[xoami]

can you write a jake drabble or a mini fic based on shinee's replay😭😭like jake being down bad for 2-3 years older reader

A MAN, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 I’m not a kid

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Jake is down bad for his older classmate, and it becomes almost too much! PAIRING. younger uni!jake x older uni!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing

authors note ୨୧ mwah. im baaack~

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Jake Sim had been lovesick for you since freshman orientation — the kind of soft, stupid, slow-building ache that made even his friends groan when he said your name.

You were an upperclassman.

Older… wiser…

Gentle in a way that felt almost dangerous, and to Jake, you were perfect.

—

He’d sat next to you at every icebreaker your major hosted — pretending it was coincidence, even though he absolutely timed his entrances. He carried your books for you, whenever he could snatch them from your arms.

He scribbled cheesy little notes on your coffees when you visited the café he worked at.

‘Good morning Noona!’

‘Hope you have a lovely day :)’

‘Drink me before 4pm or you’ll be up all night! — Jake ☕︎!

And every time, you’d just smile at him — that warm, mature, soft-as-sunlight smile — and brush him off.

“Oh, Jake, stop it…~”

“That’s cute. I bet the girls love that one.”

“You’re crazy… you’re lucky you’re cute.”

You’d poke his chest, brush his shoulder as you passed, fix his glasses when they slid down his nose.

On the rare days you ate with him between classes, you’d wipe his mouth with a napkin without thinking, murmuring, “Messy boy…”

Jake melted every. single. time.

His friends called him a simp.

A goner.

A man entirely whipped by someone who didn’t even know she had him on her hook.

But, Jake didn’t care… Not when you called him honey, or sweetheart, or love.

“Bro. Jake, (Y/n) call everyone names like that,” the guys told him.

But it didn’t matter — because when you called him those sweet names, Jake felt like he’d just won the lottery, the championship, and your heart all at once.

Everyone else insisted he give it up…

They say that the way you let him walk you home — returning his jacket the next day with the sleeves folded neatly — was just your nature.

They said the way you smiled to yourself when he tripped over his words was just you being polite.

They said the hide-and-seek between you two played between shelves at the library was boredom, passing time…

And that the daily pinky promise you’d make Jake give to walk you home again was just… you being punctual.

And the worst thought of all:

Girls like you — no… women like you —

who wore pretty kitten heels and drank wine at low-lit lounges… didn’t go for boys like Jake, who still stepped on his untied laces and built Legos when he was stressed.

You knew he liked you… Of course you did.

Everyone did.

Who didn’t know Shim Jake was utterly, pathetically, wholeheartedly in love with you?

But lately… you’d been distant.

Softer in your smiles, harder to catch, harder to read.

And Jake… Jake was drowning in the fear that maybe — maybe — all this time

you were only ever being nice.

—

Which is what led to this moment:

Jake standing outside your student share house in the pouring rain, drenched from head to toe.

His flannel clung to his chest, his dark hair plastered to his cheeks… Streams of rain slid down the bridge of his reddened nose, pooling at his jaw, dripping from the flutter of his lashes.

He looked broken. No— Desperate.

A lovesick boy on his last string.

You rushed outside with an umbrella, still barefoot, the cold wind whipping your hair, your bare feet padding against the wet pavement. Your lips parted, breath caught.

“J–Jake?!— What’re you doing? It’s freezing—”

“No! I want you to tell me—” He stepped closer, voice cracking.

“Just… tell me if this is pointless! Please just—”

Your eyes widened, heart climbing into your throat.

Jake heaved out a breath — chest rising and falling, fingers trembling.

“I know you think I’m young… and silly… but— but I—”

He scrubbed his hands through his soaked hair, choking on frustration.

“God, (Y/n), I like you.”

His voice shook.

“I like you so much it feels like—”

He searched the air like the words were hiding behind the raindrops.

“It feels like I’m sick inside.”

Lightning cracked somewhere in the distance, and Jake’s voice dropped, raw and trembling.

“I’m trying… I’ve been trying to be older. To be the kind of guy you like. I changed my clothes, I’ve been trying to read those romance novels you talk about— I— I’m trying so hard.”

You stared at him, throat tightening.

“I just need to know,” he whispered, “that you’re not… just being nice.”

“That you’re not sparing my feelings because you think I can’t handle it.”

He didn’t even notice the rain had stopped hitting him — because you’d stepped down the last step, holding the umbrella above both of you, and close enough that he could see his reflection in your eyes.

“Jake…” your voice was barely a breath.

He blinked hard, eyes glossy.

“Because I am a man,” he whispered.

“I’m not a kid, (Y/n). I’m a man who’s— who’s in love… with an incredible woman.”

And that was it…

Your heart finally cracked open.

You grabbed him by the collar of his soaked, oatmeal-colored flannel and pulled him down into a kiss — warm, soft, sweet, a rush of breath and rain and pent-up longing.

The umbrella slipped from your hands, and it clattered to the pavement but neither of you noticed.

You broke the kiss only when Jake gasped, stunned.

“I like you too, Jake,” you breathed, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“Stop blabbering.”

Your laugh, soft and warm, sent a shiver down his spine.

Jake blinked, then he smiled — slow, disbelieving, boyish and breathtaking — and kissed you again, deeper, firmer, holding your waist like he’d dreamt of doing for two long years.

The rain kept falling.

But Jake… Jake felt like he was finally, blissfully, impossibly…home.

[xoami]

ah!!!! im srsly in love with your writing fr twin ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 that jungwon x short temp reader rlly struck smth in me!! i loved it so much my heart ached when i finished 😭 could i request one similar but about jay like he's rlly in love with it? if you have one already id be glad to read it 😻

BITE, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 little sweet a lil’ bitter

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Jay can’t get enough of how snappy you can get. PAIRING. cool headed bf!jay x snappy gf!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, mildly suggestive, slight-toxicity

authors note ୨୧ here you go twin, let me know what you think type shii ♥️

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You and Jay had always been that couple.

The kind people whispered about when they saw you storming away only to catch you minutes later, tangled up in some shadowed corner, kissing like you’d never raised your voices in the first place.

No matter how sharp the argument got, or hard you clashed, it always came down to one heated make out, his hands fisted in your hair, your nails in his skin, before the fire simmered into something soft and sickeningly sweet.

Because Jay… Jay was calm.

Jay was cool.

He had the kind of wisdom that outpaced his age.

The boy who always knew what to say when his friends needed advice, who could carry a conversation with anyone and somehow make them feel at ease.

Mature wasn’t the right word—it was too small.

He wasn’t just steady, he was anchored. And, of course, easy on the eyes. That sharp gaze, the chiseled jawline, the deadly smile that cut deeper when those dimples appeared—Jay was magnetic.

Still, even someone as steady as him needed a challenge…. something with bite.

Someone.

And after he met you, he never wanted it to stop.

He remembered the night perfectly: a party in a haze of cigarette smoke and bass-thick air, the walls rattling, red cups sloshing, laughter spilling into every corner.

Jay had slipped in calm and collected, weaving through the crowd with that easy smile everyone knew and loved, clapping firm handshakes with his friends, friendly side-hugs with a few girls…

That’s when he saw you.

Dark faded jeans hugging every curve, a corseted leather top laced just tight enough to make heads turn, nails painted sharp and glinting under dim lights. You carried your drink like it was an extension of you, like you didn’t care who looked—or maybe you knew everyone was looking.

Your hair bounced down your back behind you in shiny waves, followed by the smell of jasmine and something smoky.

Jay, dimples flashing, reached out a hand with his usual cool sweetness…

A very simple move that usually worked.

“Hi, I’m J—“

But your eyes—smoky, daring—flicked to his, and in the next breath you rolled them.

A clean, dismissive roll that made something in his chest tighten. Then, with a little shove, you pressed your drink into his hand and brushed past him, your hips swaying like you knew exactly what you’d done.

Jay should’ve been irritated.

Instead, he’d smiled wider than he had in months, his dimples cutting deeper. That was the exact moment he realized—you were fire, you had those sharp edges—and they were going to ruin him.

And he couldn’t wait to learn your name.

He had no shame after that party.

After that night, you couldn’t shake the man off of you. You never asked for a punching bag, but it seemed Jay was the perfect candidate.

The apartment is dim, fractured city light bleeding through the blinds in pale stripes.

The faint musk of Jay’s cologne—dark cedar with a metallic bite—lingers in the air, mixing with your perfume, sweet vanilla sharpened with citrus.

It’s dizzying, almost suffocating, the way the two scents coil together.

Jay leans against your dresser, phone loose in his hand as he scrolls aimlessly, hair falling lazily into his eyes.

Everything about him is unrushed… Unbothered. ‘Nothing phases me.’ That infuriating calm radiates off him, and the longer you watch him, the hotter your blood runs.

“Are you even listening to me?” you snap, arms folded, voice sharp enough to slice through the silence.

His gaze flicks up, slow and deliberate, like it’s a choice to look at you. If only you knew how tight his jeans had gotten from the sight of you.

You stood before him, arms crossed under your chest, breasts pursed fuller in nothing but a lacey black bralette, your matching panties were nothing more than a final bullet to poor Jay’s heart.

“Mhm… Every word, baby.”, his tone drips with smooth teasing, gasoline poured straight onto your fire.

You see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs slowly.

Your heels dig into the hardwood as you strut across the room, hair catching the light as it swings. Your hand wraps quickly around his phone before he can respond.

With a dismissive toss, his phone clatters onto the bed, forgotten.

Jay only looks down at you, sharp gaze glinting like tempered steel in low light. His lips curve into that infuriating smirk, dimples flashing like a dare.

“There she is,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, like he’s been waiting for this all night.

“Don’t play with me, Jay.” Your voice simmers—not from weakness, but from the current running through you, hot and unstoppable.

“I’m not…” His hands slide over your waist, fingers brushing bare skin, grazing high enough to spark a shiver. His thumbs linger like a secret he’s toying with.

“Shouldn’t you know by now how much I love it? I like when you get mean, baby…”

Your throat tightens.

He tilts his head lazily, eyes mapping every flicker across your face like he’s committing it to memory. His calm isn’t dismissive—it’s deliberate, a slow hand feeding the blaze, the patience of a man who wants to see you unravel.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, but the heat in your voice betrays you.

Jay laughs low, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your palms. His lashes lower, his smirk widening like he’s savoring the control he’s pretending to hold.

“Maybe… But you’re one to talk.” His fingers press firmer against your waist, and you watch as his eyes trace down your form carefully.

“Hm… I’m not complaining…”

“Unbelievable.”

Your breath stutters, fire tightening in your chest. You let out a huff, eyes still blazing as you shove off his chest, hard, and he doesn’t resist—he leans into it.

His head tips back against the wall with a soft thud, lips parting just slightly, throat stretching in the dim light like he’s savoring your impact. For once, the mask of control flickers, hunger shadowing his gaze when it slides back down to you.

The flesh of your thighs jiggle as you storm out, the sound of your bare feet smacking against the hall floor fading until the bedroom door slams shut behind you.

The silence hums, thick with city noise outside and the rush of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Jay’s chest rises slow, but his eyes—those sharp, lazy eyes—are burning. He doesn’t move… not at first. He stays leaning against the dresser, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding himself together by threads.

His face is hot—he can feel the heat radiating off his skin—and when he finally drags his gaze to the mirror across the room, he almost doesn’t recognize himself.

Flushed.

Chest rising too fast.

Eyes blown wide, lips still swollen from biting back everything he wanted to do right there on that dresser, when you had him pinned.

And lower—goodness. He curses under his breath, tilting his hips like he can somehow ignore the heavy problem straining against his jeans.

It’s embarrassing, overwhelming. His hair falls into his face as he stares at his reflection, dimples ghosting in shame because—really?

A shaky laugh slips from his chest.

“What the hell is wrong with me…” His voice is hoarse.

He shouldn’t enjoy your sharp words, your bite, the way you shove him around—not this much.

