slut4kwonbackup

[slut4kwonbackup]

Me when I say I like to read and they ask what type of books

[slut4kwonbackup]

when you just finished one of the most beautiful fics ever written and you see that the author has a masterlist full of other fics

[slut4kwonbackup]

i just know thanos is irritatingly good at those stupid fucking imessage games, especially word search. he acts stupid as hell but when it comes to word search and whatever other puzzle game there is, he’s a fucking boss.

[slut4kwonbackup]

HAHAHAHAHA STOP IT RIGHT NOW IM CACKLING AT THIS

I LOVE YOU 😭😭

every version of you

pairing: choi seunghyun x fem! reader

synopsis: you’ve been best friends your entire lives. you danced in pink pointe shoes, while he scribbled lyrics in his notebook. he’s cheered for every twirl, and you’ve clapped for every verse. you’ve been there for each other through every moment. except, when everything you’ve both worked so hard for finally arrives at the same time, you’re left to wonder if the cost of chasing your dreams is losing the one person who’s always been a part of them.

warnings: 18+, mild swearing, angst with happy ending, fluff, miscommunication, emotional conflict.

authors note: i can’t even tell you guys how much i love this story, and the amount of joy it brought me while writing it. dancing has always been a way for me to cope with my emotions, so actually putting that feeling into words was strangely healing (i never did ballet but the idea is the same). anyways, i hope you guys love this as much as i do! it’s pretty long and will definitely hit you right in the feels, so be ready. i love you all! ♡

you don’t really remember a version of your life that didn’t include choi seunghyun.

he’s in every single moment of your childhood. 

every scraped knee, every sleepover, every memory worth keeping. 

your moms were best friends before either of you were even born, so by the time you came along, the universe had already decided; you were his, and he was yours.

there was never a first meeting. it was just, always.

but if you had to pick a starting point, it would have to be the time you showed up to preschool in your little ballet outfit like it was a red carpet premiere.

a pink leotard, glittery tights, the frilliest tutu you owned, and of course, your favourite ballerina doll tucked tight underneath your arm. she came everywhere with you, but today felt extra important. 

three year old seunghyun was already in the classroom when you walked in. sitting on the alphabet rug, shoes off, building a block tower by himself. he looked up as soon as the door opened.

his mouth dropped open when he saw you.

he scrambled to his feet, tripping over one of the blocks in the process. “whoa.”

you blinked at him, confused.

he pointed, wide-eyed. “you look like her!”

you clutched your doll a little closer. “who?”

“your dolly!” he gasped. “the one you always bring. you look just like her.”

you looked down at her sparkly pink tutu and then at your own. “that’s ‘cause i am her.”

he nodded, like that made perfect sense, as his face lit up in that way it only ever did for you. “i’m gonna call you doll now. forever.”

your eyebrows scrunched. “forever?”

“uh-huh.” he stepped closer, serious now. “’cause you’re the only one who looks like a real dolly. and you’re my best friend.”

you paused. “but what if someone else calls me that too?”

his nose wrinkled. “no. it’s just me.”

“okay,” you said, after a long moment. “only you.”

and you meant it.

from that day on, you were doll. only to him, though.

no one else ever tried it more than once. not after the way he glared at a classmate for saying it in passing the next week. not after he grabbed your hand in the middle of lunch and told you, “that’s not your name unless i say it.”

you didn’t really understand what that meant, but you liked the way it sounded in his voice.

it was like a secret only you got to hear.

he always said it like that. like it was something sacred. like you were something sacred.

you didn’t call him anything special. not at first, anyways.

he was just seunghyun. or seunghyunnie, when you were feeling extra nice.

until one random afternoon during free time, only a few weeks after he renamed you.

he was at the art table, legs swinging, tongue poking out in concentration as he coloured in a lopsided rocket ship. crayons were everywhere, including the pink one he’d already set aside for you, like always.

you climbed into the seat next to him, tutu puffing out around you, your doll tucked neatly between your knees.

he didn’t even glance up. just nudged the pink crayon closer and kept drawing.

a rocket. a moon. two stick people floating in the stars.

“you forgot the fire,” you said, pointing at the bottom of the rocket.

“i’m not done yet,” he mumbled around his tongue.

you leaned your chin onto your hand, watching him. “it’s really good, hunnie.”

he paused. his crayon hovered mid-air. “…what?”

you looked up. “what?”

“what’d you just call me?”

“hunnie,” you repeated, like it was obvious. “your name’s too long.”

he blinked. “like…honey? the sticky stuff?”

“no,” you said immediately. “like you.”

he stared at you. eyes wide, cheeks pink, crayon still in his hand. “only you can call me that,” he said finally. very serious. 

you nodded, just as serious. “okay. but only if i’m still your doll.”

“you are,” he said, like that was the easiest answer in the world. and to him, it was.

he added a tutu to your stick figure before drawing spiky scribbles for his own hair.

you leaned over, inspecting the picture with a little frown. “you forgot my crown.”

his head popped up. “you wear a crown?”

“sometimes,” you said seriously. “when i’m being a princess.”

his eyes went wide. “you are a princess.”

you didn’t answer. just watched as he grabbed a yellow crayon and scribbled a big lopsided crown right on top of your stick figure’s head.

“there,” he said proudly. “perfect.”

you pointed at the other stick figure. “that’s you?”

“yeah.” he said, like it wasn’t even a question.

“you forgot to write our names.” you said, somehow always noticing missing details.

he froze, blinking. “i don’t know how.”

“but you know letters.”

“…yeah,” he mumbled, already reaching for the black crayon.

you watched him sound it out under his breath, tongue sticking out in concentration. he knew his name had an ‘s’ and a ‘y’ and…probably an ‘n’? maybe a ‘g’? 

he tried his best, eyebrows furrowed like it was the most important thing he’d ever done.

when he was done, he leaned back so you could see.

snygn + dol

you grinned immediately. “what does that say?”

“us,” he said, all puffed up.

“i think you forgot the e.” you commented, as if you could have done better. you both knew you couldn't.

he shrugged. “letters are hard.”

you didn’t say anything else. just rested your chin back on your hand and stared at the picture a while longer before smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

that was it.

from then on, he was hunnie. just like you were doll.

it stuck. like stickers on your lunchbox. like dried glue on his fingers. like the pink crayon he always saved just for you.

neither of you ever questioned it again.

he always arrived to school before you did. always waited by the classroom door, bouncing on his toes the second your mom’s hand appeared in the window. 

if you wore a dress, he complimented it. if you put a new sticker on your lunchbox, he pointed it out like it was hidden treasure.

he carried your bag when it was too heavy. always gave you the better crayons. yelled at the kids who were mean to you. always clapped the loudest when you showed the class your twirls.

so, when your ballet class announced its year-end showcase, it was seunghyun who beamed the brightest.

at the age of four, he made his mom mark the date on their calendar. kept asking what song you were dancing to. what moves you were going to use. what outfit you would wear.

when you told him it was just you on stage for one part, his jaw dropped like you announced you were going to space.

“you have a solo?”

you nodded, nervous.

he grinned. “that’s ‘cause you’re the best.”

you believed him, because he always said it like it was the only reasonable answer. 

ballet was something you had always taken very seriously, starting when you were around two and learned how to spin without getting dizzy. 

when it came time for your first showcase, your tutu was too puffy and your hair was in a slick bun your mom had already redone three times. your tights itched, your ballet shoes were too tight and you were scared out of your mind, fidgeting behind the curtain with trembling hands when it was almost your turn to perform.

that was until you heard someone call your name. well, not technically your name, but to you, it might as well have been.

“doll!”

you turned just in time to see him darting down the hallway, the sleeves of his little blazer flapping as he ran. 

the bouquet he held was nearly the size of his entire torso, wrapped in crinkly cellophane with a pink bow slipping off.

he came to a stop in front of you, flushed and  extremely proud of himself.

“they match her dress,” he said, holding the flowers up with both hands. “your dolly one.”

you looked down at her, seeing the soft pink lilies stitched onto the front of her tutu, then back at the flowers.

you gasped. “they’re the same.”

“i told my mom we had to find these ones,” he huffed, like it had been an ordeal. “i said they were your favourite.”

you didn’t even know you had a favourite flower.

but the way he said it, so sure and so proud, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, you didn’t even question it.

they were your favourite now.

and somehow, without either of you ever saying it again, it stayed that way.

every recital. every show. every small performance. he always showed up with pink lilies in hand.

by the time elementary school rolled around, the differences between the two of you started to show a little more.

he thought before he spoke. you spoke before you thought.

he was quiet around most people, always a little guarded. you made friends in every room you entered. you were loud, bright, and impossible to miss.

he liked the back row. you liked the spotlight.

he hated asking for help. you never hesitated to raise your hand.

you were opposites in every way. and still, you moved through the world like a matching set.

people asked why you were always with him. the loud girl and the quiet boy. the dancer and the daydreamer. but it never felt strange to you. it never needed explaining.

you were his favourite noise. he was your calm in the chaos. you never really left each other’s side.

thankfully, by the time high school rolled around, the questions had stopped. no one really asked why you were always together anymore. they just knew.

you were still the loud one. the spotlight. the dancer with the glitter pens, contagious laugh, and a new band-aid on your knee every week.

he was still the quiet one. the rapper in oversized hoodies who barely said a word unless he was around you.

he waited outside your studio every day after class, leaning against the wall, scribbling lyrics while you twirled through your last cooldown.

you always came out humming, pink cheeked and sometimes barefoot, throwing your dance bag towards him like clockwork.

when he got into yg, you were the first person he told. it was between classes, sometime in the mid-morning.

you’d just dropped half your books in the hallway and were mid-rant about how your locker ‘literally hates you’ when he tugged at your sleeve.

“doll.”

you looked up. “hunnie, hold on. i’m yelling.”

“no seriously—” he tried, but you were quicker.

“you won’t believe what it did this time. it slammed shut on my head, and now i have a dent. like an actual dent. do you see it? does my skull look uneven—“

he laughed softly. “can i just—doll—listen.”

you paused, and blinked up at him.

he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “i got in.”

you froze. “got in…?”

his eyes flicked around the hallway, then back to you. “yg.”

your mouth fell open. “shut up.”

