“please,” you breathed, the word spilling out before you could catch it.
he pulled the hoodie over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts.
the air hit cool against your skin, though it was nothing compared to his stare, heavy with years of memorizing every detail; knowing you in ways no one else ever had.
“fuck,” he murmured as his hand lifted to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “you’re so beautiful.”
your breath hitched, chest pressing up into his. heat rushed over your skin, your body giving you away as your hips shifted closer, chasing him without thought.
his lips moved with purpose, each kiss a quiet claim as he trailed them along your jaw, across your cheek, down the line of your throat, and back up to your lips.
his mouth traced you in reverence, each kiss tugging another tremor loose, stoking the ache already clawing at you.
his hands followed the same rhythm, palms sliding over your sides, dragging heat everywhere they lingered.
he touched you like he already knew what your body was asking for; steady where you needed grounding, firmer where you were aching for pressure.
he moved with purpose, mapping you in ways that left no part of you untouched, and no ache unanswered.
your fingers slipped to the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it clumsily, more desperate than precise. you weren’t subtle about it, trying to work it up his torso without breaking the kiss.
his mouth curved against yours in a half-laugh, half-groan. “you know you can just ask, right?” he murmured, amused even through the rasp of his breath.
you rolled your eyes, breath catching anyway. “just take it off,” you whispered, impatience clear in your voice.
he rocked back onto on his heels, and tugged the hoodie off in one smooth pull. the shirt beneath stretched across his shoulders, while his sweats slouched low on his hips like an invitation.
your gaze slipped down, dragging his with it, until you were both staring at the obvious wet mark stamped across his lap.
your stomach flipped, eyes flying wide before you could stop them. his laugh cracked out, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.
“wow,” he said, brows shooting up. “i rinse one bowl and you baptize my pants?”
you slapped a hand over your mouth, laughter already breaking through. “oh my god—no! that is not from me!”
his grin only widened, mischief written all over it. “no? so what, i pissed myself?”
you let out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking. “maybe you did!”
he leaned closer, laughter still shaking out of him, his hands warm and steady at your hips. “mm. want me to check your shorts, just to be sure?”
you shifted in his grip, laughing helplessly even as your face burned. “absolutely not!”
his grin turned smug, laughter still ghosting in his voice. “that’s what i thought.” his thumbs pressed deeper into your hips, steady and sure. “guess initiative really does go a long way, huh?”
you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “apparently.”
he hummed, pleased, leaning in closer until his nose brushed yours. “good answer,” he mumbled.
his mouth found yours again, the trace of a smile still there, though it melted quickly into something hungrier.
his knee slid between your thighs, nudging them apart a little further, while his hands tightened at your hips, keeping you close.
you gasped into him, the sound breaking into a whimper when he angled lower, kissing along your jaw.
“there she is,” he murmured, voice brushing warm against your pulse before his lips dragged down your neck. “so fucking sweet for me.”
your breath caught as your hands slipped to his chest, sliding lower, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he caught your wrists easily, pressing a soft kiss into your open palm.
“not yet,” he whispered, steady and certain. “this is about you.”
his mouth trailed down slowly, lingering against your collarbone before sinking down the curve between your breasts.
his lips lingered like he had all the time in the world, and every deliberate pause only made your need claw harder, trembling for the next touch.
he knew exactly what you needed without you ever having to say it.
he caught it in the way your legs tightened, in the way your hips tipped toward him, in the twitch of your hands gripping the sheets.
he noticed everything, always had, and now he was using it to unravel you piece by piece.
“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he breathed against the lace of your bra, voice low like he almost couldn’t believe you were real.
his hand slid beneath you, guiding your back into a soft arch. the clasp of your bra gave way under his fingers like it had been waiting for him, undone without him ever breaking from your skin.
the straps slipped down your shoulders, one after the other, and his mouth followed their path in slow devotion.
every new inch of bare skin was met with his lips, each kiss a quiet vow that nothing about you would be left unseen. he traced you with patience, as though to prove that you were worth memorizing in full.
his lips found the swell of your breast, his hands steadying you against the tremor of your own breath.
his lips lingered wherever they touched, tracing the faint lines that marked your skin as though they were meant to be cherished, never concealed.