But the heat in his body says otherwise.

And when he finally presses the heel of his palm against his thigh, trying to will himself back into composure, his reflection only smirks back at him—flushed, undone, a boy who’s realized he’s completely addicted to your attitude.

You were in the kitchen now, glass of water cool in your hands as you lifted it for another much needed sip, that stormy look in your eyes, when you felt him. Jay’s presence—silent, heavy—closing in behind you.

Before you could turn, his hands were already on you, sliding around your waist, gripping at your hips with a desperation that betrayed everything his calm demeanor had tried to hide.

His chest pressed flush to your back, breath hot against your skin.

And then his lips—slow at first, maddeningly composed—brushed against the slope of your shoulder.

A kiss, a graze, another at the curve of your neck, each one burning hotter, more urgent. You could feel the tremor in his fingers even as he tried to hold steady, as if his own body was betraying him.

“C’mon, (Y/n)…” His voice was low, rougher than you’d ever heard it, laced with hunger that cracked through his usual cool.

You froze, your breath catching as his mouth found that sensitive spot beneath your ear, teeth grazing before he sucked gently at your skin. His composure slipped another inch when you shivered.

Your knees grew weak…

And you see it then, feel it—the cool exterior, yes, but beneath it, the heat he’s barely holding back. His knuckles flex against your waist, down to your thighs, grip tightening like he’s one push away from giving in completely.

His lips curled into a smirk against your neck—half cool, half desperate.

“Do your worst, baby… hm?” His words came ragged now, whispered against your pulse.

“I promise I can take it.”

Your lips parted, but no noise could escape. His grip was unrelenting. So needy, pulling you back against him like he couldn’t stand the inch of space between you.

You felt the heat begin to pool in your stomach, warmth down your thighs, and to where you’d need it most…

Because for once, Jay wasn’t untouchable, wasn’t collected—he was burning alive under your fire, begging for it…

For you.

[xoami]

heyy can you write about jake comforting sad and anxious gf!reader who can't stop crying because of her studies and just life in general,,

LIGHTER, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 strong but human

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, you get a little overwhelmed with school and life, and your boyfriend knows just the cure. PAIRING. gentle bf!jake x anxious gf!reader GENRE. fluff, angst WARNINGS. skinship, mentions of anxiety, very mild kissing

authors note ୨୧ tew cute.

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Jake had been buzzing with excitement the whole ride over to your place, still smiling at the little emoji you sent next to your message.

‘see you soon !! 💕’

The bakery bag was warm against his thigh, the chocolate croissants cooling only slightly with every step closer to your dorm. He balanced it carefully, smiling to himself at the thought of your sleepy grin when you’d see it.

The door was unlocked just as you’d promised, and he nudged it open gently.

“Babe…?” His voice rang soft through the apartment.

No answer.

He stepped further in, slipping his shoes off at the entryway, the sweet scent of chocolate and sugar from the bag filling the air behind him.

It was quiet—too quiet.

Only when he pushed open your bedroom door did he find you, hunched at your desk with your back turned to him.

Jake’s heart softened instantly.

His hoodie was drowning you, sleeves rolled almost twice over, fabric swallowing your frame in the sweetest way. You were wearing his world on your body without even knowing.

He grinned, walking up behind you slowly before leaning down to tug one earbud loose.

“Surprise, love.” His voice was light, playful, laced with his Aussie warmth.

But when you turned, Jake’s grin faded.

Your eyes—puffy and rimmed red, were wide with shock. Your lips were bitten raw. The lazy bun in your hair had half fallen apart. You blinked up at him, almost startled, before your cold hands rose to cup his cheeks.

Jake’s chest tightened, and he set the bag down carefully and spun your chair halfway, lowering himself to his knees in front of you.

“Baby… I said I was visiting, remember?” His tone was gentle, his smile tinged with sadness.

“Oh… I must’ve forgotten.” You gave him a wobbly smile.

“It’s alright. Are you okay…?”, he rubbed your knees in gentle circles with the pads of his thumbs.

You nodded, avoiding his gaze, fingers brushing against his skin like you weren’t sure if he was real.

And Jake—Jake Sim, the golden boy of campus—looked at you like you hung the stars.

Jake was everyone’s favorite: polite to professors, dependable to friends, the kind of boyfriend other girls whispered enviously about. He was sweet, attentive, impossibly gentle. He brought you snacks when you studied, wrote little notes on your hand when you were anxious, and kissed the top of your head like it was second nature.

People said you two were the sweetest couple in the university…

But right now, you were anything but sweet—your world was crumbling, and he could see it.

“Baby… are you sure you’re okay?” His voice dipped lower, his accent curling around each word like honey.

After a moment of hesitation, you finally shook your head quickly, staring down at your lap.

That’s when Jake’s eyes flickered to your laptop screen, and his lips parted in disbelief. Assignments were stacked one after the other. Deadlines missed, harsh red 0% marks glaring like wounds across the page.

“(Y/n)…” He whispered your name like a prayer.

Your body shuddered before the sound of your sobs broke out, raw and shaking.

“I–I’ve been trying so hard, but… it’s so overwhelming! Every time I fix one thing, something else goes wrong!”, you choked on every word, hot tears rolling down your cheeks in waves.

“I- I thought I could do it all— that I could be on top of everything but… now I feel like I’m just disappointing everyone around me!”

Jake’s heart nearly shattered as he rubbed your legs, taking in your every word carefully.

To see how much you put on yourself, it hurt him.

To Jake, you were like Wonder Woman. You had a solution to everything, you were a help to so many in your circle. You never got nervous, or scared…

You always faced the world head on, like you owned it!

But right now, as he watched you break down, Jake realized that no matter how fearless you seemed to others… and even to him…

You were only human.

“…And I’m not— maybe I’m not fit for everything I want to accomplish. I’m just so tired, and I didn’t want to bother you because you’re just as busy and the last thing I want is to burden you…”

That was his final straw.

Jake didn’t let you finish, but instead he wrapped you into his chest, arms securing you tight. His lips pressed against your temple as he rubbed slow circles into your back.

“Shhh, baby, no. You’re never a burden, (Y/n). Do you hear me? Not to me… not ever.”

Your tears dampened his hoodie, your shoulders shaking as you clung to him.

Jake tilted your chin gently until your clouded, wet eyes met his. His warm brown gaze shone steady, soft but unbreakable.

“You’re the strongest girl I know… but even strong people need rest. Even strong people need help, and I’m here, baby. I’m going to help you carry it, okay? We’ll do this together.”

He kissed the salty trail on your cheeks, lingering as if to seal his words into your skin.

“One thing at a time, that’s all. You don’t have to do it all tonight, or tomorrow… you just have to do it with me.”

Your lips trembled. “But what if—”

“No what ifs.” Jake’s thumb brushed across your raw lower lip, frowning at the bite mark there.

“I believe in you, always… and when you can’t believe in yourself, I’ll do it for you. So, let’s start small, yeah?“

You pulled away from his warmth just enough to wipe the tears in your eyes, watching his movements.

“First, you eat this.”, he reached for the bag, pulling out one of the warm chocolate pastries, breaking it in half and holding it to your lips.

The sweetness melted on your tongue, and you realized only then just how hungry you were. Jake smiled faintly as he fed you, sipping your matcha latte before handing it over.

“Perfect, right? Just how you like it.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes.

Then he pulled your laptop closer to the edge of your desk, scrolling through the mountain of assignments.

“Okay, we’ll start with the shortest ones… one hour, that’s all. We’ll write an email to your professors to let them know they’re complete, then reward ourselves with cuddles. Deal?”

His optimism was infectious.

You found yourself nodding, your chest lighter as he kissed your forehead.

With Jake at your side—warm hand on your thigh, pastry crumbs on his lip as he teased you for typing too slow—you worked.

Ten minutes at a time, a break between each, his laughter melting into the soft strum of a playlist he put on, and his soft praises between kisses to your cheek made it all easier.

The lamp cast a golden glow around you both, the scent of vanilla and chocolate wrapping you up in comfort.

By the time you collapsed into bed hours later, your screen was cleaner—half the tasks done, the rest organized neatly.

You felt proud…

Tired, but proud.

Jake tucked you against him, your face pressed to the crook of his neck. He smelled like fresh linen and sugar.

“See, baby? You’re not alone, and you’ve never been alone.”

You whispered, drowsy, “Thank you, Jake.”

He kissed your hair, whispering back.

“Always, angel.”

And in his arms, your heavy heart finally felt a little lighter.

[xoami]

I love love love your writing!!! The way you capture the characters and their relationships, I'm obsessed. Can i request situationship Jay (who acts like your bf but without the label) and the reader is the one who's afraid of labels? 🥹🥹🥹 but they work it out hehe thank you so much!!!

GOOD THING, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 fun?

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Jay is tired of feeling like a fling, and demands something more… or nothing at all. PAIRING. lovesick!jay x non-committal!reader GENRE. fluff, very mild angst WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing

authors note ୨୧ I would never forget about you, anon shawty bae. <3

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It’s past midnight when you feel the weight of Jay’s gaze like gravity, pulling you down, down, down.

The windows of your apartment are cracked open just enough to let in the thick summer air, laced with honeysuckle and something smoky from the street below.

A fan buzzes lazily in the corner, but the heat still clings to your skin like a second layer, sticky and slick as you shift beneath him on the couch.

Your legs are tangled—his thigh slotted like a puzzle piece, warm and real between your own.

A half-eaten carton of strawberries sits forgotten on the coffee table, and a low song hums through the speaker, sultry and slow.

But none of that matters.

Not in comparison to his lips hovering above yours, or the way your fingers are already slipping under the hem of his tee to trace the smooth ridges of his stomach, and definitely not the slight catch of his breath every time your nails dip too low.

“Don’t do that,” Jay murmurs, his voice husky, not from lust, but restraint.

Barely there.

“Do what?” you breathe against his mouth, already knowing.

He catches your wrist, not harsh, but enough to stop you.

“That thing where you act like I’m yours, and then pretend I’m not when it fits for you…”

The mood shifts—like something shattering in slow motion.

You sit back a little, eyes flickering away, but his hand finds your jaw, gently guiding you back to him.

“Jay…” you start, but he’s already shaking his head.

“Don’t, (Y/n). Not this time...”

He looks too good like this—dark eyes glassy with want, hair messy from your fingers tugging through it, lips kiss-bruised and rosy.

He’s sprawled like a sin in the dim light, collarbones sharp under the stretch of his shirt, his hand still warm on your skin.

You want to kiss him again, lick the frustration off his tongue, and distract him with the way your body fits into his like a song he already knows the lyrics to.

But he’s not letting you…

Not tonight.

“You can kiss me all you want,” he says quietly.

“But I need to hear you say it. What the hell are we doing?”

You swallow.

The answer’s on the tip of your tongue, but it’s tangled up with all the others. All the excuses, the fears, the aching memories you never unpacked.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you say finally, barely above a whisper.

Jay furrows his brow. “Ruin what?”

“This. You.” You bite your lip, shifting your weight.

“It’s fun, right? We’re having fun.”

“Fun…”, he echoes, jaw tight.

“Yeah,” you say, as lightly as you can.

“I mean, what’s the rush? Why do we have to label something that already works?”

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment, you see it—the hurt he tries to hide behind a scoff.

“Who is this really fun for, (Y/n)?”

“…What?”

“And how is exactly is it working? Or is it just as long as it works for you?”

“Because it doesn’t just work,” he says, voice sharper now.

“It drives me crazy. Every time you look at me like I’m yours, every time you beg me to stay the night, every time you call me when you can’t sleep—what is that, if not something real?”

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“I’ve been patient,” he goes on, sitting up fully now.

“I let you call the shots. I let you keep us in this… limbo. But you can’t keep using my body like a fucking security blanket, then act like you don’t need me in the morning.”

“Jay, I—”

“No,” he cuts in, standing to his feet.