“i’m serious.” he whispered, still just as shocked as you were.

“SHUT UP!” you couldn’t stay quiet. not in a moment like this.

“doll—shhhh!” he whisper-hissed, glancing around again. “i don’t want people to know yet.”

it was too late. you already launched yourself into his arms, knocking him back into the lockers behind him with a dramatic squeal.

“i KNEW it!” you shouted, completely ignoring his attempts to shush you. “i told you! i told you you were gonna get in!”

he was blushing furiously, trying not to smile. “you are making such a scene right now.”

you pulled back just enough to grin at him. “you’re a trainee. my best friend is a trainee. this is literally the biggest moment of my life.”

“your life?” he questioned.

“yes, mine,” you sniffed. “your life is my life.”

he rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile anyways.

you nudged him with your shoulder. “don’t act like you’re not obsessed with me.”

“i’m really not,” he said a little too fast, too flat, and way too red in the face.

you smirked. “you literally called me from your house last night to tell me you saw a pigeon with one foot.”

“it was impressive!” he quickly defended.

“uh huh.”

he exhaled through his nose, then rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly fidgety. “okay, but—doll, seriously. i need your help.”

your head tilted. “with what?”

he lowered his voice. “dancing.”

you blinked. “hunnie, you know i do ballet, right?”

“yeah.” he shifted on his feet, glancing at the passing students. “but you’re, like…really good at it. and i just found out i’m supposed to learn hip hop for evaluations and i have no idea what i’m doing.”

you softened. “you want me to teach you hip hop?”

“you don’t have to,” he said quickly. “i just figured if anyone could figure it out, it’d be you.”

you looked at him for a long second, then smiled. “meet me at my place after school.”

his head jerked up. “really?”

you shrugged. “your life is my life, remember?”

he grinned, all teeth now. “remind me to get that in writing.”

he showed up right after school, just like you said. hood up, earbuds in, and already mouthing lyrics like he’d been rehearsing the whole walk over.

you had faked being sick at school so you could come home and prepare for this.

you were waiting for him in the living room, where you’d cleared out every possible piece of furniture that could get in the way. the rug was rolled up. the lamp was gone. the coffee table was banished to the hallway.

you had his hoodie and a pair of his sweatpants on.

the sleeves swallowed your hands whole, and the pant legs had to be rolled at your ankles. but when you spun around to face him with a dramatic bow, you looked like you belonged in them.

his brows lifted. “those are mine.”

“tip number one,” you said, striking a ridiculous pose, “baggy clothes make you look cooler. bonus points if they belong to your favorite trainee.”

his mouth twitched. “you’re so full of shit.”

“and you’re welcome,” you said, spinning again. “now you look cool by association.”

“doll,” he warned, grinning now, “don’t test me. i’m already embarrassed enough.”

you softened. stepped closer. “you’re gonna kill it, hunnie.”

he exhaled, looking at you like he always did when he needed to believe something. like if you said it, it had to be true.

“okay,” he murmured. “teach me.”

you started slow, and had him mirror your steps. corrected his posture by tapping his knee, guiding his hands, pulling his shoulders back with the tips of your fingers. 

when he kept tensing up, you resorted to drastic measures, which consisted of throwing yourself into the moves like an absolute maniac, flailing your arms and singing off-key.

he nearly collapsed laughing. “what the hell was that?!” he wheezed.

“that,” you said, gasping, “was called confidence.”

“that was called a safety hazard.” he retorted.

“you’re not allowed to bully me,” you scolded, jabbing his chest. “i’m literally molding you into a star right now.”

he caught your finger mid-jab and held it gently for a beat longer than necessary. “you already think i’m a star.”

“obviously,” you grinned. “i’ve known that since we were like two.”

his smile faltered for just a second. not in a bad way, just in that 'caught off guard by how much you love me' type of way.

“maybe i’m just not meant for this,” he muttered, eyes dropping.

you tilted your head. “you say that now, but just wait. give it a year, you’ll be on stage making girls pass out just by looking at them.”

“don’t say that.” he groaned, only half-serious.

“why? you are. you’ve got the voice, the face, the attitude—” 

“i don’t have the moves,” he cut in.

you stood up, a little less dramatic this time, brushing your hands off on your sweatpants. “that’s why i’m here.”

he looked at you. really looked at you.

“you already have everything you need, hunnie,” you said softly. “you just don’t believe it yet.”

he didn’t speak. just stared at you like you were saying things he didn’t know how to believe but desperately wanted to.

and for once, he didn’t argue.

you practiced until it was dark. until your body ached and your cheeks hurt from laughing. until he actually started to get it; the rhythm, the ease, the confidence. 

it came out of nowhere, but you saw it. that flicker of belief starting to settle in his shoulders. he was good. he’d always been good. he just needed someone to remind him of that.

you said it was the baggy clothes and chaotic energy. he said it was you pulling his shoulders back and looking him in the eye like he was already everything he wanted to become.

you told him he had the swag for it. the presence. the attitude. he just needed the belief. you’d been right all along.

and now, at nineteen, just weeks away from his debut, he was exhausted, restless, and always on the move. but, he was still the same boy who’s cheeks flushed pink every time you called him hunnie in front of other people.

you’re now in school on a ballet scholarship, surrounded by perfectionism, pointed toes, late night rehearsals and pressure that always manages to sneak under your skin.

but you still make time. for him, you always would.

he’s your best friend. your biggest supporter, and you’ve been his for just as long. even before either of you had the words to explain what that really meant.

sometimes he meets you outside class with two drinks and his hoodie half-zipped.

sometimes you show up at his rehearsals and sit on the floor with your knees tucked up to your chest, mouthing the words like you wrote them yourself.

he still calls you doll like it’s your real name.

still listens to every dramatic rant about your professors like it’s headline news.

still texts you when he can’t sleep, or when he should be sleeping but is too busy pacing with headphones in.

being with him has always been the easiest part of your life.

like breathing. like sunlight. like something you never had to question. it was comfort without condition. love without demand.

ballet was different though. it was all discipline and devotion.

it asked for your silence, your hours, your pain. and still, it never promised anything back.

you bled for it. bent for it. broke for it. not because it gave you peace, but because it gave you purpose.

because somewhere in all that ache, you felt alive through it all.

tonight was no different.

you’d been at the studio for hours at this point.

the mirrors had long stopped reflecting daylight. your water bottle sat untouched by the stereo. the only sound was the soft thud of pointe shoes and the occasional squeak of the bar beneath your palm.

your thighs ached. your feet were blistered. but your head was louder than your body; full of counts and choreography and the rising panic that you wouldn’t be ready in time.

the showcase was next saturday. 

the one they held every spring; a curated performance for scouts, agents, and the most elite conservatories across the country.

usually, it was only for seniors. maybe a junior or two, if their talent was undeniable.

you were only a freshman. you weren’t even supposed to be considered.

but your coach had pushed. argued. said she’d stake her name on you. and when they finally gave in, she called you into her office with the list in her hand and a huge smile on her face.

you were on it.

no real time to prepare. no safety net. just a little over one week to prove you belonged on that stage.

you hadn’t told anyone about it yet. not even him.

your body was running on pure instinct. pirouette after pirouette, breath ragged, sweat clinging to your skin like second fabric.

the spins blurred together, every muscle tightening to stay upright.

you’re somewhere in your sixth pirouette when the door suddenly opened with a quiet creak and a small flash of the hallway light.

your focus slipped, causing you to tumble slightly out of your turn.

your foot skidded on the floor as it landed, arms lifting instinctively to catch your balance.

“doll?” his voice rang out softly.

you blinked toward the doorway, heart still racing, sweat dripping down your back. “hunnie?”

he smiled wide. “you weren’t answering your phone.”

before you could respond, he jogged across the room and scooped you into his arms, spinning you once before setting you down again.

you laughed like a little girl, already feeling so much lighter than you felt two seconds ago. “you scared me,” you said, still clinging to his arms.

“yeah, well, you scared me,” he countered. “it’s late. and i know you. when it’s this late and you’re still here…”

you looked up at him. he didn’t finish the sentence. he didn’t have to.

“yah!” came a muffled shout. “you said together!”

“he ditched us again!” another voice called out, sounding completely offended.

the door burst open, and chaos followed.

jiyong stumbled in first, arms out dramatically. “doll’s here!”

“don’t call her that,” seunghyun muttered, not even turning around.

“what? it’s cute.” jiyong smirked, already bee-lining for the bar. ��besides, she likes me better.”

“hi noona!” daesung grinned as he bounded in. “we come bearing good news and interpretive dance.” 

he flung a leg onto the barre with zero grace, mimicking your stretch in the most exaggerated, cartoonish way possible.

“she’s gonna kick your ass,” youngbae said, wobbling mid-pirouette before almost crashing into the wall.

you just blinked at all of them, wide-eyed, a little stunned, and then you laughed. the sound broke out of you without warning, sharp and soft all at once. it cracked through your exhaustion like sunlight through a glass window.

“what the hell are you guys doing here?” you asked, eyes darting back to seunghyun.

he was practically glowing, like the kind of proud that couldn’t be contained.

“we’re debuting,” he blurted.

you blinked. “you’re—what?”

“it’s official,” he beamed. “next saturday. on a live broadcast. it’s real.”

your breath caught, but not because of the date. not yet. you hadn’t even registered that part.

the words blurred behind the weight of him. of this. of them.

you threw your arms around him without thinking.

he caught you instantly, arms closing around your waist as your feet left the ground again. “hunnie! oh my god—you did it!”

“we did it,” jiyong called from behind, still latched to the barre.

“i’m so proud of you,” you whispered, forehead pressed against seunghyun’s shoulder. “so, so proud.”

he eased you back just enough to look at you. “you’ll be there, right?”

that’s when the date landed. next saturday.

your fingers curled tighter around his sleeves before you could stop them.

it was on the same day as your showcase.

but you still smiled like you hadn’t just swallowed glass. “of course. i wouldn’t miss it.”

his brows twitched with the smallest flicker of something, but he didn’t say anything. 

jiyong cleared his throat. “so what is this place? and why does it smell like sweat and sad dreams?”