“so beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but unshakably sure, like the words had been waiting years to fall out of him. “every inch of you.”
his tongue flicked over your nipple and the moan that tore from you was answered instantly by his own; muffled against your breast, like the taste of you undid him as much as his touch wrecked you.
your thighs shifted restlessly, helpless in their search for relief.
“you’re already trembling,” he breathed, kissing down over your ribs, following the soft curve beneath your breast. “and i’ve hardly touched you.”
your voice broke apart on his name. “ji—”
he didn’t look up, lips still moving like prayer, heat spilling across your skin. “no one’s ever touched you like this, have they?”
the truth of it broke you open, unraveling you from the inside out. your breath faltered, stuttered, until it was nothing but gasps and moans, your hips tilting into his hands without thought.
“i—” the attempt at words dissolved into moans, “fuck—oh my god—”
his palms slid down, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts, stopping just above where you needed him most.
“yeah,” he said, already knowing the proof had been in your body all along. “i figured.”
instead of giving in right away, he bent to your waist, his lips dragging heat over the skin just above your shorts.
“they never earned this,” he said, voice quiet but edged with conviction. “never learned you like this.”
“oh god,” the sound tore out of you, thin and desperate, your fingers curling around his wrist with no strength behind them.
he took your weak hold as encouragement, not resistance.
“they didn’t take their time,” he whispered, lips tracing slowly over the softness of your stomach. “didn’t listen.”
your fingers found his hair, tugging softly, guiding him closer without words.
“p-please,” you pleaded, the word breaking before it even left your throat.
his head lifted just enough to meet your eyes, steadying you in an instant.
“oh, baby.” his voice softened as one hand left your waist, reaching for the pillow beside you.
he slid it close, eyes never leaving yours. “lift up for me, princess,” he coaxed gently. “just a little.”
you obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide the pillow breath you. his hands adjusted it with care, easing your hips down until he was sure you were comfortable.
“there we go,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your skin. “that’s better.”
his thumb traced idle circles at your hip, grounding you while the other hand slid lower. when his fingers brushed the band of your shorts, he lifted his gaze, catching yours with a question he didn’t need to voice.
the quiet in his eyes made your chest ache; knowing he would wait if you asked him to. your body answered before your words could, hips tilting up in silent permission.
his lips tugged into a soft smile, eyes fixed on you as he drew the fabric down.
he shifted your shorts and underwear down slowly, guiding the fabric over your hips with deliberate care; every motion unhurried, every detail handled with care.
he lifted your leg with care, his hand steady at your calf. his lips pressed to your ankle first, soft and lingering, before traveling upward in slow succession.
each kiss trailed higher — the curve of your calf, the dip at your knee, the inside of your thigh — like he was intent on worshipping every step closer to where you ached for him most.
your nails dug into the sheets as his palms splayed over your thighs, easing them apart.
“breathe for me, sweetheart,” his voice was strained, as if he was holding himself back just to guide you. “just breathe.”
your body obeyed his words before your mind could, chest lifting with a shaky breath.
he didn’t let you finish it.
his mouth found you the next second; no hesitation, no warning. just him, warm and certain, like he’d been holding back only for as long as you could bear.
the pillow lifted you right into his mouth, every inch of you exposed to the slow drag of his tongue. his mouth worked with a patience that burned, each movement a vow to remember every detail of you.
your fingers threaded into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.
“oh my—fuck—” the words tore out half-formed before collapsing into a moan you couldn’t contain.
he groaned in response, the sound reverberating against you as his grip tightened on your thighs, steadying you when your body tried to jolt away.
the way he moved against you was unhurried, and devastating in its precision. every swipe of his tongue felt like he already knew what would break you apart.
your chest heaved, breath shattering into pieces. you tightened your grip in his hair, dragging him closer without thinking.
he let you guide him, humming low like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted.
heat rushed through your stomach, twisting tighter with every pass of his mouth.
you were soaked. aching. unraveling with every second he stayed between your thighs.