You miss his warmth immediately.

“If this isn’t something to you, then I need to know. I need to hear it! Otherwise, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

You blink up at him..

He’s almost silhouetted against the city lights bleeding in through the window. His chest rises and falls fast, and he looks like he might walk out…

You can’t let him.

You rise too, bare feet silent on the cool floor. Your tank top’s slipping off one shoulder, and he notices.

Of course he does.

His eyes darken, but he doesn’t move to fix it like he normally would.

You reach for him anyway, letting your hands slide under his shirt again, slower this time.

Not to tease, or to seduce… Just to feel. Just to feel his heart is thundering under your palms.

“I’m scared,” you admit, voice breaking as your arms then circle his waist, your head finding rest on his chest.

“Okay? I’ve been here before. I’ve called someone mine so many times… just to then watch them walk away...”

The silence was palpable.

“Jay, I don’t think I could survive watching you walk away.”

His expression softens, just a fraction.

“You think calling me your boyfriend is what’s gonna make me leave?” he says, finally letting his arms encase your shivering frame.

“(Y/n), what’s gonna make me leave is never being allowed to be that.”

You close your eyes and the air feels heavier now, charged and trembling.

“Do you want to lose me?” he asks, quieter now, eyes searching.

“No…” you whisper.

“I want to keep you like this. Forever, if I can.”

Jay tilts his head, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips as he leans back enough to look at you.

“Then say it.”

You hesitate.

“Please, baby… I need to hear it,”

But the truth’s already on your tongue—lush and sticky like summer fruit.

“I want you,” you say.

“I want all of it. I just didn’t know how.”

He exhales slowly, hugging you closer and rubbing your back is small, firm circles.

“You still don’t,” he murmurs against your skin. “But I’ll teach you, if you let me.”

When you peer up at him with glossy doe eyes blown wide and shaky, and when you nod, small but certain…

Jay is a goner.

And this time when you kiss him, it’s not a distraction.

It’s surrender.

Soft at first, but then deeper—needier.

A shared breath, a shared beat. His hands tug at your waist, yours pulling at his shirt until it’s off and gone.

The taste of him is salt, strawberries, and something desperate. The sound of his sigh against your mouth is the only thing you need now.

You make love like it’s a promise, like it’s the last time.

Messy, slow, then fast again—sheets kicked off, bodies slick with sweat and want. His mouth on your throat, your nails down his chest, your name caught between his gasps.

When it’s over, you’re lying on your side, facing him, breathless and tangled and trembling.

“Mine,” he whispers.

And this time, you don’t flinch.

“Yours.”

“Yours…”, he echoes with a small laugh.

You’re quick to nod.

“All mine…”

And maybe for once, that’s enough.

For now.

Maybe forever…?

Whatever you want to call it.

[xoami]

HOT HEADED, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 sweet and spicy

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, you realize your boyfriend likes when you get mean… maybe a little too much. PAIRING. softie bf!jungwon x short tempered gf!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, kissing, implied nsfw, mdni

authors note ୨୧ I’ve been on quite the Jungwon kick recently, so now you’re on it too.

─────────

Your relationship with Jungwon wasn’t some overcomplicated drama-fueled rollercoaster.

It was actually… painfully domestic.

Sleepovers in each other’s apartments where he’d tuck your hair behind your ear after brushing your teeth. Where your lipstick stains were permanent residents on his coffee mugs. Where your tiny shorts and crop tops had taken over one drawer in his dresser, and his oversized shirts always made their way into your laundry.

Dinner on Fridays, either dressed up in dim lighting over pasta and wine or curled up on the couch with takeout containers and half-watched thrillers. Matching phone wallpapers, playlists curated for each other, and sex that was always tender, always attentive—vanilla, sure—but Jungwon made you feel everything.

He was calm… Always composed, and almost princely in the way he carried himself.

Always considerate, always kind.

A golden boy with dimples and patient hands.

You?

You were anything but.

Cool, blunt, slightly dangerous in the way you spoke and moved. Sweet, yes—but only when you wanted to be. Spicy, short-tempered, impulsive. You didn’t sugarcoat, and you didn’t coddle.

And Jungwon loved that about you.

Well—he’d never say that out loud.

Never admit how, when your voice rose and your words got mean, he twitched in his pants. How when you turned sharp and sarcastic, when you rolled your eyes and walked away from him with that angry sway in your hips—it did things to him.

Things he was too embarrassed to voice.

So instead, he kept quiet. Let you yell, let you snap, let you push him around when you were grumpy… because the way your teeth nipped his neck when you were worked up, the way you pinned him to the bed like you owned him—

God, he loved when you got angry.

However, he wasn’t toxic with the way he relished in your anger. It was never a “I want to see you break” kind of enjoyment.

No, that wasn’t his thing.

It was more like—“Oh no, did I make you angry? Use me to make up for it.”

That brand of soft destruction.

The kind where you stomped through the club, or the grocery store, always clad in your signature kitten heels and tiny shorts, eyes blazing from a phone call gone wrong, or someone staring too long, tugging Jungwon around like he was your favorite purse.

Don’t save him. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

He would never forget the day he first realized this.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, which meant errands.

A few returns, maybe a smoothie, and a cinnamon roll somewhere along the way.

You were dressed in your usual brand of pretty danger—tiny black mini skirt that sat high on your hips, a matching ribbed tank top, dainty jewelry catching the sunlight.

Jungwon’s oversized jacket hung off your shoulders, swallowing you whole and somehow making you look even smaller.

Even meaner…?

He wore baggy faded jeans, a loose graphic tee, messy hair, and a soft grin—the ever-patient boyfriend tagging along.

The one who always carried your bags, held your wallet when you were busy, maybe sneaking it into his pocket because he’d much prefer you use his. The one who nodded thoughtfully whenever you asked, “This or this?”

But that day?

You were on the phone.

And that phone call was not going well.

He didn’t know the full story.

Something about your old college friends, some drama about a canceled trip, or someone inviting your ex to the same event—he didn’t care, really.

All he knew was that you were pissed, and trying very hard not to yell in public.

He saw it in the way your brows pinched together, the way your hand gripped the steering wheel tighter and tighter, until you took a hard one-handed turn into the mall’s parking lot.

Sharp, controlled, dangerous.

Jungwon blinked as you slid your sunglasses on with one hand, voice sweet but dripping with venom.

“Oh, fuck you, James.” you laughed bitterly into the speaker.

“You always do this, and honestly? It’s pathetic. I’ll see you when I see you.”

Call ended, sunglasses adjusted, lip gloss reapplied.

You stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the heat-thick air.

Jungwon was quick to follow, locking the car behind him.

And that’s when it started.

Small things.

You were walking ahead, fast-paced and mean in your stride, and when he lagged a few steps behind looking at a text, you reached back and grabbed his wrist…

Not so gently.

“Keep up,” you muttered, linking your fingers with his tightly.

He swallowed, and something in him fluttered.

Inside the mall, you stayed grumpy.

Shiny floors, buzzing lights, the smell of fried food and perfume.

You weren’t speaking much, only stopping occasionally to finger through racks of dresses in your first store.

You spotted one—a silky red number. Tiny. Dangerous. And turned to him suddenly, gripping the front of his shirt to tug him closer.

“What do you think, Wonie? Trashy or sexy?”

His brain short-circuited.

“S-sexy,” he murmured.

“Perfect,” you said, tossing it over your arm and moving on like nothing happened.

His heart beat a little faster.

Then there was the Cinnabon incident.

A pit stop between stores.

You bit into yours with a vengeance, cinnamon smearing at the corner of your mouth, cheeks puffed with heat and sugar.

Jungwon’s cheek had cream on the side, which he didn’t notice—until you did.

“Hold still,” you muttered, gripping his chin suddenly, thumb swiping the icing from his cheek.

Then, without warning, you licked it off your finger.

His knees went weak.

You didn’t notice… or maybe you did, but you turned away and kept walking.

And then…the bags.

You made him carry everything, not that he minded.

Four stores, three bags each, hangers poking out, boxes digging into his forearms…

And for some reason, he held them all at the front of his body.

Not to keep them balanced…

But because he was hard.

Really hard.

His jeans did nothing to hide it, so he pressed the bags down low, trying to hide the evidence of what walking one step behind his sharp-tongued, moody, mini-skirted girlfriend did to him.

He watched you in line at Zara, rolling your eyes at the cashier when they denied your returns unjustly, your hand on your hip, lips pursed in that kiss-me-if-you-dare way

“Can I see your manager, hon? Thank.”

And something in him cracked…

He liked this.

He really liked this.

It was the way you moved when angry—like you owned the whole mall, the city, him.

The way your voice turned clipped, direct. The way you bossed him around like you expected him to obey.

Like you knew he would.

Which he did, every time.

With flushed cheeks, and a semi that never went away.

Later, back in the car, you waited for Jungwon to toss the bags into the trunk and leaned against the passenger door, huffing a little from the heat and chaos.

You looked at him now, head tilted.

“What?”

He blinked, eyes wide, “Nothing.”

“You’re red, Wonie. Your neck, your cheeks…-“

“I’m fine.”

“Sorry for my temper…”, you hum, pulling your shades off and popping your gum.

“I don’t mind it.”, he quickly shook his head with a quickness he was too ashamed to admit, squinting in the sun as the awkward silence landed then.

Because why on earth would he say that?

An amused smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth, your brows quirking up in surprise.

“Oh.”, you blinked.

His throat bobbed.

“So, does that mean you enjoy it?”, you were joking, but it was true… just not to your knowledge.

Yet.

“I—don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh… alright.” you cooed, reaching for him.

You let your hands slide slowly from his shoulders down his arms teasingly, then his waist, his hips… pulling him closer then by his belt.

Was it getting hotter outside?

He gasped out a sad excuse for laughter.

You stared, expectant.

“I do enjoy it.”, he caved.

You leaned in, breath cool with peppermint at you pecked his lips.

“I can tell. Don’t ever lie to me, Jungwon.”

He nearly whimpered, nearly.

And that?

That was the day he knew.

He wasn’t just in love with you.

He was completely, hopelessly, forever down bad… for your anger.

And maybe, just maybe…

He wanted to make you mad on purpose.

It never got easier after that fateful Sunday.

The fight wasn’t even that serious…

Not really.

It started the way most of your arguments did—casual, then tense, then boom.

Raised voices in a quiet apartment, distant thunder behind a closed window.

You were in one of Jungwon’s old t-shirts, sleeves rolled up and neckline stretched just enough to slip off your shoulder. You hair piled with an old clip, underwear and nothing else.

That sweet mix of cozy and careless.

He stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked maddening in a fitted black tee and baggy gray joggers, chocolatey damp hair curling a little from his earlier shower.

Face calm, but eyes too sharp behind his thick rimmed glasses.

“I said I was going to see the guys this weekend,” he said, voice steady.

“You planned that on your own, but you only mentioned it to me,” you snapped, tossing your phone onto the couch. “That’s not the same.”

Jungwon sighed, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his face.

“It’s Jay’s birthday. I thought you knew that, (Y/n).”

You paced, because that’s what you did when your brain got loud.

“No, you assumed I knew. I already made plans with my colleague this Saturday for her birthday, and I told you I wouldn’t miss it…“

“You said you’d come.”, you added then, staring daggers into his soul.

“I didn’t think it was that important,” he muttered.

Wrong thing to say.

“Excuse me?” you turned, arms thrown wide. “So your friend’s birthday is important but my friend’s isn’t?”

He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Baby, that’s not at all what I meant.”

“You never say what you mean, Jungwon!” You groaned.

“Help me understand. You expect me to read your mind and follow along like a fucking robot?”

“That’s not fair,” he said, voice rising now too as he stepped closer to you.

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

You didn’t back down either, meeting him halfway, your chests nearly pressing to one another.

“Then maybe open your mouth and use them properly”

You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten, how your words had grown sharp enough to slice through the stillness of the apartment.