“it’s a ballet studio,” you said, grateful for the shift in attention. “and those are the dreams of every dancer who died trying to nail fouettés.”

“noona,” daesung called, lifting his leg again and pretending to sob. “i have a cramp.”

“i have a question,” youngbae added. “how do you move in those shoes?”

you let them clown around for awhile. let their chaos pull you out of your thoughts.

until you felt seunghyun’s eyes still on you.

you turned back toward him. “what?”

he was studying you. not suspiciously, but something more gentle.

“so why are you here this late?” he asked. “this studio closes hours ago unless you’re—”

“—working on something,” you interrupted. “yeah.”

“showcase?” he asked, head tilting.

“i just got offered one today,” you said. “it’s pretty big. they didn’t give me much prep time.”

“you didn’t tell me,” he said, more surprised than hurt.

you shrugged, eyes flicking away. “you’ve had bigger things going on.”

he watched you for another beat, longer than he probably meant to, before nodding once and letting it go.

you exhaled slowly, fingers brushing over the barre. the smile on your face stayed steady, but the air around your ribs felt tight.

“anyways,” you said brightly, “wanna see what i’ve got so far?”

the boys erupted into chaotic agreement, but seunghyun’s voice was the softest and the closest. “always.”

you didn’t plan on saying anything about the fact that you won’t be able to attend his debut, and that he would be missing a performance of yours for the first time.

not tonight, anyways.

you made it through your rehearsal. through the boys’ visit. through seunghyun insisting he slept over at your apartment tonight. through the car ride home and the quiet shuffle up the stairs. 

you even let yourself melt into him a little on the couch; head on his shoulder, hand tangled with his, pretending the static in your chest wasn’t getting louder.

but he knew you better than anyone. better than you knew yourself. so when he turned to you, eyes searching and his voice barely above a whisper, “doll…what aren’t you telling me?”, it all cracked open.

you sat up slowly, pulling your hand from his. “i didn’t want to ruin it.”

he didn’t move. he just stared, waiting.

your throat tightened. “your debut,” you added. “i didn’t want to take anything away from it. from you.”

his brows pulled together. “what are you talking about?”

you took a breath, and then, before you could stop yourself, it came out. “my showcase is next saturday too.”

the words hung in the air. it felt thick. quiet. final.

he blinked once. then again. his whole body went still. “what?”

you looked down at your lap. “my showcase and your debut. they’re both on saturday.”

his breath caught. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“because i knew what would happen,” you said quickly. “you’d feel guilty, and i didn’t want that.”

his voice went quiet. “you’ve never lied to me.”

“i wasn’t trying to lie,” you whispered. “i was trying to protect you.”

he flinched. barely, but you felt it. he stood suddenly. pacing once, twice, like his skin was too tight. like his chest couldn’t hold the pressure.

“do you know how many performances i’ve missed?” he asked, almost biting.

you swallowed hard. “none.”

“none, doll. not a single one.” his voice cracked, and your heart broke with it.

“you were sick. you were hurt. you had that dumb middle school flu that wiped out your whole grade and you still showed up,” you said. “i know.”

“and now i won’t be there.” he dragged a hand over his mouth. “for this. the one that matters most.”

“stop,” you said, standing too now. “don’t make me feel worse for something i can’t control.”

he turned toward you. “you think this is about you?”

“isn’t it?” you asked, slightly taken off guard.

“it’s about us.” his voice dropped, raw and thick. “about how this is the one time we don’t get to show up for each other. and it fucking hurts.”

you didn’t mean to cry, but it was already happening. your lip trembled, and when you blinked, the tears came hot and fast.

“i didn’t say anything because i knew you’d pick me.” your voice broke open.

he stilled.

“and you can’t, hunnie.” you stepped back, chest heaving, hands shaking like you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “not this time. not when this is exactly what you’ve been working for. what you’ve given up everything for.”

“doll…”

“if you would have even thought about skipping your debut for me, i would’ve never forgiven myself.”

his face twisted like it physically hurt to hear that.

you kept going anyway. “this is your dream. this is your life. and i’m just—i’m just some girl who got a showcase dropped on her out of nowhere and didn’t have the guts to speak up about it.”

his head shook. “you’re not just—”

“i didn’t want to take anything away from you,” you said, quieter now. “not one second of it. not the attention, not the celebration, not the moment. i just…i wanted to protect it.”

his jaw clenched.

you looked down, voice barely a whisper. “i just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

he didn’t say anything. not at first.

he just looked at you like those words physically hurt him. like he didn’t understand how someone like you could ever believe something so wrong.

then, gently, like he was afraid you might pull away, his hands cupped your face.

you barely had time to breathe before he kissed you.

not like a best friend. not like a maybe. like a breaking point.

your heart stopped. your whole body did too. because for one dizzying second, you weren’t even sure this was real.

you’d dreamt of this moment. wanted it quietly, selfishly, for longer than you were ever willing to admit.

but this was better. so much better.

his lips moved with a kind of certainty that undid you.

slow at first, reverent. then deeper, needier, like he’d been holding back for years.

and maybe he had. you certainly had.

your fingers curled in the front of his hoodie, holding on tightly.

because the second your lips moved with his, everything else disappeared. you weren’t tired or scared or second-best anymore.

you were his. and god, did it feel good.

it was hot. aching. tender in a way you didn’t know kisses could be. like every part of him was trying to show you what he couldn’t say.

when you finally pulled apart, it was barely an inch. just enough to breathe.

your foreheads pressed together. his hands still cradling your face like you were something fragile. your own hands still clinging to him like the ground might give out from underneath you.

you blinked at him, stunned. he looked just as wrecked.

his voice cracked when he finally spoke. “you could never disappoint me,” he said. “not even if you tried.”

your chest squeezed tight.

“you hear me, doll?” he whispered. “never.”

you didn’t say much after the kiss. neither did he, really.

his hands dropped from your face slowly, fingertips ghosting down your jaw like he didn’t want to let go. like part of him still didn’t believe it had happened. and honestly, you didn’t either.

you changed in the bathroom, your heart pounding too loud to think straight. your reflection looked the same, but everything felt different. your lips were still swollen from his. your hands still shook from holding him. your heart was feeling things it had never let rise to the surface before.

when you opened the door, all of the lights were off.

he was already in your bed, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling like it might tell him what to do next. the blanket barely moved with his breathing.

you climbed in quietly beside him. still managing to keep your distance while also lying on your back.

neither of you spoke for a while.

the air felt heavier than it should have. not tense, just fragile. like if either of you breathed too deeply, it would all break apart.

his voice suddenly came, low and careful. “i’m sorry.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t even look at him.

“i shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said. “i wasn’t thinking.”

your hands curled into the sheets as he continued, not knowing he was shattering everything inside of you.

“i didn’t mean to make things weird.”

you swallowed hard. “you didn’t.”

he let out a quiet breath, but you could feel that he didn’t believe you.

“i shouldn’t’ve done it if i didn’t know how you felt,” he said after a pause. “i just—i don’t wanna lose what we have.”

his words stung more than they should have. because you knew how you felt. and you thought, maybe, he did too.

you forced the words out. “we’re fine.”

you weren’t. but you didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at you, either.

so he didn’t see the way your eyes filled up with tears.

you turned your face toward the wall, biting your lip so hard it bled. the tears came out quietly, soaking into the pillow while he laid there; still, silent, and only a few inches away.

by the time he woke up the next morning, you were already gone.

no note. no text. just the faint hum of the city bleeding in through the half-open window, and the fading warmth on your side of the bed.

he sat up too fast. checked the bathroom. the kitchen. his phone.

nothing.

he texted you more than once.

hunnie: good morning doll.

hunnie: are you okay?

hunnie: where’d you go?

you left them all on read.

he tried again, just a few hours later.

hunnie: not trying to push, just please tell me you’re okay.

you didn’t answer that one either.

you didn’t block him. you didn’t lash out. you just went silent, and in some ways, that hurt more.

because he didn’t know if it meant you were mad, or heartbroken, or maybe regretting it all.

he didn’t know if it meant you just needed space, or if you were already gone for good.

he couldn’t stop replaying it. the kiss. the look in your eyes. the way your hands trembled when you held onto him.

had he imagined it? was he wrong?

he started slipping during practices. forgetting transitions he could normally do in his sleep.

the choreographer called for a five-minute break after he missed the same step three times in a row. he sat on the floor, elbows on his knees, eyes unfocused.

“you good?” jiyong asked quietly.

he nodded. lied. said he was just tired, but he didn’t sleep that night either.

you weren’t doing any better.

you threw yourself into dancing like it was the only thing keeping you upright. stayed hours after everyone else left the studio. bruised your knees on turns that didn’t land, and didn’t care. you pushed yourself until your feet gave out underneath you.

you didn’t cry. 

at least, not until the lights were off. that’s when it all came out. 

you missed him. not just the version of him who kissed you like he meant it. you missed your best friend. the one who knew when you were spiralling, even before you did.

you almost texted him a thousand times, but what would you even say?

sorry i disappeared. 

sorry i didn’t tell you i loved it too. 

sorry it scared me. 

sorry i thought leaving would hurt less than staying.

you didn’t send any of them. silence was the easier choice.

he left your favourite drink outside the studio two days later. no note. just his name for you on the lid, written in his messy handwriting.

doll.

the sight of the word made your stomach twist. you stared at it through the window long before you stepped outside, picked it up, and took a small sip.

your throat closed around it, and the ache in your chest deepened. it still tasted like love.

you tossed it in the trash without a word.

it was just after midnight when he pulled up outside of your apartment again. he hadn’t even realized where he was going until he turned the corner and saw the light.

that same damn light in the front window. the soft amber glow seeping through the sheer curtain, the one you always left on when you weren’t home.