“feels so good—” you choked out, hand fisting in the sheets now. “i can’t—it’s—jiyong.”
he paused just long enough to glance up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, baby.” he praised, voice filled with honesty.
he found you again without pause, urgency written in every motion. his lips tightened over you, his tongue pushing deeper than before.
your head tipped back, voice spilling out like prayer. “don’t—please don’t—don’t stop—please.”
another groan broke free from his mouth, vibrating through your every nerve.
pleasure ripped through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered.
“that’s it,” he whispered against you, voice low, almost reverent. “let it happen, baby.”
your thighs quivered around his shoulders, hips twisting helplessly.
his hold only tightened, dragging you deeper into every surge of pleasure until you had no other choice but to give in.
“ji—fuck,” you gasped, tears stinging from the intensity of it all.
he slowed his pace, pressing soothing kisses as his thumbs circled your skin.
“that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “you did so good for me.”
your chest heaved, lungs struggling to catch up with the aftershock.
when his gaze lifted, the change was immediate; eyes softening on sight, like tasting you had only deepened the reverence already written into him.
your lungs were still searching for air when he started climbing back up your body, mouth brushing every inch along the way.
your thigh. your stomach. the underside of your breast. your collarbone.
each kiss softer than the last, like he was pulling you back into yourself piece by piece.
by the time he found your mouth, you were already leaning into him, reaching before you realized it.
his lips lingered, smiling faintly against yours. “felt good, huh, beautiful girl?”
a broken laugh slipped out, shaky as you tried to catch your breath. “good?” you asked, head shaking in disbelief. “ji, no one’s ever—” you paused, voice breaking, “not like that.”
his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft but smug, like he couldn’t help himself.
“yeah?” he teased gently, eyes searching yours. “that’s because they were all idiots.”
he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before kissing the corner of your mouth. “you deserve more than they’ll ever know how to give.”
his words sank deep, leaving you trembling all over again. you tried to laugh, but it broke halfway when his lips caught yours, sealing the truth of his words right into you.
what began tender turned restless in seconds.
his mouth moved against yours, only you couldn’t help but deepen it, chasing him like you couldn’t get close enough.
his chest pinned you down as his hips dragged slowly between your thighs. you felt him, hard and thick through his sweats, sending another wave of heat to rip through you.
it didn’t matter that you’d already fallen apart once; your body lit up for him all over again.
a whimper caught in your throat, swallowed by his kiss as your hands scrambled higher, clawing at his shirt.
you tugged like you were frantic; like the thin barrier of fabric was the only thing keeping you from breathing.
“off,” you rasped against his lips, desperate, the word breaking. “please—take it off.”
“yes, ma’am.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it vanished the second your fingers brushed his waistband like you couldn’t wait a second longer.
you shoved his sweats down with shaking hands, boxers going along, nearly knocking him off balance in your urgency.
he huffed a laugh, eyes catching the hunger in yours. “greedy, are we?” he chuckled, sounding more undone than smug.
“shut up.” you shot back, no patience for his teasing.
your eyes had already landed on him; thick and already slick at the tip.
heat rushed hot up your chest, a grin tugging weakly at your lips despite yourself. “so that’s what i do to you?”
he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you know what you do to me.”
“still,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “it’s nice to have the evidence.”
a rough laugh slipped from him, cut short as his mouth slammed back onto yours, heavy with need.
your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, but he held himself back; grinding his hard length through your slick folds with a patience that felt merciless, his lips still on yours like he needed to drink down every sound before giving you more.
“turn over for me, baby.” his voice was rough at the edges, but his touch stayed soft, guiding you onto your stomach like he was handling something precious.
as you shifted, the pillow resting underneath your hips slipped slightly.
before you could react, his hand was already there, sliding it back beneath your stomach with quiet care; making sure the angle favoured your comfort more than his own.
“there we go,” he muttered, like he was admiring a work of art. “just like that, angel. fuck—look at you.”
you could feel the heat of him behind you, hovering close, and the way his hands coasted up and down your sides; thumbs pressing in like he was trying to memorize every inch.