Your bare feet planted on the cool hardwood, your hands fisting at your sides like you were itching for something to punch.

Your chest was heaving, your lips curled, your eyes narrowed in that cat-like, dangerous way…

And that’s when you noticed it.

That look.

That look.

You paused, expression softening into that of realization.

Jungwon stood frozen in front of you, like a deer caught in headlights—except… not scared.

His cat-like eyes were blown wide, glassy, his cheeks tinged pink.

His lips parted just slightly, tongue peaking out to wet them, his breathing a little heavier than a second ago.

Your gaze dropped.

Oh.

Oh.

There it was…

The tent in his joggers.

“…Oh my Gosh.”, you scoffed in disbelief.

His eyes widened.

“I—wait—” he stepped back, hands raised like you’d just found his hidden stash of dirty magazines, before they shot down to then cover his groin.

“Oh my GOSH.” you said again, slower, one hand raising to cover your mouth as you stared, laughter bubbling up in your chest.

You blinked. “Are you—”

“No—well—yes—but it’s not like—”

You looked back up at him, mouth parted in disbelief.

“You’re turned on right now!?”

He winced.

“Not on purpose!”

You gaped.

“Jungwon, we’re fighting!”

“I know.”

“I’m mad at you.”, you cried.

“I know!”, he whined.

Your jaw dropped further. “You really do like when I get mad…”

“I—I didn’t say that,” he mumbled, cheeks burning.

“Oh, you didn’t have to.”, you back him up slowly, guiding him until he landed in a stool at the counter, curious, testing the waters.

“You’ve got a whole problem going on in your pants right now.”

His hands moved reflexively in front of him again, holding his waistband like that might fix anything.

“Stop looking, (Y/n). Please.”

“Oh, I am looking,” you grinned, eyes bright now with something entirely different.

“Oh my gosh… this is so interesting.”

“Please don’t make fun of me,” he whispered, letting you slot yourself between his thighs

Your face sobered slightly, head tilting.

Your arms hooked around his neck.

“I mean… I remember the mall, but you should’ve told me it was this bad, Wonie.”

He looked up at you helplessly. “It’s embarrassing.”

“No,” you murmured, hands sliding over his shoulders. “It’s actually kind of hot.”

He blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Mm-hm,” you hummed, leaning in until your lips pressed the warm flushed skin of his cheek.

“So, you like when I get bossy? Or is it when I raise my voice..? When I tell you what to do?”

He made a choked sound, nodding, his hands clutching your waist now, squeezing slightly.

“Gosh, you’re so weird,” you whispered.

His hips jolted.

You laughed.

“Jungwon!”

He groaned, head dropping to hide in the crook of your neck but you still caught his smile.

“I’m sorry!”

“And now it makes sense,” you went on, pressing yourself to him.

“Why you get extra handsy when I’m annoyed, why you always follow me around like a little puppy when I tell you to leave me alone…”

You kissed under his jaw, once. “You don’t want me to be soft, huh?”

He hummed. “Sometimes.”

“But you prefer it when I’m mean.”

His hands slid down to your thighs and hips, gripping tightly, pulling you closer. “Only when it’s you.”

You laughed, breathless now.

“Then… can you show me what you mean?”, you said sweetly, voice like syrup and sin.

“I wanna learn you a little more~”

His heart dropped like gravity had been waiting.

….

And later, when your voice was hoarse from scolding and he was panting against your thigh with the biggest fucking smile on his face, you had only one thought:

You were going to have way too much fun with this.

[xoami]

LIMERENT, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 sick and in love

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, you and your stalker have a special bond. PAIRING. stalker!sunghoon x lovesick!reader GENRE. fluff, angst, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, mdni

authors note ୨୧ This comeback has my creativity on 10. I spiraled and wrote several chapters to this prompt. I may release them depending on how this goes.

─────────

You met your stalker on a gloomy Wednesday. Well, that’s not exactly true…

You caught him.

It was raining that night, hard, cold drops hammering the pavement like they had a score to settle.

You’d just locked up the café, slipping your keys into your coat pocket when you glanced across the street—and there he was…

His tall, lean figure half-shadowed under the flickering orange glow of a busted streetlamp, camera pressed to his chest like a confession. Dark hair, damp and messy. Lips parted like he forgot how to breathe when you noticed him.

His tired eyes were blown wide under wet lashes…

You didn’t scream, You didn’t run.

You tilted your head, lifted your hand to wave, and he disappeared.

Sunghoon… Park Sunghoon.

That was his name.

You found it scrawled on the inside of a brand new book, ´The Fall of the House of Usher’ that appeared on your porch days later—delicate cursive, slanted and careful, and in pretty red ink.

You pressed your fingers to it, lips curling.

The book smelled like cologne—woodsy, clean, cold. Like cedar, mint, and winter.

Later you learned that Sunghoon always smelled like winter.

⸻

You’re not exactly normal either.

No one really talks to you much… not since you stopped trying.

You like your space, your routines.

Your tea cabinet is alphabetized, your bed is always made, except when he comes.

You talk to stray cats more than you do to people. They meow at the windows at sunset, and you always let them in.

So, maybe it wasn’t that strange to you when the gifts started…

Roses, dark red and wilting at the edges.

A little box with a dainty, golden locket.

A velvet ribbon tied around a cassette tape with no label… classical music.

An envelope of photos—grainy, warm, quiet. Some of you at the market, some of you brushing your hair in the mirror, some of you flat on your stomach in bed, dipping strawberries in melted chocolate.

You should’ve been scared, but you weren’t.

You felt closer to something…someone?...

You felt admired.

You felt pretty.

⸻

Days…

Weeks…

Months…

Time passed, slow as molasses.

Patterns continued, and eventually your stalker became less and less… out of reach. He never started to feel less like a ghost however.

Park Sunghoon.

You remember the first time you heard heavy footsteps in the halls, you were quick to type away on your phone.

You: Is that you?

Your phone had buzzed not even a moment later. One message:

Unknown: ;)

Soon, it became routine.

He’d crawl through your window, always at odd hours of the night.

Most of the time, you were already half asleep, your cheek mashed against the pillow, fingers twitching toward dreamland…

But you’d stir at the faint creak of the floorboards, the subtle shift of air, the familiar cold scent curling into your room like fog.

Then the bed would dip behind you, and arms would wrap around your waist. Strong, still trembling slightly.

You’d smile even in slumber.

Sunghoon’s fingers were always ice cold, and he’d tuck them beneath your night dress, pressing into the bare warmth of your stomach like he needed to feel it.

You’d wiggle your hips against him just to tease, and he’d choke on a quiet sound, pulling you closer. You liked the way he shook.

You liked that you made him shake.

⸻

He doesn’t speak much.

When he does, it’s breathy… flat but thick with meaning. His words don’t land—they linger.

“I’d never hurt you,” he whispered once, his mouth brushing the curve of your neck as he held you on the fire escape.

“I’d kill for you, though.”

You think he already has.

You never asked why there was blood smudged on his cheeks, or dried under his fingernails some nights…

Never asked why or whose it was.

You never asked why his hands tremble when you kiss over fresh bruises.

You just guide him to the bed, giggling as he sits stiff as stone on the edge, waiting for you climbed into his lap. You trace the veins down his neck, pressed your lips to the chiseled line of his jaw, and felt the tension coil in his spine.

He never moved first.

You always had to pull his hands from his sides, coax them to your hips, your thighs, your ribs…

Like he was scared he’d burn you.

You wanted to burn.

⸻

He writes you love letters…

Little scraps of obsession.

‘Hello Angel,

Your lips have been haunting me… your smile too. I saw you laugh at a joke from your co-worker today. The cashier. It made me want to scratch his eyes out. Anyhow, you looked beautiful… I’ll see you soon. Leave your window open?

- Yours truly, S.’

You tape them to your bathroom mirror like confessions.

Late at night, you write your name across his pale chest with cherry lipstick, his arms, his hips—right over his heart.

You like the way his eyes roll when you straddle him, brows furrowed, his mouth always parted like he forgot how to breathe again. He trembles when you kiss, like every touch is sacrilegious.

You think he cried the first time he saw you naked.

A single tear, down his cheekbone, as his hands stayed frozen above his head like he didn’t know where to put them. You kissed the tear, then kissed lower.

⸻

The photos keep coming… the ones he takes.

You sip tea and sort through them like postcards at your kitchen table.

You, always you. At your window, or stretching in bed, or with headphones on and unaware, mouthing the lyrics to a song he later asked about.

“I like knowing you’re watching,” you once told him, brushing his hair back from his face as he lay in your lap.

He blinked up at you, as if waiting for the punchline.

You smiled.

“It makes me feel wanted.”

Sunghoon’s lips curled—just barely. A twitch of something fond and unhinged.

⸻

You still leave your window open without asking, but he has a key now just in case.

You always sleep deeper with his arms around you… and he’s beginning to leave clothes of his for you in the mornings… A simple black hoodie, a thin white t-shirt, a striped dress shirt.

You always wore them, nothing underneath.

Your stray cats still curl on the windowsill, still keeping you company in his absence.

Your house smells like rose petals and cold cologne. Your walls are now lined with clothesline, his secret photographs pinned along them with fairy lights.

You never fail to wake to the softest kisses on your shoulder, the words “mine, mine, mine” breathed like prayer.

On the fire escape, you hold his hand and he presses his lips to your temple.

“You’ll never know a love like mine,” he whispers.

“I know,” you whisper back, smiling.

And that’s all you need.

[xoami]

FASHION BABY, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 fire

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Ni-ki comes home to find you playing in his clothes. PAIRING. tipsy bf!ni-ki x silly gf!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship

authors note ୨୧ We should all do Ni-ki cosplay. 🫡

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The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional distant honk from the street below.

Ni-ki was out with the guys—some casual drinks, maybe a round or two of pool, he’d said with that sly smile, the one that always made your stomach flutter. Which meant the place was all yours for the night.

And you knew exactly what that meant.

Ten minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror in your shared bedroom, your oversized tee long discarded and replaced with a gray Essentials hoodie that hung off you like it was swallowing you whole.

Draped on top was Ni-ki’s heavy black Harley Davidson biker jacket, the one that still smelled like his cologne—clean, cool, and just a little musky.

The jeans were ridiculous. Some avant-garde brand with a name you could never remember, all baggy and low-slung, cinched barely enough to stay on.

The Timberlands? Laughably huge, laces undone, flopping lazily around your ankles like you were a toddler playing dress-up.

You looked up, suppressing a grin, and reached for the Gentle Monster shades, sliding them onto your nose with a little head tilt and a smirk.

“Fire… my name is Ni-ki, I like going out—”

You cracked yourself up mid-sentence, biting your lip to stop from cackling too hard. You spun once, dramatically adjusting your posture, then remembered what was missing.

Jewelry, of course.

With reverence, you approached the sleek black drawer on his dresser—the one you swore had to be worth more than your entire closet—and slid it open slowly, like you were handling treasure.

Rows and rows of silver, chrome, and onyx.

You grinned, biting your lip again as you started stacking rings onto each finger, choosing the flashiest, bulkiest ones. A couple of chain bracelets joined in, and finally, a chrome hearts necklace that glinted under the bedroom light.

You looked insane…and amazing, in your opinion.

“Hell yeah,” you whispered, flicking your fingers like you were about to walk a runway.

The next half-hour was pure chaos: selfies, videos, TikTok drafts you’d probably never post.

You did little slow-mo walks in the hallway, pretended to rap in the mirror, you even went on to give yourself fake interviews.

“Ni-ki, what are you wearing tonight?” and you then answered in his voice. You danced a little, swayed your hips dramatically in his jeans, blew kisses at your reflection—

—and then the bedroom door clicked open.

“(Y/n), what the hell—”

You whipped around like a kid caught red-handed, the Yankee snapback you’d tossed on at the last minute nearly flying off your head before you quickly held it down in place.