“it makes me feel safer,” you’d said to him once, curled into the corner of your couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin. “like if it’s on, no one can tell i’m not home.”

he’d teased you for it. called you dramatic. but he still asked what kind of bulb it was, just in case it ever burned out.

he hadn’t knocked. not once this week.

because every time he passed your place, which he'd done more than he wanted to admit, the stupid lamp was on, meaning you weren’t there.

this time, he didn’t just sit there and wait for you to come home. he just turned the car around.

the city passed in streaks of neon, but he barely registered any of it. there was no destination typed in. no music playing. just his hands on the wheel and that hollow pull in his chest, steering him somewhere he already knew he’d end up.

by the time he reached the studio, the parking lot was empty. the building itself loomed in stillness, filled with darkness, except for a single window on the second floor, shining a faint light onto the world below it.

he killed the engine and climbed out without a second thought, barely registering the slam of the door behind him. the air felt electric and charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. every step toward the entrance echoed in his skull, causing his legs to move faster the closer he got.

he knew exactly where to go. didn’t have to think. didn’t even have to look.

he took the stairs two at a time, rounded the corner, and froze.

there it was.

your music. loud and unrelenting. no structure. no rhythm. just pain, vibrating through the floor like it was trying to crawl up the walls and escape.

he stepped closer, and through the thin strip of glass in the door, he saw you.

of course it was you. he knew you would be here. but still, the sight of you nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

you were barefoot, sweat clinging to your skin, hair stuck to your cheeks in damp, tangled strands. your movements weren’t polished. they weren’t even practiced. they were frantic. trembling. like each step was a question you didn’t have an answer for. like if you stopped, it might all catch up to you.

so you continued to do what you do best. you danced.

you danced like it was the only way to keep your chest from splitting open. like movement was the only thing louder than the ache. the way your body hit the floor didn’t sound like choreography, it sounded like heartbreak. like desperation. like the only thing left to say.

he’d never seen you like this. not even close.

and he’d seen it all.

every bruise. every studio meltdown. the night your mom forgot to pick you up from rehearsal so he walked you home. the time you twisted your ankle two days before your first competition and swore your life was over.

he was the one who iced it. the one who stood on the side of the stage with his hands in fists, silently counting beats under his breath like it might help you land the ending clean.

you were still in pigtails when he first saw you cry over a routine. still too small to reach the top of your locker without him lifting you up.

he’d been there through it all. the good, the ugly, the loud, the barely-held-together.

this wasn’t a tantrum. this wasn’t nerves. this was grief, raw and quiet, shaking its way through every inch of your body.

he stood there, just outside the door, like a kid again. too scared to touch anything in case it broke.

his hand hovered at the glass, frozen.

he didn’t realize he was holding his breath until your knees gave out from below you, like your body had finally surrendered.

you didn’t brace for the fall. your palms hit the floor with a dull thud, arms barely catching you, like even gravity had grown tired of asking you to fight.

your head dropped forward as your shoulders caved in.

there was no sob. no scream either. just the kind of silence that rang louder than anything he’d heard all night.

that was what broke him the most.

he moved before he could stop himself, pushing the door open like it hurt to be on the other side of it. the soft click behind him sounded too loud in the stillness, but you didn’t flinch.

he didn’t speak. not yet. just crossed the room in slow, careful steps. like if he moved too fast, you’d disappear.

he sat down a few feet away, knees bent, arms resting on them, mirroring your shape without even thinking. the distance between you was small, but somehow, it still felt like miles.

“why haven’t you answered me?” his voice wasn’t sharp. it was soft and cracked around the edges, like he’d been rehearsing it for days and still didn’t know how to say it right.

you didn’t turn around. your hands were still on the floor. your breathing was still uneven. your eyes didn’t move from the spot on the floor where you’d fallen.

“you’ve left me on read for three days now, doll.”

he wasn’t accusing you. it sounded more like he was trying to figure out how that even happened in the first place.

“is it because of the kiss?”

you shook your head, just once. small and automatic. not enough to mean anything.

“it’s not,” you said. too quietly.

he moved forward. slowly. like he was waiting for you to push him back. “then what is it?”

you didn’t answer.

“you’ve never gone quiet on me. not like this.” his voice was closer now. you could feel it.

“i’ve just been busy,” you muttered.

“don’t,” he said gently. “don’t do that.”

you swallowed hard. “the showcase is in four days. i don’t have time for anything else right now.”

there was a short pause before he continued. “you always have time for me.”

your throat burned as you tried to keep your voice steady. “well. maybe i don’t this time.”

his voice dropped. “that’s bullshit and you know it.”

your jaw clenched. you could feel the weight of him at your side now, but you still wouldn’t look.

“i watched your run-through.”

your stomach sank when those words came out of his mouth. you didn’t realize he’d been watching you.

“you’ve never danced like that before,” he said softly. “it looked like it hurt.”

you swallowed hard as you closed your eyes.

“i said i’m fine,” you whispered.

“no,” he said gently. “you didn’t.”

you hated how steady he sounded. like he wasn’t angry, just wrecked.

your voice cracked before you could stop it. “it wasn’t the kiss.”

he didn’t say anything.

“it was what you said after.” you could feel him flinch. not visibly, just in the way the air shifted between you.

“i figured,” he murmured.

you nodded once, bitter and small. “you said you shouldn’t have kissed me.”

he didn’t defend it. didn’t backpedal either. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “i was scared.”

your voice was thin. “yeah…so was i.” you didn’t even know what you were admitting. you just knew that it was true.

you hugged your arms around yourself tighter. like if you held on hard enough, maybe it would hurt less.

“i don’t know what i thought would happen,” you whispered. “but you kissed me, and for a second i let myself believe it meant something. and then you said you shouldn’t have.”

he didn’t move. didn’t speak either. just let the words sit between you like they were burning through the floor.

“you looked at me like you regretted it,” you said, barely audible now. “like touching me was some kind of mistake.”

“if i ruined everything,” he whispered, “i need you to tell me so i can fix it properly.”

you shook your head, slow but sure. “you didn’t ruin anything.”

his voice broke as he moved closer. “then why won’t you look at me?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.

your breath had already turned uneven, your shoulders already trembling with the weight of it all. like your body had known that you were going to break before your mind caught up.

you lifted your head slowly, almost unwillingly, like the movement itself might hurt.

when your eyes finally met his, that was it.

your face crumpled instantly, your next breath catching on a sob you couldn’t hold back. the kind that had been stuck in your chest for days. weeks. maybe longer.

his expression shattered right along with you.

“oh,” he whispered. “oh, doll…no.”

his hand hovered for a beat, then reached out, gentle and open, like it always had been. and the second your fingers found his, it was over.

your whole body gave out. not from weakness, but from finally allowing yourself to feel.

you collapsed into him, your hands fisting weakly in his shirt as the sobs came harder and heavier.

he caught you like he always did. like he always would.

his arms around your back, hand cradling your head, like he was trying to piece you back together with his touch alone.

you sobbed into his shoulder, causing him to he hold you even tighter.

“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered. “what i said after—i didn’t mean it like that. i panicked. i thought i ruined everything and i didn’t know if you—”

you pulled back just enough to see him. your cheeks were streaked with tears, your mouth trembling.

“i thought you knew,” you said, and it came out like it hurt.

he stilled.

“i thought you knew,” you repeated, quieter now. “i thought you always knew.”

he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

you shook your head, trying to breathe through it. “i didn’t say anything because i didn’t think i had to. you’ve been there my whole life. every performance, every birthday, every broken piece—” your voice cracked. “you were always the one who stayed.”

his eyes burned, chest rising unevenly.

“and i kept thinking—if anyone could see it…if anyone could feel it without me having to say it…” you looked at him like it was breaking you open. “i thought it would be you.”

his lips parted like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.

“you were always there,” you said, barely holding steady. “every time. every piece of my life that ever meant anything—you were in it. so i thought…” your breath caught, “i thought maybe you felt it too.”

he looked wrecked. completely still, except for the way his hands curled at your sides.

“i did,” he said, hoarsely. “i do. i just—” he blinked hard, trying to stay composed. “i was so fucking scared that i made it all up. that if i said something, or did something, i’d lose you.”

you shook your head, hurt flickering through your chest.

before you could respond,  his hand cupped your cheek like it was instinct. “i’ve loved you every second of my life,” he said, voice cracking. “i swear to god.”

your chest pulled tight. “then why did you say it was a mistake?”

“because i was terrified,” he said. “because we’ve always had us. and the second i kissed you, i thought maybe i’d ruined the only thing that ever made sense to me.”

you blinked fast. “you didn’t ruin it. you were it.”

he closed his eyes like that hurt more than anything else.

“i just needed you,” you whispered. “and you weren’t there. not this time.”

his forehead dropped to yours, his breath shaking. “i didn’t know how to be. you pushed me away.”

“because you made me feel like a mistake,” you choked. “and you’ve never done that before.”

he was silent for a beat before whispering, “i’m sorry.” 

he leaned in, but this time he didn’t kiss you. just rested his head against yours. his thumb brushed lazy circles into your palm, like he needed to remind you he was still there. still yours.

“i’m so fucking sorry, doll.”

you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to. he already knew you’d forgiven him. he felt it in the way you didn’t pull away. in the way your fingers stayed curled around his. 

for a while, neither of you moved. his hoodie soaked in your tears. your bodies cold against the floor.

the silence, for once, didn’t feel like a punishment. it felt like grief. like history. like maybe, finally, forgiveness.

his hand never left yours. not even for a second.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, curled into him on the studio floor.

his hoodie still smelled like fabric softener, cedar and whatever cologne he’s used since high school. your fingers clutched it like it could keep the ache from pulling you under again.