“you’re unreal,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “my fucking dream girl.”
his palms settled at your waist, urging your hips higher before gliding up your spine, pressing lightly between your shoulders until your chest sank into the mattress.
“fuck, baby,” he groaned as he lined himself up. “you’re gonna kill me.”
the blunt press of him at your entrance had you gasping, nails twisting in the sheets.
“ji—” your voice cracked, the sound nothing but a plea.
“i know, i know.” his hand smoothed down your side, soothing you. “just breathe, beautiful. i’ve got you.”
he slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a stretch that stole the air directly from your lungs.
a broken sound escaped you, and his groan followed fast, spilling into the space between your bodies.
“f-fuck—” your cried helplessly, “it’s—oh my—fuck—”
he bottomed out with a shudder, his hips pressed flush against you, both of you shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart right there.
his forehead dropped between your shoulders, breath hot against your skin.
“jesus christ—” he groaned, the sound rough and reverent all at once. “you feel—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”
your back arched, body clenching around him, another helpless moan tearing through you. “too much—no, it’s—god, ji—it’s so good.” the words spilled broken, tumbling past your lips before you could catch them.
his hand slid to your stomach, pulling you up into him, grounding you through the dizzy stretch. “that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your shoulder blade. “you’re doing—f-fuck—you’re perfect—fucking made for me.”
your thighs quivered, breath stuttering, but the need to feel him move was stronger than the ache. you shifted back against him, desperate. “please…move—i need—”
he groaned again, like your words undid him. “fuck—yeah, baby, i know.”
he slowly eased his hips back, dragging himself out until you thought you’d break, then pushed in again, steady and deep.
the rhythm was unhurried but merciless; every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled like he knew exactly how to pull you apart.
after a few slow strokes, his pace quickened; each thrust sinking deeper, chasing every sound that spilled from you.
“there it is—fuck, yeah. that’s it,” he breathed, forehead tipping down for a beat before he straightened again, eyes locked on the way your body yielded to him.
your moans spilled raw into the mattress, high pitched and broken, your hips rocking back into him without thought. “oh my god—don’t stop—please, ji, don’t—”
he answered with another thrust, sharp enough to punch a cry straight out of you.
“never,” he panted, jaw tight, reverence spilling through every word. “you feel too fucking good—i could stay here forever.”
your walls clenched tight around him, the build snapping faster than you could process.
“ji—i’m gonna—fuck—” the cry tore out of you as your whole body bowed into the mattress, release ripping straight through you.
he groaned at the feel of you breaking around him, hips stuttering once before he forced himself to steady, dragging it out for you instead of chasing his own end.
“fuck—yeah—” his voice cracked. “that’s it, angel…let go for me—just like that.”
your thighs shook uncontrollably, but his hands steadied you; one gripping your waist, the other pressing into your stomach, keeping you grounded as you unraveled.
the sob that followed buried itself in the sheets, your release hitting so hard it fractured every breath into ragged pieces.
he bent over you, lips trailing soft kisses along your spine, his hips still moving but gentler now, easing you down instead of pulling you higher.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered into your skin, kissing your shoulder like a vow. “just breathe for me, angel…that’s all you need to do.”
he eased out of you slowly, the sudden emptiness pulling a broken whimper from your throat before you could stop it. “ji—w-why…what are you—”
“shh, i know, sweetheart,” he soothed, palms steady as they skimmed your sides, guiding you gently. “just needed to see you. fuck—look at you. you think i could stop now?”
desire threaded through his voice, yet his hands remained careful, guiding you as if you were fragile in his hold. he eased you onto your back, settling your hips on the pillow with a care that made it clear he wouldn’t let you feel anything but comfort.
you let him move you, pliant in his hold, your body trembling as you blinked up at him. his hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb tracing lightly like he needed to feel you breathe.
he kissed your temple first, lingering there, before trailing down to your cheek.
his mouth wandered unhurriedly across your skin; tracing over your brow, brushing the bridge of your nose, grazing the corner of your lips.