“Baby! I was just—I was… oh.”

Your voice faltered when your eyes met his.

There he stood in the doorway, all six feet of swagger and shadowy glory, radiating that cool, offbeat charm he was known for. Ni-ki—tall, lean, and effortlessly him—tilted his head slightly as his dark hair slipped into his eyes.

Those eyes, still crinkled at the corners with amusement, met yours with a flicker of heat and humor. His full lips curved into a lazy, expectant smirk as he quirked a brow.

He looked insane—in the best way. A loose-fitting charcoal sweater hung off his frame, riddled with intentional holes that revealed peeks of pale skin and the soft freckles dusting his collarbone.

His baggy jeans sat low on his hips, cinched by a chunky belt. Designer sneakers on his feet, a few of his signature rings still stacked on the wrong fingers. And somehow, he made all of it look like second nature.

“What’re you doing, idiot?” he asked, voice low and teasing, the kind of tone that always made your cheeks warm.

“I was—I was trying on… your… well…” you mumbled, trailing off as the words dissolved into nothing.

The more you tried to explain, the more foolish you felt, standing there drowning in his clothes like some oversized toddler.

He didn’t say anything—just kept looking at you with that cocky little smile.

“Ni-ki…” you whined, drawing the name out sweetly, syrupy and soft, just the way you knew he liked.

You pouted, eyelashes fluttering as you took a slow, dramatic step forward.

He didn’t back away.

You closed the distance, arms easily slipping around his waist as you buried your face against his sweater. He was warm. Familiar. And probably laughing at you internally.

But he hugged you back anyway.

“You were playin’ in my closet while I was out…? That it?”

His voice, low and lazy, curled around you like smoke. You nodded into his chest, lips brushing the fabric of his sweater as you inhaled his warmth—familiar, grounding, slightly cologne and a little street.

Finally, you pulled back, just as he took a slow step away, eyes raking over you now that he had full view. A beat passed.

“Mm… not bad,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not with the hat though.”

He reached for the snapback playfully, but you dodged, clutching it to your head like it was part of your soul.

“Chill! The hat is a nice addition… the fit is fire, be honest.”

You spun in place, as best as you could in his clown-sized jeans and boots, cocking your hip like you were walking a runway—even though your actual silhouette was completely swallowed. You laughed, still caught up in your little moment, your fingers flicking at the hem of the hoodie dramatically.

But you didn’t notice him moving again. Not at first.

Not until the air around you changed—until the space between you started to collapse.

He got closer, slow like gravity was pulling him toward you. His presence was impossible to ignore. Quiet, tall, steady.

Your breath hitched just slightly when you finally looked up—his eyes already on you, dark and half-lidded. There was a faint flush painted across his sharp cheekbones, soft and pink. Just enough to tell you he’d had a couple drinks, maybe one more than planned.

Still, his gaze was steady. Sharp. Intentional.

You swallowed.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low—so low it made the hair on your neck stand. “All proud of yourself in my stuff.”

His fingers brushed against the oversized jacket you wore, just barely skimming the fabric at your shoulder, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to take it off you or pull you in tighter.

“You look stupid cute like this.” His lips twitched into a subtle smirk, but his voice stayed soft, almost quiet—like he was telling you a secret.

“And you’re wearin’ my rings wrong.”

That pulled a laugh from your throat, nervous and sweet, but it died quick when he reached for your hand, his touch featherlight as he toyed with your fingers—his rings still stacked, mismatched, on your own.

Then, with a boldness that didn’t match the calm in his face, he brought your hand up and kissed the inside of your wrist.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t more so...

His nose grazed your skin just slightly.

“You always do this when I’m not here?” he murmured sleepily.

The heat curled in your stomach. The soft weight of his hand, the gentle rasp of his voice, the haze of his half-drunken warmth—all of it teetered on that line between playful and something else entirely.

“Well, when I miss you… or I’m bored, I just like to—”

You sucked your teeth, eyes rolling softly as you tried to gather yourself. Tried to sound like you weren’t melting from the inside out under the weight of his voice, his touch, his everything.

Why the hell should you explain yourself? How could you?

“Shut up, Ni-ki!” you groaned, pressing your hands weakly against his chest, as if that would stop anything.

Pathetic attempt, really—he barely budged.

He only grinned, that lopsided smirk of his blooming slowly across his face as he let your little shove happen, the warmth of his chest solid beneath your palms.

And then, like he had to—like it was second nature—his fingers curled into the front of the hoodie you wore, gently tugging you closer by the very fabric you’d stolen from him.

“とてもかわいい... (So cute),” he said, barely above a whisper. “Even when you try to act tough.”

He knew what him speaking in Japanese did to you. It was so soft it felt like it dropped right into your bones.

Fatality.

His forehead bumped yours lightly.

The silence that hung between you buzzed. Not awkward—never with him. Just charged. Like you were both standing on the edge of something that neither of you had to say out loud.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip before he added, “You miss me, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Not with words.

And when he leaned in just a little more—warm breath brushing your cheek, his hands still tugging at his hoodie wrapped around your frame—everything else stopped mattering.

He dipped his head, lips just barely grazing your ear as he whispered.

“Next time you wanna play dress-up, baby… make sure I’m around to help you take it off.”

[xoami]

toxic riki who acts like you guys are dating but treats you like a secret and then when you get mad about it he acts nonchalant bc "we're jus friends"

NOT YOURS, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 we’re just friends

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Ni-ki wants the benefits without the commitment, and you’re done figuring out why. PAIRING. uni!ni-ki x fed up!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing

authors note ୨୧ you guys like toxic ni-ki a lil too much.

─────────

The problem wasn’t that Ni-ki acted like your boyfriend. It was that he only acted like your boyfriend — when it was just the two of you.

He gave you rides to campus. Waited in the lot, engine idling, while you took your sweet time. Picked you up, dropped you off. Brought you overpriced iced coffees, lip glosses, hoodies that still smelled like his cologne. Kissed you hard before class, hands greedy on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

But ask him what you were?

“Just chill, babe,” he’d say with a smirk. “Why ruin a good thing?”

And you’d let it go. Every. Time.

Even when his friends were around and you suddenly became a friend. Even when another girl would wave a little too long and his arm would drop from your shoulder like it had burned him.

You should’ve left then.

You didn’t.

But tonight? You were done playing pretend.

It was a party. Bonfire, barefoot-in-the-sand type of vibe. The last blowout before summer break. The kind where someone’s crappy speaker would blast bad remixes and everyone would be drunk by sunset.

You showed up with your girls.

Your look was curated for war:

A vintage Dior bikini top, low-rise denim shorts hugging your hips. The matching thong straps peeked out just enough to make people look twice.

You wore dainty chains — and then his.

Ni-ki’s silver initials glittered right between your breasts like a crowned jewel.

Your lips were sticky with strawberry gloss, and your tinted shades were pushed high into your freshly blown-out hair as you stepped onto the beach, confidence dripping off you like perfume.

You looked delicious.

But where the hell was Ni-ki?

One drink. Sweet and tart.

Two shots.

Still no sign of him.

You were just reaching for another when you heard someone say his name — and then you saw it.

Ni-ki. Laughing, grinning, with the guys… all circled around a car. He was leaned against the driver’s side like he owned the entire damn beach. Baggy gray hoodie hanging half off one shoulder, the zipper undone just enough to reveal the sliver of that fitted black tank top you liked a little too much. His arms — toned, golden, obnoxiously kissable — flexed casually as he took a sip from a bottle someone handed him.

Stacked chains twinkled against his tanned, freckled collarbones, catching the sunlight in all the ways your anger couldn’t ignore. The same ones you’d seen clink against your own bare chest too many times in the dark.

His jeans were ripped, baggy, slung low on slim hips. His sneakers — your gift, of course — still stupidly clean despite the sand. Dark locks fell lazily into his eyes, after what looked like a few failed attempts at pushing them back with one ringed hand.

He looked like sex on legs.

And his car…

The one he said he wasn’t bringing.

And inside?

A girl.

Sitting in the passenger seat like she belonged there, scrolling idly on her phone while she smacked her gum.

Your blood ran hot.

You didn’t think. You stormed.

The sand barely slowed you down as your sandels sank with every furious step.

Ni-ki’s eyes landed on you first — his whole expression shifted. From chill to oh shit.

The group went quiet.

One by one, the guys scattered like they’d sensed the storm, Jay being quick to pull that girl from the car with as much stealth he could muster.

Only Ni-ki stayed put, arms loose at his sides, jaw clenched as he watched you approach.

His gaze dropped low. Too low.

You knew what he saw — and how badly he wanted it, to pick you, slam you on the hood and pop the strings on that damn bikini. The way his tongue swiped the inside of his cheek made that very clear.

But you didn’t let him speak first.

“Who was that?” you demanded, voice like poison-dipped sugar.

He blinked. “(Y/n), chill—”

“Don’t tell me to chill,” you snapped. “You said you weren’t bringing your car.”

“I wasn’t— Jake wanted to—”

“Bullshit. You couldn’t come get me? But you had time to play Uber for some chick?”

“She’s just a friend.”

You laughed. Sharp and humorless. “Of course she is.”

“Why are you making this a thing?” Ni-ki’s voice dropped low. He glanced around.

“You’re blowing this way out of—“

“Oh, am I?” You stepped closer, eyes narrowed.

“Then answer me this: What are we, Ni-ki? Because you sure act like my boyfriend when your head’s between my thighs.”

His jaw dropped — he looked horrified. Eyes darting left and right.

“Or was I your friend when you took me to meet your sister during spring break?” you went on, voice rising.

“Or when you bought me that necklace and told me—” You stepped right into his space now, fury crackling in your chest.

“Told me you belonged to me.”

Ni-ki lunged forward and slapped his hand over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up!” he hissed.

“Get your fucking hands off me—”

But before you could rip into him again, he grabbed your wrist and started dragging you.

You didn’t resist at first — you were too stunned. He muttered curses under his breath as he yanked open the passenger door of his car and practically shoved you inside.

Moments later, the tires were kicking up sand, the party shrinking behind you.

You were both silent until he pulled up near the far end of the beach. No people. No lights.

Just moonlight.

And tension… thick tension.

Ni-ki killed the engine and turned to you.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he said, eyes wild, breath heavy.

“No, Ni-ki. I’m fucking done,” you snapped back, voice shaking.

“I’m done letting you treat me like I’m only yours when no one else is watching. Shit’s embarrassing!”

He leaned back in his seat, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Then he laughed. Just once. A low, bitter sound.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your heart stuttered. “Get what?!”

“I didn’t want you to be mine.”

The silence after that felt like a punch to the ribs.

Ouch.

But he wasn’t done.

“I didn’t want to like you this much. I didn’t want to need to see you every day. Didn’t want to get sick if I didn’t touch you for more than a few hours… but I do.”

He looked at you now. Fully. And there it was — raw and unfiltered in his eyes.

Need.

“You scare the shit out of me,” he said, voice low.

“Because if I called you mine, that’d mean you could leave. And I don’t know what I’d do if you ever—”

He stopped. Swallowed hard.

You exhaled, fists loosening at your sides.

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” you muttered, looking out the window to fight the small smile stinging your cheeks.

He blinked, startled.

Then he laughed — that real, boyish sound you hadn’t heard in days.

And then, without warning he was on you.

Ringed hand, gentle but firm, tugging you closer by the neck. Mouth on yours, hard and fast, like he’d been holding it back for weeks.

Like every kiss before this was just a warm-up.

His hands found your hips, dragging you across the console until you were straddling him in the driver’s seat, you whimpered in response.

You fit against him like a puzzle piece.

His fingers dipped under the band of your shorts, tugging roughly.

“You wore these?” he growled against your lips, voice tight, “Knowing you had no plans of letting me touch you all night?”

“You wore that smug-ass face,” you shot back, grinding down. “Knowing I’d be dying to slap it.”