“doll,” he whispered, voice close to your ear. “come on. let’s get you out of here.”

you didn’t move right away.

your eyes were swollen, your body heavy, but he shifted anyways, arms wrapping around you, slowly and carefully. 

you didn’t stop him. you didn’t even try.

he lifted you easily, like it didn’t matter that he was exhausted too. one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back. your head fell against his chest, and his chin rested on top of it like instinct.

the door buzzed as he nudged it open with his foot, stepping into the soft night with you still in his arms.

the world was quiet.

he didn’t speak as he carried you to the car, just tightened his hold every time your breath hitched, like he could feel it coming before you did.

when he opened the passenger side door, he hesitated.

you looked up at him for the first time in minutes.

and he looked down at you like he was memorizing the moment. not for romance, but for survival. for you.

he helped you settle into the seat, pulled the seatbelt across your lap, then gently shut the door.

you watched him walk around the front of the car, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, head low.

he climbed in and turned the key. the car hummed to life, but he didn’t say anything right away. 

the drive started in silence. you didn’t turn on the radio. didn’t say where to go. he already knew.

the windows were down halfway. the air was cool and smelled like nighttime.

you stared out the window with your fingers curled in your lap. his hand stayed loose on the steering wheel. his other hand rested on the gearshift, like always.

you could feel him glancing over at you every few minutes, but he didn’t push.

not until you were about halfway home.

“doll?” his voice was soft. cautious.

you looked over at him, eyes still tired. “yeah?”

he didn’t look back right away, just kept driving.

“you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said. “but i’m not gonna pretend i’m not scared shitless right now.”

your breath caught slightly. “why?”

he let out the smallest laugh. “because you’ve never shut down on me before. not like that.”

you looked down, almost out of shame.

“you’ve been through hell and back,” he went on. “and you’ve never shut me out. not once.”

you didn’t answer.

“i meant what i said earlier. about being scared.” his fingers tapped against the steering wheel. “i’ve never felt anything like that before, and i didn’t wanna screw it up. but i did anyway.”

“you didn’t,” you said quietly. “not really.”

he finally looked over towards you.

“you hurt me,” you said honestly. “but i think, maybe i needed to hear it. even if it broke me a little.”

he blinked, like that hit deeper than you meant it to.

“but i still love you,” you added, quieter. “i never stopped.”

he pulled in a slow breath. “i never wanted you to feel alone,” he said. “and i hate that you did.”

you nodded once. “me too.”

the silence after that didn’t feel as hard.

he pulled up in front of your apartment, but you didn’t move to get out right away. neither did he.

“hunnie?”

he turned toward you, brows pulled slightly.

you leaned your head back against the seat. “what happens now?”

he exhaled, eyes falling to your hand in your lap. his pinky reached out and brushed against yours.

“we survive this week,” he said. “you dance your heart out. the boys and i debut. and after that…” he shrugged. “we'll figure it out.”

you nodded. “okay.”

he gave you a crooked, tired smile. “still best friends, though?”

you let out a soft giggle. “forever.”

“damn right.” he grinned.

your hand found his this time, fingers laced together. you didn’t kiss. didn’t say anything else.

just held on for a second longer before you finally opened the door and stepped out into the night.

he waited until you were inside before driving off.

you watched the taillights disappear from your window with your heart still aching, but beating a little steadier than before.

you didn’t sleep much that night.

not because you were upset, but because the silence felt too loud without him.

you kept picturing him parked outside, his pinky latched onto yours. you kept hearing the way he said “we’ll figure it out,” like it was a promise, even if it didn’t actually fix anything.

he called the next morning. and that night. and again the next day. always soft, always just checking in.

he didn’t ask to come over. didn’t try to see you. he just talked. about your day, your rehearsals, your routine, your nerves. anything to hear your voice.

whenever you asked about the debut, he always downplayed it; said it was hectic, yeah, but good. said they were still running through everything. said he missed you. said they all missed you

it felt mostly normal after that, but not fully.

because even when the calls felt easy, when your laughter slipped out more than once and when he called you ‘doll’ like it was muscle memory, there was still something in the pauses. 

something in the way neither of you brought up friday night again. not the kiss. not the aftermath. not the ache of almost losing each other.

and maybe it was for the best; after all, your showcase was today, and so was his debut.

your chest had been aching since you woke up.

you were sat at your makeup table, already dressed, but it didn’t feel like you’d gotten ready at all.

the mirror reflected someone composed; curled lashes, cheeks dusted pink, ribbons crossed just right at your ankles, but the stillness in your body gave it away to anyone who really knew you.

you weren’t even performing, and yet, you were still putting on an act.

your tutu fanned out around you like a shield. your leotard clung too tight across your ribs. every inch of you looked like it belonged here, like it had done this a thousand times before.

but your hands stayed folded in your lap, unmoving and unsure.

it felt like you were holding your breath in reverse. like something was pressing into your lungs from the inside out.

you wondered how he was feeling.

you wondered if he felt it too, that tightness that in his chest that had nothing to do with nerves, and everything to do with you.

you wondered if somewhere, right now, he was thinking about you too.

you could almost see it.

him backstage, shoulders loose but eyes scanning the crowd, like he was hoping you’d somehow be in it.

maybe running a thumb over the mic in his hand the way you smoothed the ribbons on your shoes; a quiet ritual before stepping into the light.

you imagined him leaning towards his manager, pretending to listen, mind somewhere else entirely. somewhere with you.

for as long as you could remember, he’d been in your crowd. grinning, clapping, waving the flowers you’ve never once had to ask for.

just like how you’d been in his, screaming the lyrics no one else knew yet, camera shaking in your hands.

but tonight, the seats you normally saved for each other would remain empty.

no matter how many lights hit you, no matter how loud the applause, it wouldn’t feel quite right without him there to see it.

he was your other half. your anchor. your constant. and now, you have no choice but to take the stage without him in the crowd.

a knock sounded at the door.

“five minutes.”

you didn’t move.

behind you, another dancer asked gently, “are you okay?”

you nodded, barely.

you were, but you weren’t.

your body was ready; stretched, warmed up, knew every step like muscle memory. but your chest was still aching.

regardless of the pain, you stood up, because you knew he’d want you to.

and even if he couldn’t be there, even if this was the first time you had to cheer for each other from opposite ends of the city, you’d still dance like he was watching.

and you prayed to yourself that he’d perform like you were listening.

what you didn’t know was that he was already in the audience, and had been for almost an hour.

sitting in the sixth row. pink lilies in hand. his tie a little crooked from how fast he’d changed.

he didn’t tell you the debut got pushed to tomorrow. instead, he just showed up.

the boys were with him too, crammed into the row like they had no idea how theater seating worked.

“this seat’s so tiny,” daesung whispered, squished between armrests.

“why are you wearing sunglasses?” youngbae hissed at jiyong, already pulling them off of his face.

“no one’s gonna see me anyways,” jiyong argued. “don’t kill my vibe.”

“they’ll see you if we get kicked out,” seunghyun muttered, not looking away from the stage.

the others stilled at the sound of his voice. it was steady, but sharp. almost like he was trying not to feel too much and was already failing.

a moment of silence passed, but it never lasted long with them around.

“…how long’s her piece again?” jiyong asked, voice lower now. “seven minutes?”

“twelve,” seunghyun said without thinking.

daesung blinked. “did you memorize the program?”

“he memorized the choreography,” jiyong smirked. “he’s been pacing through it in the living room for days now, i swear.”

seunghyun didn’t deny it.

“yo, does she even know we’re here?” youngbae asked, glancing around.

“nope,” jiyong said, popping the p.

“you really didn’t tell her?” daesung asked, quieter now. “about the debut being rescheduled?”

seunghyun just shook his head.

“damn,” jiyong muttered. “that’s kinda romantic.”

“it’s not romantic,” seunghyun said, voice taut. “it’s…hers. this night’s hers. i just wanted to be here for her.”

they didn’t tease him. not this time.

the lights dimmed before anyone could say another word, and a hush fell over the crowd.

well, maybe not the whole crowd.

the second the first dancer stepped onto the stage, the three boys, who had sworn to seunghyun they’d behave, immediately started whispering critiques to each other like they were seasoned professionals.

“is she supposed to be a swan?” daesung whispered, squinting.

“looks more like a confused goose,” jiyong said.

youngbae leaned in. “what is this song? it sounds like elevator music, but if the elevator was broken.”

“she’s doing the arms wrong,” jiyong added. “y/n looks way cooler when she does that.”

“her foot just slipped,” daesung said. “minus points.”

“you’re not a judge,” youngbae hissed.

“clearly i should be,” daesung argued.

seunghyun didn’t say a word. just exhaled slowly and adjusted the bouquet in his lap.

the next dancer came out.

“wait, is her tutu lopsided?” jiyong asked.

“yes,” youngbae nodded, serious. “and it’s distracting me spiritually.”

“she looks nervous,” daesung whispered. “i’d be nervous too if y/n was going after me.”

“they saved her for the end for a reason,” jiyong added. “she’s the ringer. the finale. the fan favourite.”

“she’s literally the youngest one here,” youngbae whispered. “and she’s still the best.”

“boys,” came a sharp voice from in front of them.

they froze.

a mom had turned around in her seat with narrow eyes. she didn’t even tell them to be quiet. she just gave them the look.

jiyong sank into his chair. daesung covered his mouth. youngbae folded his hands like he was praying.

when your name was finally announced over the speakers, they all sat up straighter.

seunghyun didn’t move. he sat there with his heart thudding so loud he was sure the others could hear it.

the moment you stepped out, everything else around him disappeared.

you didn’t see him. you didn’t know he was there.

but god, if you danced any harder, he swore the floor would’ve cracked open beneath you.

you moved like the music was stitched into your skin. like you weren’t just performing it, you were remembering it. feeling it.

every turn, every extension, every single line of your body said what your mouth never could.

grief. joy. ache. defiance.

it was all there. raw, clear, and devastatingly beautiful.

his chest hurt. not in the poetic, romantic kind of way, but in the real, physical, aching kind of way.

he knew how much this piece had cost you.

he just hadn’t realized how much it would cost him to watch you give it away like this.

you were the youngest one in the program. the only one still nineteen, surrounded by juniors and seniors with polished resumes and expensive training.

but none of that mattered now.

not when it was only you moving on stage, taking up all of the air in the room.

not when even the spotlight seemed like it was holding its breath.

he couldn’t look away. he barely registered the boys beside him.

didn’t hear jiyong whisper “holy shit” under his breath, or feel youngbae nudge him, as if to say ‘are you seeing this?’

he didn’t even notice daesung blinking too fast, almost like he might cry without knowing why.

he only saw you.

you, dancing like this stage had been waiting for you your entire life.

like your body remembered something your heart hadn’t even realized it had lost.

when you reached your final pose, chest rising quickly and arms still trembling from the hold, he stood.

not because he thought he should, but because his body moved before his mind could catch up.

you didn’t bow right away.

you just stayed there, still and breathless. your arms softened a second too late, like they didn’t want to let go. like your body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over.

in the silence between the last note and the first clap, seunghyun could have sworn the whole world had paused just for you.

it didn’t take long for the crowd to erupt. not politely. not because they were supposed to. but because they had to.

because something in them recognized what you’d just done, even if they couldn’t name it.

you bowed once, quickly and cleanly, before walking offstage.

the second your feet disappeared behind the curtain, seunghyun exhaled like he hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.

he didn’t sit back down, just turned towards the boys. “let’s go,” he said, quiet but final.

jiyong blinked. “wait what?”