“hi, beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, words cracked but full of awe.
your smile barely surfaced, dazed and weak, but it was there. “hi,” you breathed back.
his forehead tipped to yours, lips brushing in a fleeting kiss. “you okay?” he asked, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer.
your breath caught, a soft laugh tumbling out with your words. “more than okay.”
the corner of his mouth curved into a soft smile before he slid his hand down to steady your hip.
he lined himself up and pushed back in with one long, steady stroke. the stretch tore a gasp from your throat, your body clenching around him so hard it forced a groan straight out of him.
“jesus—” his voice cracked, forehead pressing to yours again. “baby, you feel—fuck—you’re so tight.”
your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, mouth falling open on a sound you couldn’t swallow down.
“ji—” it slipped broken from your lips, almost a sob. “it’s—s-so deep—oh my god.”
his palm pressed firm to your stomach, making sure you felt every inch of him. “there we go,” he rasped, kissing your jaw through ragged breaths. “you’re taking me so well, beautiful. you’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”
his hips pulled back, just enough to make you feel the loss, before he drove in sharper. the force knocked the air from your chest as your nails clawed down his shoulder blades.
“eyes on me,” he mumbled, catching your gaze. “don’t look away, baby—want to see you fall apart.”
your gaze clung to his until the next thrust stole it away, lids fluttering shut as another cry tore loose from your throat.
“no, no—look at me,” he urged, groaning when you blinked back up at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. “that’s it. good girl.”
your moans came fractured, tumbling past your lips with every push. “please—ji, please, just like that—f-fuck—feels so good, so good—”
“fuck—” his voice cracked, hips driving harder, the sound of you begging ripping the control straight out of him.
“oh my god—i’m gonna—” the words broke into a sob, your voice splintering. “jiyong, i—fuck—i can’t—”
his thrusts faltered, a groan tearing from his chest as he forced himself deeper. “yes, you can, angel. just a little more—fuck—i can feel you. you’re right there.”
you broke apart around him, crying out his name like it was the only word left in you. “jiyong—”
“that’s it—oh, fuck—that’s it, baby,” he gasped, forehead dropping to yours as his own rhythm fell apart. “come with me—yeah, just like that—fuck—”
your release tore through you, carrying his with it. your body squeezed around him, causing him to let out a wrecked moan as he came inside of you.
he stilled, chest pressed to yours as both of you trembled through the last shreds of release.
there was no detachment. no instinct to turn away. he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you.
when his breathing finally slowed, he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “are you okay?” he asked.
you nodded, unable to trust your voice.
he gave you a moment longer before easing out, slow and careful, drawing a broken whimper from your throat.
his mouth followed the loss; kissing the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and the hollow below your ribs.
each one gentle and deliberate in their own way.
“stay here,” he said softly. “just rest, baby.”
your head fell back against the pillow in the faintest nod, eyes glassy with exhaustion.
he lingered a second longer, thumb brushing your cheek in a touch that felt reluctant, before finally pushing himself to stand.
he bent to grab his boxers from where they’d been tossed, sliding them on around his hips.
the quiet between you stretched thin, filled only by the sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the floor.
by the time he reached the door, your chest was already tight. you stayed where you were, staring up at the ceiling, the fan turning in lazy circles above you.
the longer you watched, the more the quiet shifted. at first it was just silence. the silence turned into space, which slowly turned into panic.
you weren’t naïve. you knew the script.
sex that good, that messy, that consuming, usually ended the same way.
a roll to the side. maybe a muttered ‘that was fun’. the scrape of denim. an excuse about the early morning.
sometimes the door would shut before you’d even pulled the sheets over yourself.
your heart sank.
what if this was that moment?
what if you’d just traded years of friendship for a few hours of wreckless, selfish pleasure?
what if you’d just ruined everything?
before the thought could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.
“hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.
you blinked towards him, body still draped exactly where he’d left you
his boxers hung low on his hips, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest still flushed from the heat of you. a towel was slung over his shoulder, two water bottles gripped in one hand, a warm cloth in the other.
your throat went tight. “you came back,” you whispered, the words slipping before you could catch them.
his face softened immediately, something tender breaking through. “of course i did,” he said, stepping closer. “what—did you think i’d just disappear after that?”
you tried to smile, but it wavered.
“hey,” he said again, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “don’t go quiet on me now, pretty girl. not after you probably woke all of the neighbors up.”
a soft, broken laugh escaped your lips.
he bent to press a soft kiss to your knee. “scoot up a little, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”
his hands moved with quiet certainty, every touch measured and unhurried. patience lingered in everything he did; a tenderness you weren’t used to.
you felt the difference in your chest before you even felt it between your thighs.
no one had ever done this for you before.
the most you’d ever been given was a half-hearted towel tossed your way, like it was your job to deal with the aftermath alone.
but here he was, treating you like you were something worth handling with delicacy.
“i kept the pillow there,” he said quietly, “’cause i figured you’d be sore. didn’t want you shifting too much.”
he finished with quiet care, dropping the cloth and towel into your hamper before reaching for your hoodie on the floor.
he eased it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, tugging it down until you were completely covered.
as he climbed back into the bed, you reached for him without thinking twice.
he was already leaning into you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him like it was the only place you belonged.
“you still with me?” he asked, lips brushing your hair.
you nodded, eyes still shut until his voice pulled you back.
you blinked up at him as he dipped his head, catching your gaze. “you scared me for a second.”
your voice was small. “i just…wasn’t expecting you to come back.”
his brow furrowed, a little hurt, though his tone stayed soft. “come on. you really thought i’d leave you like that?”
you huffed out a laugh. “it wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”
his chest rose on a sigh as he shifted to really look at you. “baby…what kind of assholes are you fucking?”
the bluntness startled a laugh out of you. “you’ve heard all the stories,” you reminded him.
“unfortunately.” his hand stayed warm at your spine, steadying you. “and i hated every single one of them.”
you froze, but he continued nonetheless.
“you don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “listening to you try to laugh off how some guy left before you could even breathe again—” he paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “i swear, prison stripes nearly sounded worth it.”
“you never said anything.” you said, genuinely surprised at his words.
his lips lifted into a small smile, but the weight in his eyes gave him away.“never felt like my place.”
“ji…” you whispered.
he shook his head gently, already seeing where your thoughts were headed.
“you really don’t get it, do you?” his voice softened, a little rough at the edges.
“get what?” you murmured as your eyes searched his face.
his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, so tender it made your chest ache.
“how easy you are to love.”
you froze, lungs stuttering like they’d forgotten how to work.
“i’ve wanted to do this right for so long,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. “not just the sex. all of it. making you laugh. holding you when you cry. being the one who never leaves. giving you the kind of love you should’ve had all along.”
your lips parted, but no sound followed. the weight of his words pressed down until all you could do was hold his gaze, wide-eyed, undone by the gentleness in his voice.
“and if i ever have to hear about one more guy who made you feel like you were too much, or too emotional, or not worth sticking around for…” he shook his head again, softer this time. “i’ll lose my fucking mind. because you—”
he swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. “you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. someone who thanks god every night that you chose him.”
you blinked hard, tears threatening to fall as a soft laugh escaped you. “you’re not supposed to make me cry after sex, idiot.”
“i meant what i said,” he told you, his lips curving into that same boyish grin you’ve adored for years.
tears slipped down your cheeks as you let out a shaky laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “you are such an asshole.”
“am i wrong?” he smirked. “because you—” he paused, tapping your thigh, “—basically had tears running down your thighs from me washing, like, two dishes.”
you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “please never phrase it like that again.”
he laughed, the sound warm against your cheek. “don’t act like you didn’t whimper when i changed the garbage bag.”
you pulled back just enough to glare at him. “you are so full of yourself.”
his grin only widened, cocky and unbothered. “wait till you find out i sort my laundry by whites and darks.”
blakekathryn
janainaart
jacobvanloon
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
jbbartram-illu
vaporwave