He groaned... Loud. Desperate. Hands everywhere.

“You’re mine,” he said suddenly, pulling away, chest heaving, eyes locked on yours. “Say it.”

“Ni-ki—”

“I fucked up, okay? I didn’t want anyone else to see you like this.” His hands cupped your jaw, reverent.

“But I didn’t know if I could handle it either… and I’m done hiding. You’re mine…”

“And I’m yours, (Y/n). Yours.”

You bit your lip, nails dragging down his chest as you leaned in again for a much needed kiss.

“Took you long enough.”

You wasted no time tugging off that damned hoodie and showing him just how good it felt to be owned.

…

You woke up with your cheek pressed against cool leather and your legs tangled in the thin blanket he kept in his trunk.

The ocean air still clung to your hair from the cracked windows— and so did the smell of him.

Ni-ki’s hoodie was half off your shoulder, your bikini top was long gone in the backseat, and your lips were swollen from the mess you’d made of each other in the front seat of his car.

He was still asleep, reclined back in the driver’s seat, lashes brushing his cheeks, mouth barely parted, one ringed hand splayed over your thigh like a claim. Yours.

Finally.

You smirked.

The sun was just creeping over the horizon when you pushed the car door open and stepped onto the cool sand. Your legs were still weak — but your pride?

Untouchable.

You pulled Ni-ki’s hoodie fully over your half-bare chest, zipped it halfway, and slid your sunglasses on, paying your wind blown hair no mind.

A couple of stragglers were still passed out around the dying bonfire. Your friends were somewhere. Probably still drunk. But you?

You strutted back across that beach like it was a runway. Bikini bottoms barely peeking under his hoodie. His chain glinting against your collarbone, littered with fresh love bites and the colors of last night.

The way the girls looked you up and down as they gathered themselves to leave the beach— the way some of the guys straightened up, as they started to their cars, mouths parting from opened windows — told you exactly what you looked like.

Ni-ki’s girlfriend.

Finally, publicly.

He’d better pray he could keep up.

[xoami]

FRESH FOR YOU, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 home sweet home

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Jay comes home to find you in one of his favorite comfort shirts. PAIRING. whipped husband!jay x whipped wife!reader GENRE. fluff, implied nsfw WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, very suggestive, mdni

authors note ୨୧ should I release the continuation I wrote?

─────────

Jay dropped his bag next to the door with a quiet thump and toed off his shoes, letting out a sigh that felt like the first breath he’d taken all day.

He padded softly into the apartment — your apartment — and felt the weight of his job melt off him with every step. The soft scent of coconut and vanilla hit his nose, cozy and familiar. You must’ve cleaned today.

The corners of his mouth lifted.

God, he loved coming home to you.

The living room was quiet, cast in the warm amber glow of lamps instead of the usual overhead lights. There was something soft about the atmosphere, like a gentle hum vibrating through the space. His eyes wandered for you, and then—

He spotted you near the kitchen counter, one leg slightly bent as you lit a candle on the windowsill, lips pursed in concentration. The flick of the match was almost poetic — tiny flame, focused eyes…

Then he let his eyes trail down your person, his smile fading into something more worried… for his own sanity of course.

That oversized, pin-striped dress shirt he loved so much hanging off your shoulders like it was made for you...

His shirt.

Jay stopped in his tracks.

Who knew domesticity would do it for him?

You looked… fuck. You looked innocent. Sweet. So soft. The usually sharp, velvety edge to your presence had been replaced by something blurry and dreamy. Jay wasn’t used to seeing you this way — not like this, not when you usually walked into a room like you were six feet tall, all confidence and allure. Though soft-spoken, you had an undeniable edge.

The kind of energy that had drawn him in like a moth to a flame. Reckless and happy to be burned by your light.

But now?

Now you looked tiny in his shirt, hair damp from a recent shower, collar slipping off one shoulder. Jay’s heart stopped.

You turned, finally sensing him.

“Oh! you’re home,” you grinned, holding your arms out invitingly.

“I’m glad you came back to me in one piece.”

Jay moved without thinking, crossing the room and wrapping you in a hug that was all-consuming. His hands gripped you tightly, chest flush against yours, breathing you in — clean skin, citrusy lotion, floral shampoo. It was you. Every inch of you.

And it short-circuited his brain.

“Showered?” he murmured against your neck, voice thick.

“Mhm,” you nodded innocently, “I wanted to feel fresh for you…”

That was it.

With no warning, Jay scooped you up bridal-style, laughing when you yelped and clung to him.

“Jay! What are you doing?”

“You looked too good not to,” he grinned, setting you gently on the counter, his hands firm on your thighs to keep you there. His eyes flicked down, drinking you in again.

“You really wore this shirt today?”

“I didn’t feel like getting dressed,” you smirked, legs swinging lightly.

“Your shirts were just hanging there all lonely in the closet.”

Jay exhaled like he was in pain. “You know what seeing you in my clothes does to me…”

You raised a brow smugly. “Of course I do. I’m married, not stupid.”

That earned you a low chuckle, and a brush of his thumb across your exposed collarbone as he subtly adjusted the shirt back up your shoulder. Not that it helped — the image was already scorched into his memory.

“So… how was your day, Mr. Park?” you teased, nudging him with your knee.

“Was the Vesselsoft empire kind to you today?”

He laughed, forehead falling to your shoulder. “Exhausting. Endless meetings…My boss nearly cried over a server issue that wasn’t my fault...”

“Yikes, baby… Tell them your wife wants compensation for the emotional damage her husband endured.”

“Yeah…? Does money talk now?” Jay quizzed, watching his hands slide across your thighs.

“Yep.” You smirk.

“Don’t think I make enough for your retail addiction?” he raised a brow.

You blinked. “No! I just… I spend money very, very fast, Jay.”

“Can you spend it as fast as I earn it?”

Your grin widens, blush creeping up your ears, but you remain silent.

“Hm?” he leaned in, eyes dark with mischief. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands slid up and down your thighs, fingertips firm, grounding you. You tilted your head at him, fingers gently fixing his loosened tie.

“And you?” he asked softly. “What’d you do today, honey?”

You held your hand up, wiggling your fingers. “Got my nails done!”

Jay gently took your hand, inspecting the soft baby pink polish, the tiny white flower on your index. He kissed each fingertip as you chattered on.

“I had lunch with friends, we went shopping after — No, not retail, just groceries. Oh, I got that cereal you liked as a kid… Hm, then I cleaned the apartment, which took forever, but I lit candles so now it smells really nice—”

His lips trailed from your fingertips up your arm as you spoke on, and when they reached the curve of your neck, your breath caught.

“Jay…” you laughed breathily, voice going faint. “Wh-what’s gotten into you?”

He pressed himself tighter between your legs, voice thick against your skin.

“I’ve just missed you is all…”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, smiling softly as your lips brushed his ear. “Yeah…? How much?”

He leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded, dark with something wild. “You’ve got no idea.”

You cupped his cheek, smoothing down the edge of his tie, your voice quieter now.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Jay’s expression softened, his lips capturing yours again in a kiss so deep and sure it made your toes curl.

“I love you too, (Y/n)… so much.”

You gasped between kisses, breath warm against his mouth. Eventually, you pushed him away just enough for you both to catch your breaths, shyness creeping in as you gripped his shoulders.

“Jay— Jay, I want to have sex. Like… now?”

Jay froze for just a second and a half.

Then looked up at you like he had just seen God, eyebrows raised as if he wasn’t sure you knew what you just asked of him. Eyes low, pupils blown. Every part of him drawn to you like gravity.

“Oh… baby,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

Before you could even process the hunger in his expression, he had you in his arms again, carrying you toward the bedroom like a man on a mission.

You were smiling from ear to ear.

And the door closed softly behind you.

[xoami]

SUCKER PUNCH, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 either way it hurts.

𖥔 PRECIS. It’s not love—not the kind they write about. It’s something messier. Hungrier. You and Heeseung don’t fit together, but you find each other. PAIRING. stray dog!heeseung x stray cat!reader GENRE. angst WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, violence, suggestive

authors note ୨୧ I’m baaaack. Just in time to catch the wave of new fics w/ their comeback. ☺️

─────────

The Beginning

You weren’t supposed to end up like this—burnt out at twenty-something, biting your tongue to keep from saying something cruel, again. But then again, neither was Heeseung.

You were the quiet one. The stray cat. All claws when cornered, aloof when it suited you. He was the opposite—loud, feral, stubborn. A stray dog that never knew when to stop barking, or biting.

Family didn’t mean much to either of you. Broken homes, voices raised too often, love handed out like a punishment—you never talked about it. No need. You saw it in each other. That twitch behind the eye when someone mentioned “dad.” That bitterness in the voice when someone said “home.” You kept to yourselves, save for a few close friends, and then… each other.

It wasn’t easy.

Fights between you and Heeseung were practically routine. Like brushing your teeth. Only louder. Red in the face, tears threatening to spill, lips trembling with rage. And then, sometimes, he’d whisper your name low and broken, and you’d grab his face and kiss him until you couldn’t breathe. Until your anger melted into moans and gasps and the ache in your chest turned into something else entirely. Sex was your language. More frequent than “I love you,” more truthful than any apology.

Heeseung never claimed you with words. But he looked at you like you were everything. And you never told anyone how you felt about him—but you couldn’t imagine your life without his scent on your pillow.

And still… he fought.

Heeseung was drawn to the ring like a moth to a flame—raw knuckles, a bloody grin, sweat pouring down his neck. You hated it. The violence. The high. The danger. He said it was for money. That he was “providing.” That it was all for you.

But the truth? He liked it.

Tonight

You found him again.

After a silent cab ride, neon lights washing over your face in flickering blues and reds, you pushed through the sweaty crowd of that grimy underground club. The air was thick—blood, smoke, heat. Someone laughed and shoved a fat roll of bills into your hand.

“Your boyfriend’s prize money. He’s a beast—”

You shoved it into your pocket. Didn’t even look at them. You could barely hear over the buzzing in your ears.

The alley was dark, lit only by a flickering bulb and the glow of Heeseung’s cigarette. He looked like hell— knuckles bruised and bloody, lip busted and already scabbing over, the tiniest cut across his nose…. sweaty tank top sticking to tanned, bruised skin.

His body, worn and tired, swayed idly in the night’s breeze, even with his back pressed firm into the brick wall behind him.

His dark brown locks were a mess and disheveled, sticking up all over. His cheeks and ears flushed red, his nose too, and you wanted to forget you were angry, and pull his face into your neck if it meant it’d shield him from the night’s chill.

As you got closer, you saw those eyes dark, from lack of sleep and the light like hardly reached them. Only the glow of his cigarette set a warmth to his face. But God, he was still beautiful. Too beautiful.

“I don’t want your stupid fucking bet money, Heeseung!” you snapped, throwing the money in his face.

He didn’t flinch. Just exhaled smoke slowly, stepping toward you.

“Damn. Can’t get a congratulations?” He tilted his head, eyes hooded.

“Thought you wanted a provider, baby…”

He leaned in to kiss you. You shoved your hand in his face, blocking him.

He kissed into your palm anyway.

“Don’t—” you warned, pressing his chest.

But he didn’t stop. His hands slipped around your waist, pulling you in.

You pushed harder. “I said don’t.”

He grabbed your wrist this time.

You slapped him…

Clean across the face.

Heeseung’s head snapped to the side with the blow, a slow groan leaving his throat.

He spat out the blood with a bitter laugh, “Fucking hell…”

You shoved him, walking past, your heart pounding, but he grabbed your arm again. “Let go—”

He held tighter.

“I said—”, you could feel angry tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, that painful lump growing in your throat.

You gripped his wrists this time, nails digging in. But he just dropped to his knees… slowly, as if the weight of you was the only thing anchoring him.

“Baby, I’m sorry…” His voice cracked as he rested his forehead against your stomach, big hands sliding to your hips.