“we’re leaving?” daesung whispered, looking around like someone might stop them. “but the show’s not over.”

“i don’t care,” seunghyun murmured, already stepping towards the aisle. his voice wasn’t sharp, but it was full.

full in the same way his chest felt whenever he looked at you. “i just need to see her.”

the bouquet was still in his hand, crumpled slightly from how tightly he’d been holding onto it. his tie was off-centred, hair a little messy from the rush to make it in time, but none of that mattered.

he didn’t care about the rest of the program. the applause. not even the fact that they’d probably get side-eyed for sneaking out mid-performance.

he just knew his entire heart was already backstage, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer to catch up to it.

they slipped out the doors without a sound.

no one stopped them. no one even noticed.

the hallway outside of the auditorium was quiet in comparison, dim and echoey under too-bright fluorescent lights.

seunghyun didn’t stop walking. not until he felt a hand tug lightly at his arm.

“hyung,” jiyong said, just behind him.

seunghyun turned impatiently, until he felt jiyong’s fingers brush lightly against his collar.

“your tie,” jiyong mumbled, fixing it without hesitation. “you’ll thank me later.”

seunghyun didn’t say anything. just stood there, breathing a little too hard, bouquet still clenched tightly in his fist.

a quick tug, a gentle press at the knot, and it was done. it wasn’t perfect or precise, but it was enough.

jiyong gave his shoulder a small squeeze and fell into step beside him again.

the hum of the other performances faded behind them, swallowed by the stillness of the hallway. their footsteps echoed softly against the linoleum, but none of them said a word.

he didn’t know what he expected to see when he turned the corner, but it definitely wasn’t you.

you were standing near the backstage door, still in costume, sweat cooling on your skin. your body hummed with leftover adrenaline, but your chest felt heavy, like all of that dancing had only packed the ache in tighter.

you’d missed him before, but never like this.

your phone was in your hand, thumb hovering over the call button. the numbers blurred on the screen. you told yourself you’d press it in a minute. you just needed one more minute.

someone laughed down the hall. a door closed. footsteps passed. none of it mattered. you kept staring at your phone like if you looked long enough, it might tell you where he was.

you were still staring when a voice cut through the noise. not loud. not questioning. just steady, and certain, like it had been meant for you all along.

“doll.”

your gaze lifted slowly, almost afraid you’d imagined it.

but there he stood, only a few feet away; breathless, eyes locked on you, and a bouquet of pink lilies clutched in his hands. the same exact kind he’d been bringing you since you were four.

jiyong was right behind him, wide-eyed, and already attempting to take the bouquet from seunghyun’s hands like it was second nature. daesung and youngbae were there just behind them, dressed up like they’d been scolded into it, which, knowing them, they probably had.

none of that mattered right now, because all you could see was him.

“you—” your voice cracked. “how—”

you didn’t say anything else. you couldn’t. your body moved before your brain could catch up.

you ran straight into him, arms flying around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, tutu flaring out so dramatically that the boys had to duck to keep it from smacking him them the face.

seunghyun stumbled a little, laughing under his breath, but he still caught you like he always did.

his hands braced under your thighs as jiyong quietly slid the bouquet out from between you, muttering something about ‘saving the tradition.’

seunghyun wasn’t paying attention to any of that. he was only looking at you.

you pulled back just enough to see his face, hands now cupping his cheeks, as your thumbs brushed the corners of his smile.

that’s when the tears hit, much faster than you could stop them.

you buried your face in his shoulder. “you’re not supposed to be here.”

his arms tightened around you. “i know.”

“i thought—” your voice broke again. “i thought you were debuting tonight. i thought—i missed it.”

“you didn’t,” he whispered, mouth against your temple. “they moved it. it’s tomorrow.”

you pulled back again, eyes wide. “what?”

“i didn’t tell you,” he admitted, brushing a stray lash from your cheek. “i wanted you to focus on your moment. not mine.”

“hunnie,” you breathed. “i’ve been crying about this all week.”

“me too,” he said softly. “but for different reasons.”

you huffed a laugh through your tears, forehead falling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he smiled. “but i’m your asshole.”

your laugh was wet and breathless, your arms still locked around his neck like you might float away if you let go.

“you are,” you whispered.

he grinned, proud and a little breathless too. “and i always will be.”

you kissed his cheek before you could think twice about it. not just once, either. three quick ones in a row, just like you used to do when you were little.

the boys stood back, letting the moment breathe. but eventually, jiyong quietly stepped in holding the lilies with both hands like they were sacred. “yah,” he murmured to seunghyun. “do it now.”

seunghyun glanced at him, then back at you. his smile softened.

he let out a breath and gently tapped your thigh. “okay, miss ballerina. down for a second.”

you whined, dramatic as ever, but loosened your legs. as soon as your toes hit the ground, jiyong passed him the bouquet again like it was a an olympic torch.

seunghyun didn’t even blink. he took the lilies, and just stared at you. wide-eyed. quiet. almost overwhelmed.

you blinked up at him. “you good? you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“i’m fine,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound very convincing. he glanced down at the bouquet, then held it out with both hands. “these are for you.”

you hesitated. not because you didn’t want them, but because you hadn’t expected them.

you hadn’t expected him.

your fingers curled around the stems, and the second the weight shifted into your arms, your chest caved in.

“i thought—” your voice broke. “i thought i wasn’t gonna get any this time.”

he frowned. “what? why?”

“because,” you said, breath catching, “you weren’t supposed to be here.”

“hey,” he whispered, stepping closer. “you really thought i’d let you dance without these?”

you tried to laugh, but it dissolved into another sob. “i didn’t want to think about it.”

“you won’t ever have to,” he said. “i’ll be here. always.”

he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, then took a shaky breath, and suddenly you realized his eyes were glossy too. he kept blinking, like he was trying to force it back, but it wasn’t working.

“there’s something i’ve wanted to say,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “for a really long time now.”

you stared at him, waiting. your grip tightened slightly around the bouquet.

he looked like he might fall apart.

“do you remember when we were five?” he asked. “and you told me you were never gonna get married?”

you furrowed your brow, sniffling. “vaguely.”

“you said that boys were gross, and that you were gonna be too busy being a ballerina.” he paused to let out a small laugh. “and because you and i do everything the same, if you weren’t getting married, that meant i couldn’t either.”

you bit your lip, suddenly shy. “…that sounds fair.”

he laughed softly, but it cracked halfway through. his voice was breaking.

“i was so upset,” he admitted. “i remember just…standing there, kind of frozen, and then it hit me. i didn’t want to not get married because i wanted to marry you.”

your eyes widened, watery and stunned.

“i didn’t even know what that meant back then,” he went on, rubbing his thumb along the edge of your hand. “i just knew that you were my favourite person in the whole world. and the idea of not being allowed to stay with you forever made me lose it.”

your heart cracked open.

“and i guess you must have noticed,” he said softly. “because after that, you got real quiet…and then you told me that i could marry you. but only if i bought you a big ballerina ring with all of my famous rapper money.”

you choked out a laugh through your tears, shaking your head.

“you said it had to sparkle,” he smiled, though his voice trembled, “and it had to be big enough so that everyone would know it was real.”

he reached into his pocket slowly.

his hand was shaking when he pulled it out, a tiny white box tucked in his palm, and the second you saw it, your breath hitched.

“what is that?” you asked, voice quiet.

his eyes darted to yours, then down again, thumb nervously brushing over the lid.

“i…bought it last week,” he said. “right after we kissed. when you weren’t talking to me.”

your eyes were already starting to water again.

he turned the box slowly in his hand. “i saw it in the window. i wasn’t even looking, really. just walking by. but it stopped me.”

he opened the lid, and the world seemed to still.

a thin band of gold cradled a marquise diamond, so brilliant it almost looked like it was dancing. it was delicate and luminous, like it had been spun from the light of a stage.

it looked exactly like what a ballerina’s ring should be. elegant. timeless. impossibly soft in its beauty.

like it had been designed with you in mind; with every curve, every shimmer, every quiet detail whispering ‘this is hers.’

your free hand flew to your mouth, both in shock and awe.

“i don’t know if it’s considered a ballerina ring,” he said softly. “but it looked like the kind of thing you would wear. it reminded me of you.”

you blinked fast, but the tears still fell. “hunnie…”

“i know it’s dumb,” he said quickly. “i know we’re not—like, we’re not even dating yet and this is probably the most backwards way anyone’s ever done this and i’m already fucking it up—”

“you’re not,” you whispered, gently setting the bouquet down as you stepped in closer.

you took his free hand into both of yours.

he looked at you like you’d just given him air. like the second you touched his hands, the panic started to settle.

you held onto him gently. “breathe, hunnie.”

he gave the tiniest nod, eyes shining. “okay. okay, i’m—” his voice wobbled. “i’m okay.”

your thumbs rubbed over his knuckles.

“i’ve been trying to get this right,” he said, barely above a whisper. “but i don’t think i can. not really.”

“it’s just me,” you said softly.

he exhaled. “that’s the thing, though. it’s you. i’ve never wanted to get something more right in my whole fucking life.”

your heart cracked in your chest.

he looked down, then up again, a little steadier this time.

“you’ve always been everything to me,” he said. “my first memory is literally you stealing my graham crackers and then hugging me so i wouldn’t be mad.”

your laugh broke on a sob. “they were mine first.”

“they definitely weren’t.” he smiled through the tears. “but i let you have them anyways”

you were already crying again, but he kept going, voice still trembling, but stronger now.

“you’ve always been my best friend. my safe place. the one person who’s always known what i’m thinking before i even say anything.”

his voice cracked. “you’ve always seen me as something good. even when i didn’t.”

your heart stopped for a moment.

“you were the first person i ever wanted to impress,” he said. “the first person i trusted. the first person i wanted to be better for.”

you could barely see him through the blur of your tears now. “hunnie…”

“i don’t know when it shifted,” he whispered. “maybe it never did. maybe it’s always been this.”

he reached up and wiped a tear from your cheek.

“i love you, doll,” he said. “i’m in love with every version of you that’s ever existed. i love you when we’re laughing, when we’re fighting, when you’re dancing, when you’re exhausted, when you’re mad at me. especially when you’re mad at me.”

you choked on a laugh as he continued.

“and i know this is backwards,” he said, gesturing a little wildly. “i bought the ring before i even asked you to be my girlfriend and i know that’s stupid but i saw it and—i just knew. it felt like you. like us.”

“it is us,” you whispered.

he looked down at your joined hands, knowing your touch was the only thing holding him together.

his thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his voice cracked as he started again. “doll…” he blinked, hard. swallowed.

“i don’t have it all figured out,” he said. “i don’t know how to say it right, and i know i messed a lot of things up recently, and i know i probably should’ve waited or planned it better—”

you shook your head, gently.

“but i love you,” he whispered, tears slipping down. “i’ve always loved you. i…i don’t wanna do this halfway anymore,” he said, voice shaking. “so if it’s okay with you…if you’ll let me…can i be yours? like—officially? finally?”

you didn’t answer right away. you just stepped into him, your arms around his neck, your face buried in his chest as you laughed and cried all at once.

“yes,” you choked, burying your face into his neck. “yes, yes, god hunnie, yes.”

he laughed through the sob that broke out of him, wrapping you tighter, swaying slightly in place like it was the only way he could stay grounded.

behind you, the hallway broke into noise.

a sharp sniffle. a strangled “fuck,” followed by a slap that definitely landed on someone’s arm.

“you’re crying too!” daesung blurted, voice cracking mid-accusation.

“shut up, i am not,” youngbae snapped, wiping at his face aggressively.

“he totally is,” jiyong said, grinning through watery eyes. “oh my god—dude. so am i. what the fuck.”

seunghyun didn’t let go of you, not even as you both laughed through your tears. not even as you turned your head slightly to glance at the chaos unfolding behind you.

the boys were a mess. daesung was blinking way too fast, youngbae was clearly trying not to outright sob, and jiyong was biting his lip so hard it was probably already bruising.

“are we supposed to clap?” jiyong asked. “should we clap?”

“do not clap,” seunghyun said, without looking back. his voice was thick. “i swear to god.”

you laughed again, soft and muffled into his shirt.

seunghyun tilted his head toward yours, his palm sliding up your back, holding the base of your neck like it kept you real.

then, gently, he pulled back just enough to reach for your hand.

his fingers trembled as he slid the ring on.

“it’s not a proposal,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, “but it’s a promise. for everything that’s coming.”

he paused, breath hitching.

“and a thank you,” he whispered, voice breaking, “for every version of you i’ve ever been lucky enough to love.”

taglist: @mayakahlo @crvshedpetals @teardoong @kyrasworldd @authorscurse @jajabro @moonqz @letstakeabowimoutthedoor @vynn30

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welcome! this is my little space where you can find all of my writing! i consider all of my work to be 18+, minors dni. i hope you enjoy reading these as much as i loved writing them! ♡

writing events

so close to what

kwon jiyong

if you were anyone else - series

part one | part two | part three | part four

six thirty

loving you loudly

follow at your own risk

choi seunghyun

every version of you (coming soon!)

[slut4kwonbackup]

“you’re so quiet” yeah i’m rewriting the same 3 sentences in my head while imagining a dramatic betrayal between fictional people. i’m BUSY

[slut4kwonbackup]

nothing beats the ship dynamic of “hissy black cat and his loyal golden retriever bf”

I eat that shit up every. single. time.

[slut4kwonbackup]

NO STRINGS ATTATCHED : Kwon Jiyong

here’s your rock limited press vinyl with a remix track angel - enjoy 😚 - order 8 of moonqz record store 🤍

pairing : Jiyong x fem!reader

genre : smut - MDNI

description : you and Jiyong have been in a friends with benefits relationship for months now. He had one rule. No kissing. On the lips at least. He says it’s ’the trick to falling in love’. But a few weeks after a steamy night at her place, there’s someone who won’t leave you guys alone.

contents / warnings : smut (unprotected sex, slight overstimulation, dacryphilia, dom!jiyong, rough ji, aftercare), slightly disturbing ending unresolved.

requested by : @gd1888 thank you my angel 🤍

The bass throbbed through the velvet walls of the members-only lounge, slick with smoke and neon shadows. Jiyong leaned back against the bar, whisky glass in hand, the rim kissed faintly red from someone else’s lipstick, or maybe yours. It was hard to remember these days.

You were across the room, laughing too loud, letting some pretty boy’s hand settle a little too low on your back. You knew exactly what you were doing. That was the problem. So did he.

He watched you like a snake behind glass. Smiling. Patient. Dangerous.

When the guy leaned in to whisper something in your ear, Jiyong moved. Calmly. Casually. Like he wasn’t already burning from the inside out.

You caught the shift out of the corner of your eye, too smooth to be called a glare, too sharp to be indifference. Your breath caught before you could stop it.

He reached you just as the guy tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Mind if I borrow her?” Jiyong asked, voice smooth as satin but laced with something steel.

The guy blinked. “Uh-“

“I’m busy,” you said quickly, a little breathless.

But Jiyong didn’t even look at you. He just rested his hand on the small of your back, right over the spot the other man’s had been. You felt it like fire. Then he leaned in, lips near your ear, tone lower than low,

“Don’t test me, baby. You’re not gonna win.”

You opened your mouth to argue. He didn’t give you the chance.

He was already leading you away with that same quiet confidence that always left you shaken, hand pressing firmly ont he spot on your back. One touch, one glance, and he had you unraveling like it was muscle memory.

Jiyong walked you out of the bar, face emotionless as his hand slides up your spine, gently taking hold of the ends of your hair as he walked you to his car.

“You think you’re smart, flirting with another man baby?” He asked you sarcastically, sitting you down in the passenger seat, taking in your slightly frustrated yet aroused expression.

He stroked your cheek gently, with a mocking smile before he did your seatbelt for you, shutting the door with a soft slam.

Walking round to the drivers side, he doesn’t bother with his own belt before pulling out of the bars lot.

You crossed your arms over your chest as his hand went to your lower thigh. He barely glanced at you as he spoke “I know we’re not exactly together. But I don’t like you being with other men”

“I wasn’t with another man, he was harmless” You scoff lightly, your leg overlapping your other, his fingers trapped between your thighs, bringing a tiny grin to his face.

“He wasn’t harmless baby, let’s just go home yeah?”

You knew what home meant. His apartment, another night of meaningless - at least you lie to yourself - sex, sweet aftercare and laying in each others arms.

And the next day pretending it never happened and you could stop whenever you wanted to. That it was stress relieving more than anything. And maybe it was to a certain degree.

You nod, ignoring the turmoil in your mind. You could settle for that. You’d take whatever you get with him. Whatever he offered.

Jiyong drove like he always did when he was pissed off. One hand on the wheel, the other sinking into the skin of your thigh, jaw tight, lips pressed into a line.

You didn’t dare ask what he was thinking. You already knew.

Less then ten minutes later, you were at his complex, the high building all too familiar to you.

Jiyong leaned over, hand moving to your hair, pressing a small kiss to your jaw before getting out the car, walking to your side and opening the door for you.

Too gentlemanly. Too soft. You knew better then to call for the softness in his actions.

The elevator ride to his penthouse was equally brutal. Tension radiated off of him like heat. He didn’t speak, didn’t touch you, didn’t even look your way.

But the moment the door to his apartment shut behind you, he did.

You barely had time to breathe before your back hit the wall, his mouth crashing against yours.

A kiss.

Your mind reeled. That wasn’t part of the deal. You didn’t kiss on the mouth. It was rule number one. His rule.

In his eyes, kissing was the first way people fall in love. It was dangerous, reckless. And falling in love wasn’t apart of the deal either.

But here he was, breaking it first. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t effect you in more ways than one.

His hands gripped your hips like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. His lips were hungry, desperate, possessive. And when he pulled away, you were dazed.

“Don’t do that again,” he growled, voice wrecked, hands digging further into your hips, it would’ve left bruises if it weren’t for the thin layer of protection your dress provided.

You blinked. “What, dance with someone else?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped in again, slower this time. His fingers brushed your jaw, forcing your gaze to his.

“Make me feel like I don’t matter.” He finally spoke, voice just slightly vulnerable bb

You swallowed. Hard. “I wasn’t trying to-“

“You were,” he cut in. “And it worked.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his anger melting into something darker, more vulnerable. Your hands clutched his shirt like an anchor as he walked you backward toward the bedroom.

You knew where this was going. You knew you should stop. Remind him of the rules.

But maybe… maybe those rules didn’t mean what they used to. Or maybe you lost all conscious to care properly.

Somewhere between his second kiss and the way he said don’t do that again, he’d backed you through the apartment without letting your lips part for longer than a breath.

Now, under the dim glow of the city lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, you stood in front of him flushed, heart racing, the last of your restraint hanging by a thread.

He stared at you like he was still furious. But more than that, hurt.

That’s what stopped you. Not the desire. Not the rules. The way he was looking at you now. Like he needed this to prove something to himself.