“But this… this is good. I won. I fucking won.”

You stared down at him, expression unreadable.

You reached out, brushing his sweat damp hair from his eyes only to tug his head back with a harshness you couldn’t quite commit to, only so he’d see you when you said it.

“You promised, fucking idiot.”

The Ride Home

You remember the sweet nothings Heeseung whispered as he clipped your helmet on, how he swore it was good for you two…

You stayed silent.

You let him set you on the back of his bike, and you let him tug your arms around his waist himself… then he roared through the city, but neither of you said a word.

You pressed your cheek to his back, eyes locked on the passing blur of streetlights. Your arms wrapped tightly around his torso like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

The Shower

Heeseung was already in the water by the time you stepped into the sickly yellow glow of your tiny shared bathroom, hesitantly pulling back the thin curtain of the shower, all while avoiding his gaze.

Steam filled the space, clinging to your skin. Heeseung looked over his shoulder at you, swiping the water from his face with a natural harshness he could no longer control, but he said nothing just yet, his eyes tracking your every movement as your towel dropped.

He let move on your own, a behavior he had grown accustomed to. You really were like a cat… move too fast and you’d retreat.

“(Y/n),” he murmured, “You know I don’t do it for fun… I do it for us—”

You stepped in front of him, under the weak stream, and he didn’t mind that you stole the flow of warmth for a moment.

He turned you around gently, pressing your back to his chest. Water ran down your bodies, steam rising around your silhouettes.

“I don’t want you to do it at all…” you muttered, lifting his hands in yours and bringing them to your mouth.

You kissed each knuckle.

Each bruise. Soft. Tender. Contrasting everything about the man they belonged to.

Heeseung’s breath hitched. He turned you slowly, cupping your cheeks.

The heat between you was unbearable. His forehead pressed to yours, your lips brushing without touching. His thumbs traced the edges of your mouth like he was trying to memorize every part of you.

“You know I’d stop if you asked me to,” he whispered. “Like—really asked me.”

“I have,” you said.

Silence.

Then his mouth was on yours. Deep, slow, all desperation and craving. The kind of kiss that steals your breath. His hands roamed—shoulders, spine, waist—like he was trying to remind himself that you were real.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he whispered against your lips.

You shook your head, resting your fingers to his bruised collarbone.

“I can’t.”

And even if you never said “I love you,” not in so many words, it hung thick between you in that steamy room. In every look, every fight, every shattered breath.

After

The mattress is on the floor—has been for months. No frame, no headboard, no attempt at pretending either of you live like you’re okay. Thin sheets tangled around your bare legs, damp with sweat and the residue of everything you didn’t say.

Heeseung’s arm is slung over your waist, heavy like an anchor. His face is buried in your neck, breaths slow, uneven. You’re both wide awake, eyes open, but quiet.

There’s nothing to say.

Not right now. What’s there to say when everything’s already been screamed or touched or cried into the skin of the other?

Your fingers trace the old scar on his shoulder. You don’t ask where it’s from. You know. Just like he knows why your breathing changed when he muttered something about home earlier.

His thumb rubs lazy circles into your hip. Not because he’s thinking about it—just because his body moves when it’s near yours.

You stare up at the ceiling. Water from the busted AC drips into a plastic bowl. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Heeseung shifts behind you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. It’s not sweet. It’s not romantic. It’s instinct.

Like breathing.

Like bleeding.

Like loving someone you can’t walk away from, even if you wanted to.

And you don’t want to. Neither of you do. Even if it kills you.

Eventually, you fall asleep… He hates this part.

The quiet.

Not because you’re gone—you’re still here, curled up beside him, back against his chest, your skin warm under his arm—but because this is when his thoughts get loud.

He watches the ceiling too, but he doesn’t see it. Not really. All he sees is your silhouette burned into the backs of his eyelids. Your mouth parted in sleep. The little bruises his hands left on your hips, the tender bites he left on the plushness of your inner thighs. The curve of your spine rising and falling with each breath.

He should say something. Sorry. I love you. I’ll stop fighting. Something. Anything.

But he doesn’t. His throat won’t let him. And besides, you’re not saying anything either.

Maybe you’re just as tired of the cycle as he is.

His fingers twitch against your hipbone. He lets them wander, ghosting over your soft skin. It feels like penance. Like prayer.

You shift a little. Not awake. Just enough to remind him you’re real. Still here. Still his.

He presses his face into the space between your shoulder blades and inhales.

You smell like sweat and sleep and something warm he’s never had a word for. You smell like his.

He thinks about the fight. Not the one in the ring. The one earlier. Your voice cracking when you said you promised. Your hands shaking when you slapped him. Your silence on the bike. All of it echoing in his ribs like a drumbeat.

You’d never admit it, but he knows you were scared. Not scared of him—for him. That’s worse.

He should’ve stayed home. Should’ve just held you. Kissed you slow. Let himself belong to something softer.

But he doesn’t know how.

He’s never known how.

So he just lays there, holding you like you’re going to slip through his fingers if he lets go. And maybe you will. One day.

But tonight, you’re still in his arms. Still breathing beside him.

Even broken people can find home in each other.

Even stray hearts need a place to belong.

Tonight, maybe tomorrow… or we’ll just say for now, he belonged to you.

That’s enough.

[xoami]

Okay but listen.... the jungwon part of the blurb where they call the reader noona, the one where he's an intern in an office - a masterpiece. Literal work of art. Please, for the love of God, consider writing something like that some time bc it's absolutely divine❤️

WORK FOR IT, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 I miss you.

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, the very popular office intern, has had enough of your teasing. PAIRING. office intern!jungwon x office siren!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing

authors note ୨୧ I feel like a genie! Your wish is my command, engene. 💕

─────────

The hum of the copier filled the print room as you busied yourself, hands deftly arranging papers into neat stacks. The door clicked open and shut behind you, but you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Noona~” came the familiar, honeyed voice.

“Good morning, Wonnie,” you replied smoothly, your tone teasing, as if you hadn’t noticed his obvious stares all morning.

Before you could fully process, warm, surprisingly strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. You froze only for a second as the scent of apples and fresh linen surrounded you. His lips brushed against your neck, soft and fleeting, sending an involuntary shiver through you.

“Jungwon~ that tickles, honey,” you laughed breathily, attempting to keep your composure as his hold tightened slightly.

He let out a low whine, his head burying into your shoulder. Then, he shifted, and you braced yourself on the counter when his hips pressed insistently against you. His hands slid down to rest on your hips, holding you in place.

“Jungwon—what has gotten into you?” you asked, giggling as you twisted to face him, your back now pressed against the counter.

Jungwon’s face was flushed, his glasses slightly askew, and his ears burned bright red. His lips were pressed into a pout, but his eyes gleamed with something bold and unrelenting.

“Noona…” he breathed out, his arms on either side of you now, effectively caging you in.

His voice was a mix of frustration and yearning. “I miss you. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

Your lips quirked up in amusement, but he barreled on, his gaze locking onto yours, his cheeks impossibly red.

“You were eyeing me in this morning’s meeting, rubbing your heel along my leg, then leaving as soon as it ended. Then, you didn’t even drink the coffee I made you. And after that—” His voice dropped slightly, his frustration slipping into something almost pleading. “—you left with Sunghoon for lunch, and now…” His voice cracked slightly as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Noona, you’re driving me crazy.”

You chuckled softly, uncrossing your arms to reach up and fix his glasses with delicate fingers. His gaze flickered down to your lips as you pecked his softly.

“Wonnie… shhh,” you whispered, glancing toward the blind-covered window. The last thing either of you needed was someone catching this little rendezvous.

But as you leaned back in to kiss him again, Jungwon snapped. His hand cupped the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, the sudden intensity stealing the air from your lungs. The dominance in his movements shocked you—he wasn’t holding back anymore.

“Jungwon,” you gasped when he pulled back, only for his lips to find your jawline, trailing heated kisses down your neck.

“Noona,” he whispered between kisses, his tone a mix of desperation and satisfaction. “Don’t avoid me again… Please.”

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your cheeks as you gripped his shoulders. “Okay, okay, I won’t,” you managed, voice breathless.

The printer beeped behind you, a sharp reminder of where you were, but the way Jungwon looked at you—lips swollen, eyes dark with desire—made you forget anyone else existed.

[xoami]

Oooh did toxic Riki…:MAYBE YOU CAN DO reader and Riki are hanging out when she gets a call and it’s from her friend that Riki HATES because they always tell her to leave Riki and he’s toxic

———

THEY DONT KNOW ME. ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 It’s not fair…

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, your best friend is not a fan of the boy you love. PAIRING. past player bf!ni-ki x naive whipped gf!reader GENRE. fluff, slight angst(?) WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing

authors note ୨୧ Ask and you shall receive, sweet pea. 💕

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The warm golden sunlight poured through your bedroom window, casting a soft glow across Ni-ki’s blushed face.

He sat comfortably on your bed, clad in a gray hoodie that hugged his frame just right, the cute little moles that freckled his smooth tanned skin on display, the silver chain that hang across his collarbone peeking out, his fluffy, freshly washed bangs falling into his sleep eyes— a rare sight you couldn’t stop staring at. His lips curled into a lopsided grin as he caught you looking. “What?” he teased, his voice low and playful, leaning closer.

You giggled, shaking your head, and softly tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie. “Nothing… you’re just—”

“Just what?” he pressed, his veiny hands gently brushing over your knee, sending sparks along your skin.

“Too good-looking for your own good,” you murmured shyly, feeling the blush creep up your neck.

He chuckled, his nose brushing against yours before his lips found yours again. It started with sweet, lazy kisses—soft and unrushed, like you had all the time in the world.

His lips were soft and sweet with the strawberry chapstick he wore— a cute little note about him you found adorable when you found out.

His one hand found your waist, the other found your thigh, fingertips skimming lightly underneath your frilly pajama shorts and against your skin as he pulled you closer. The familiar scent of his cologne mingled with the sun-drenched air, making your head feel a little hazy.

You sank deeper into his touch, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, and for a moment, it felt like nothing could disrupt the dreamy bubble you’d created together as you were guided back against the fluffed pillows of your bed.

But then, your phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, shattering the peace.

You groaned, reaching over to check it, but Ni-ki stopped you, his lips brushing against your jaw.

“Don’t answer it,” he mumbled, his tone almost petulant.

You chuckled softly. “It could be important,” you replied, slipping your hand free to grab the phone. His hand dropped to your thigh, his grip firm but not harsh, a silent protest.

The screen lit up, and you saw the messages flooding in. Your heart sank a little as you read the sender: Bestie 🎀. Ni-ki’s expression hardened immediately.

“Bestie 🎀: (Y/n), I saw your story. Are you serious?”

“Bestie 🎀: I told you he’s no good. You’re gonna get your heart broken.”

You winced, putting the phone down as another message pinged in. Ni-ki’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he muttered under his breath, “You told them about us?”

“It wasn’t like that,” you said quickly. “I just… posted that picture of us at the arcade yesterday. I didn’t think they’d freak out like this.”

Ni-ki leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. The soft glow of the sunlight still made him look unreal, but his mood had shifted, his playful demeanor replaced by something guarded.

“They don’t even know me,” he said quietly, though there was a bite to his words. “All they know is what people used to say about me.”

You knew what he meant. Ni-ki had a past—a Casanova reputation that still clung to him, even though he hadn’t been that guy in years. He had been the type to charm everyone, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind, but with you, he was different. Softer. Real.

“I don’t care what they say,” you said firmly, reaching for his hand. He hesitated for a moment but let you take it, his fingers curling around yours.

“You’ve shown me who you really are, Ni-ki. That’s all that matters.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though the frown on his lips remained. “It just pisses me off,” he muttered, his voice low. “They act like they know us—like they know me. They’re just waiting for me to mess up so they can say, ‘I told you so.’”

“I know,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “But you’re not going to mess up. And even if you did, I’d still be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension in his face eased as he let out a small sigh, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Good,” he said quietly, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

You leaned into him, your forehead resting against his as you whispered, “You don’t have to.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, the messages forgotten, the world outside fading away. His hands found your waist again, and his lips brushed against yours, warm and soft.

This time, the kisses were slower, sweeter, the golden sunlight wrapping you both in its quiet glow. In his arms, you felt safe—like nothing and no one could touch the love you’d built together.

.

.

.

You just hoped he didn’t prove them right.

[xoami]

TOUCH DOWN, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 all star boy

𖥔 PRECIS. a series of headcanons for my university star athletes au PAIRING. star football player!jay x supportive gf!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, kissing, petnames

authors note ୨୧ I’m back. For real this time. ♥️

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Star football player Jay, who always catches you staring during practice, playfully winks every time, knowing it flusters you, and then gets extra smug when you quickly look away.

Star football player Jay, who is known for his intensity on the field but turns into a total softie when you wear his jersey, tugging you close and whispering, "You look so much better in it than I ever could."

Star football player Jay, who walks around campus like he owns the place, yet always makes sure to save you a spot at the cafeteria table, offering you bites of his food even though you pretend you're not hungry so he fills up.

Star football player Jay, who stays late after practice to work on extra drills but never leaves without sending you a teasing voice message, telling you to "be a good girl and wait for me."

Star football player Jay, who doesn't care about anything but the game during matches, but the second he scores, he looks up into the stands, searching for your reaction, heart swelling when he sees you cheering.

Star football player Jay, who playfully throws his sweaty practice jersey at you after a long workout, smirking when you scowl and toss it back, but then pulls you into a hug, refusing to let go until you laugh.

Star football player Jay, who texts you at 2 AM after an away game saying he can't sleep, and when you ask why, he sends a picture of his empty bed and writes, "Guess who’s missing."

Star football player Jay, who hates being the center of attention at the post-game parties, but insists on keeping his arm around your waist the entire time, showing everyone who you belong to.

Star football player Jay, who seemed effortlessly confident until he was about to ask you out officially, suddenly stumbling over his words as he muttered, "So, uh, are we… like… together or what?"

Star football player Jay, who gets into a tense argument with you right before an important game, and even though he plays his heart out, he can’t focus until he sees you waiting for him in the locker room afterward, looking just as torn up as he feels.

Star football player Jay, who isn’t the best at expressing his emotions but leaves small notes in your locker—"You looked cute in class today"—with a tiny heart drawn at the end, just so you know he’s thinking about you.

Star football player Jay, who gets too cocky sometimes, draping himself over you and whispering, "You know you love being my number 1 fan," before trailing kisses down your neck, knowing exactly how to get a reaction out of you.

Star football player Jay, who jokes that his teammates can fend for themselves after games because he has better plans with you, only to groan when you suggest study dates instead.

Star football player Jay, who hates seeing you upset, especially if it's because of something dumb he said. He'll show up outside your dorm room with your favorite snacks, looking apologetic and muttering, "I’m sorry, okay? Can we talk?"

Star football player Jay, who lifts you up after every big win, spinning you around in front of his teammates, who all hoot and cheer, while you laugh and cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Star football player Jay, who clearly limps off the field after a brutal tackle, his jaw clenched in pain, but the moment he catches your concerned eyes in the stands, he forces a cocky smile, pretending everything’s fine just to make sure you don't worry.

Star football player Jay, who often crashes in your dorm after practice, sprawling out on your bed while you massage every knot and tension in his shoulders, arms, and thighs. He lets out quiet groans of relief, murmuring, “You have no idea how good that feels,” while his hand lazily traces patterns on your leg.

Star football player Jay, who is left completely stunned when, during halftime, you walk out onto the court with the cheerleading team, this being your big reveal that you made the squad. He stares, jaw slightly dropped, then breaks into the biggest grin, his heart racing for a completely different reason now as he watches you perform.

Star football player Jay, who completely dies of laughter when you try on his football pads, looking so small and wobbly in them. As you stumble under the weight, running with the ball, he’s practically doubled over, gasping for breath between laughs, saying, "Babe, you're gonna fall over!" even though he's secretly loving how adorable you look.

Star football player Jay, who you find in the locker room after a particularly heated game in the rain, jersey off, smeared with mud, his hair damp and dripping. The second you see him, you can't help yourself, kissing him hard on the mouth right then and there. He doesn’t waste a second gripping the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the tension melts away in that moment.

[xoami]

I can't believe you followed me back, I love your works!!!

You’re actually the cutest! Of course I did.

I’ve read a few of your works too, and they’re so sweet! 💕

[xoami]

IN YOUR COURT, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 get your head in the game

𖥔 PRECIS. a series of headcanons for my university star athletes au PAIRING. star basketball player!heeseung x supportive gf!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, kissing, petnames

authors note ୨୧ pt. 2/4 my loves~

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Star basketball player Heeseung, who winks at you from the court every time he makes a three-pointer, loving how flustered it makes you.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who invites you to “help him practice” at the gym late at night, only for it to turn into a playful game of one-on-one where he lets you score just to see you smile—then pulls you close when you’re out of breath.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who always waits for you outside your last class of the day, leaning casually against the wall with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, flashing you a grin.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who texts you at 3 a.m. after a tough game, confessing how he can’t sleep because the only thing on his mind is how much he wants to see you.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who teases you endlessly during study sessions, flicking your pen or kicking your chair under the table until you threaten to leave—but he pulls you back in with a smirk and an apology whispered into your ear.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who shows up at your dorm after a big game, sweaty and out of breath, immediately pulling you into a feverish kiss, his deep voice telling you he just wanted to see you before celebrating with his team.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who gets incredibly protective when other guys try to flirt with you at team parties, wrapping his arm around your waist and leaning down to kiss your cheek as if daring anyone to make a move.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who throws his team hoodie over your shoulders on chilly game nights, pretending like it’s no big deal, but secretly loving how adorable you look in his clothes.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who laughs with you during late-night phone calls, sprawled out in his bed and mindlessly tossing a basketball, only to pause for just a second too long when you mention you miss him—and he says softly, “I miss you more.”

Star basketball player Heeseung, who picks you up for class after his early morning practices, but insists on taking a detour to his favorite lookout point, where he pulls you into his lap, his lips lingering on your neck as he murmurs how much he’s been thinking about you all day.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who gets visibly upset when his performance on the court isn’t up to par, only for you to find him at the gym after hours, silently shooting hoops until you coax him into talking—and then, into your arms.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who always makes sure to get you the best seat at his games, right in the front row, so he can make direct eye contact with you during timeouts, the silent communication between you two like a secret language.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who gets a little too competitive when you jokingly challenge him to a game of basketball on the outdoor court, his hands “accidentally” brushing against your hips and butt a little too often as he pulls you close, his voice low and teasing, claiming he’s just “guarding you”

Star basketball player Heeseung, who comes to your room after every big game, his face lighting up when you open the door, and he wraps you in a bear hug, mumbling against your shoulder how much better the win feels when you’re there to share it with him.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who loves making you laugh, even in the most intense moments, cracking dumb jokes in between serious talks or during study sessions, just to see that smile he’s totally addicted to.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who quietly slips his hand into yours when no one is looking, squeezing it tightly, and when you glance up, he’s just staring at you with a look that makes your heart skip a beat.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who can go from cocky and playful during practice to sweet and vulnerable when you’re alone, admitting how much he worries about balancing his dreams with keeping you close.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who presses you tight against the corridor halls during halftime, kissing feverishly along your neck, his damp hair tickling your face, before your lips crash in desperate attempts to taste more of each other, just for his forehead to press against yours during a quiet moment, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers, “We should stop,” before pulling you in for another slow, tender kiss.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who loves to keep his hand tucked in your back pocket as you walk around campus together, letting everyone know you’re his, while he grins down at you and teases you about how cute you look when you blush.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who looks especially attractive when he’s angry on the court, jaw clenched, eyes burning with determination, and sweat dripping down his face. You can’t help but stare, completely mesmerized, even when his intensity should probably scare you a little.

Star basketball player Heeseung, who absolutely melts whenever he finds you lounging around in his oversized jerseys, barely able to keep the smirk off his face as he walks over, tugging at the fabric and saying, “You look better in this than I do,” before pulling you into a lazy hug.

[xoami]

BATTER UP, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 home run, baby

𖥔 PRECIS. a series of headcanons for my university star athletes au PAIRING. star baseball player!jake x supportive gf!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, kissing, petnames

authors note ୨୧ this is pt. 1/4 of this hyung line star athlete au I’ve conjured up in my head. yuh.

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Star baseball player Jake, who always spots you in the stands, gives you a little wink before stepping up to the plate, making your heart race as if he knows exactly how to fluster you.

Star baseball player Jake, who teases you about how obsessed you are with watching him play, but secretly waits for your cheers the most, knowing it gives him the confidence to perform even better.

Star baseball player Jake, who surprises you after every game with a playful hug from behind, his face buried in your neck as he asks, “Did I impress you today?”

Star baseball player Jake, who casually slips his baseball cap onto your head during games, flashing that easygoing grin as he says, “Looks better on you.”

Star baseball player Jake, who shamelessly pulls you in close for a messy, rough kiss after a tough game, the sweat dripping down his face, his breathing heavy, as he mutters, “…This was all I needed…”

Star baseball player Jake, who throws mock glares at his teammates during team events when they try to flirt with you, not-so-subtly marking his territory by draping an arm around your shoulder.

Star baseball player Jake, who stays up late to help you study, even when he has early morning practice, insisting that “my grades are good enough—I’m more worried about you.”

Star baseball player Jake, who gets caught staring at you instead of focusing during practice, only for his coach to yell out, “Jake! Eyes on the game, not your girl!”

Star baseball player Jake, who gives you his jersey after a big win, knowing you love how it smells like him, and later sends a cheeky text, “Better not let anyone else see you in it.”

Star baseball player Jake, who can’t wait to get you alone in his dorm after an especially good practice or game, letting you pull his jersey over his mess of hair as he peppers your body in warm, rushed kisses.. “Is this my reward?”

Star baseball player Jake, who sulks after losing a really intense game and refuses to talk to anyone but you, only to break down when he’s alone with you, admitting, “I just hate letting everyone down, especially you...”

Star baseball player Jake, who sneaks you into the locker room after hours, sitting on the bench beside you with a mischievous grin as he says, before capturing your lips in a warm, sensual kiss. “We’re not supposed to be here, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Star baseball player Jake, who makes sure you’re wearing his team’s colors at every game, calling you his “lucky charm,” and firmly believing that you bring him good luck. He especially likes when you write his jersey number on your cheek!

Star baseball player Jake, who challenges you to a playful game of catch after practice, laughing at how uncoordinated you are but always rushing over to help you fix your stance, his hands lingering a little too long on your waist. “What…? It’s your form that’s all weird..”

Star baseball player Jake, who secretly loves when you call him out for spending too much time at practice, just so he can dramatically pout and whine, “But I’m doing it all for you!”

Star baseball player Jake, who posts cute pictures of the two of you on his social media after a game, with captions like, “My #1 fan ❤️” or “Couldn’t do it without her support 😘.”

Star baseball player Jake, who runs his fingers through his hair and sighs dramatically every time you mention one of his teammates, playfully asking, “You like them more than me now, huh?”

Star baseball player Jake, who puts his cap on backwards and shoots you a playful smirk, jaw flexing as he chews his usual bubble gum, every time you try to focus on your work, just because he knows how much you’re into that look.

Star baseball player Jake, who gets flustered when you wear his oversized varsity jacket, trying to play it cool but eventually blurting out, “You’re gonna make me lose my focus if you keep looking that good in my clothes.”

[xoami]

You all probably think I’ve vanished…

But the amount of bullets I have in the chamber?

Im about to start dropping HELLA FICS.

Be ready.