“Why do you care so much?” you whispered.

“Don’t ask me that,” he muttered, shaking his head once like it would knock the feeling loose. “You don’t want the answer.”

You took a breath and said it anyway. “Then show me.”

He froze.

Then he reached for you again, this time slower, more deliberate. His hands slid beneath the hem of your dress, knuckles brushing up your thighs like he was touching you for the first time all over again. When you gasped softly, he smiled against your skin, lips grazing your jaw.

“This isn’t how friends act,” you whispered.

He lifted your dress over your head and let it fall to the floor.

“No,” he agreed, gaze trailing down your body. “But you stopped being just a friend a long time ago.”

You barely had time to process the words before he guided you down onto the mattress. His weight followed, warm and grounding and far too familiar. The scent of his cologne clung to the sheets. It was always like this, his hands, your pulse, the kind of closeness you could only pretend didn’t mean anything the next morning.

But tonight was different.

Tonight he kissed you like he meant it. Not just the way his mouth moved over yours, but the way he lingered. Slow, reverent, mouth against your throat, your shoulder, your wrist.

Jiyong’s other hand dipped hnder your panties, his fingers finding your clit like the back of his hand, rubbing small practised circles.

The motion, as simple as it was made you immediately quiver in his grasp. Your hips lifted slightly off the bed before he pushed them back down with his other hand.

“You not gonna do that again to me are you jagi?” he mockingly pouted, leaning his forehead against yours as he continued his ministrations.

Your heart sank slightly, and you whined slightly when he pulled his fingers out “N-No Ji” you murmur.

He smiled, leaning his hand up to yours face, gently tapping your cheek mockingly with the same hand that was just down your panties.

“Mhm. Good” His hands pushed your underwear down your thighs, before he wrapped your legs around his torso.

He pulled his own boxers just enough to free himself, before he took your wrists in one hand above your head, pinning them in place.

The action surprised you slightly. Normally Jiyong was quite lighthearted in bed. And in general. But right now he was more serious then you’d seen before. Or experienced. More stern.

“This okay?” He asked, once he positioned himself at your entrance. You whined a small ‘yes’ before he kissed your cheek to distract you from the stretch as he filled you up completely.

He stilled for a moment, half wanting to help you adjust, half because the familiar feeling of you clenching around him again was unbearably good.

“You gonna be quite? Don’t wanna be hearing your pretty whines after tonight”

You nodded helplessly, eyes blown wide in pleasure. He kissed your cheek once again before pinning your hands more firmly.

Jiyong moves slightly, readjusting and you whimpered before his other hand went over your mouth.

He pulled out slightly, enough to make you feel more desperate then you already were before he thrust back in, slightly rough.

You whimpered, muffled by his hand, as he repeated the motion over and over. Not quite faster yet, but rough, slow thrusts that left you aching for more, and eyes glassing over.

“Sweet girl” he muttered, patience thinning before he buried his head in your neck with a low sigh of relief.

His movements picked up, still harsh but quicker now, the combination making your head spin.

He kept his hand over your mouth, muffling your whines and moans, his own groans coming out more then you’d heard from him before.

“So so pretty”

This was different to other times.

The sharp thrusts of his hips combined with the small bites to your neck had you seeing stars, already close to the brink of release.

He could tell by the way your noises got morning pitched, and you writhed slightly under him. He loved how he knew your body better then you did.

“Already baby? You wanna cum?” He tormented, although he was also getting quite close to the edge himself, his movements not faltering once.

You muffled a cried ‘yes’ under his hand, it felt like that was the only thing you could say, or even understand at this point.

“Good, good girl” He drawled out, his hand releasing from your mouth to rub at your sensitive clit, adding to the blinding mix of pleasure, causing your noises to just get louder.

Jiyong grunted slightly as he brought you to the edge, already incoherent words leaving you, eyes rolling back slightly.

He smiled slightly, brushing your lightly dampened hair from your forehead before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

You came hard, and he felt it around him, the sensation adding new depths to his own pleasure.

You almost cried right there when he held onto his own high, not letting himself go over the edge until he’s drawled out another orgasm from you.

“Gimme one more okay? One more jagi” he spoke, his hand moving to your lower stomach, adding light pressure that had you gasping out.

The sensations was too much, the non stop pleasure was mind blurring, and you attempted - key word attempted - to move your wrists from his grasp.

“Nuh uh baby. Just one more” He murmured, his ministrations faltering slightly when you clenched down on him harder then before.

You felt tears brim your eyes as he continued, it felt like heaven and hell mixed together, a wonderful yet grueling combination.

“What you gonna cry?” he mocked with a small huff of a laugh, hips snapping into yours harder then before, you could’ve sworn he’d gone insane. Or you had.

Either way, not being able to come down from your previous high had you spiralling into a second one, holding onto the brink of pleasure as small tears fell down your face.

“Ji- please-“ You weren’t sure what you were begging for exactly. But it didn’t matter. He just wiped your tears with the corners of his lips twitching up.

“Shh, shh, gotchu jagi, just let go” He spoke. Jiyong circled your clit once more as you went over the edge for a second time.

He stilled once he felt himself spill inside you, his mouth slightly open, your thighs twitching around his waist.

Jiyong paused for a moment. Let you come down from the intensity of the moment, just a little, before he pulled out.

You felt empty already, whining out before he pressed another gentle kiss to your lips. It seemed that now he started with the broken rule. He couldn’t stop.

“You need anything aein?” He muttered, voice slightly shaky as he stroked your cheek of any stray tears.

You shook your head no, too fucked out to speak coherently. He smiled again before he got up from the bed, walking to his bathroom to get a damp cloth.

Once he has carefully cleaned up what was there from your time together, he pulled you into his arms with a gentleness that almost made you tear up all over again.

The way he kissed the crown of your head, too familiar. The way he whispered soft praises and made sure you were okay, too familiar.

This was how it was. Fuck, cuddle, back to friends. And you were tired of it. But there was nothing you could do.

Except for back in the afterglow with him, let yourself fall within the trap of his arms and your head on his chest.

You never said it out loud, but something changed that night in his bed.

Jiyong didn’t pull away the morning after. Didn’t pretend it was meaningless. He made coffee in just his sweats and poured you a cup without asking how you took it. He let you wear his hoodie home.

And he texted you later just to say “I’m still thinking about you.”

No emojis. No games. Just honesty. Maybe the kind that terrified you both.

The weeks that followed were slow, steady. He’d show up unannounced with takeout. Pull you into his lap during movie nights. Start kissing you just because he missed your voice. Still no label. Still no promises. But you were falling. He was too. You could feel it.

So when your phone buzzed late one night while you were folding laundry, you didn’t expect your entire body to go cold.

Unknown Number.

One photo. No caption at first.

You tapped it open.

It was grainy, taken from across the street, you and Jiyong at a café, seated side by side, his hand wrapped loosely around your wrist on the table. You were smiling at him. He was looking at you like nothing else existed.

Then a second message followed.

“I told you to stay away from Jiyong.”

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at the text until your hands started shaking.

You hadn’t told anyone. He hadn’t posted anything. You were always careful. No one was supposed to know.

And yet, someone did.

Your first instinct was to call him. But your thumb hovered over his name, frozen. Was this the kind of thing he’d been trying to protect you from all along?

You read the message again, heart pounding louder than your thoughts.

I told you.

Which meant that this wasn’t the first warning.

Your mind raced.

Had Jiyong seen this before? Had he hidden it from you?

Was this what he meant when he said “I don’t want to hurt you” after that first night?

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i just finished writing my debut seunghyun fic !!!

here’s a little sneak peak of what it’s about!! i’m absolutely in love with it and i cannot wait to share it with all of you! ♡

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how i feel currently writing three fics at the same time because god forbid i fully finish a story before having another idea

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source: @/soojoo on instagram!

only zoa could still serve absolute cunt while being tormented by her father.

also can we please take a moment to talk about his hands?? like what the actual fuck

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p.o.v - choi seunghyun/t.o.p

pairing: ceo!seunghyun x housewife!reader type: non idol au (obvs), angst warning/s: self-doubt, insecurities, low self-esteem

for @steponupbabe's 400 follower celebration! thank u so much for including me, and congratulations on your milestone! <3

Love is unconditional. It is never transactional. Love transcends all that is indifferent. Love is complex, yet beautiful. Love is seeing a mother with her newborn child. Love is more than a feeling. Love is everywhere, yet it is never present when you go looking for it. Love is tricky, but it can be fun. Love should never hurt, though one can argue that if you feel hurt, it is love. There are so many meanings of love, and there are so many people who have different beliefs, ideals, and traditions in love. However, one thing's for sure: love can be seen through the eyes of a person. For the eyes, never lie.

Love should begin at home, the foundation of a family. The mother and father should set an example and show their children what love really is like. Children deserve to be in a loving home, and they deserve to be raised in an environment in which they are shown all aspects of love. There are many aspects of love, but to name a few, there's empathy, patience, contentment, and kindness.

EMPATHY. When raising a child, most parents tend to forget that their children are still learning how to be human beings. After all, they haven't been here on Earth for a long time, and it takes a while for children to develop their minds. Most parents also tend to forget that children have feelings. Empathy is one of the most prominent emotions a child can acquire. If you're in doubt, try and observe them. Children are more empathetic than you think. For example, if a child sees their mother crying, they would immediately offer their support and wipe away their tears. It's just in their nature to be empathetic.

PATIENCE. No one ever talks about how patient a child can be. Yes, they get easily bored (who doesn't?), but they wait patiently anyway. A child's patience can be measured in different ways. Most of the time, it shows when they're waiting for their parents to come home from work. They could wait for hours just to see them walk through the front door. As the children grow older, of course, they fall into the ugliest pit of impatience. Only a small fraction of children grow up to keep their patience.

CONTENTMENT. This is something that only a handful of parents teach. Of course, it isn't easy to be happy and contented as a child. Children will always want more, and without fail, parents will give everything and anything they can just to make their children happy. Yet, they fail to teach them the art of contentment. Only a small population of children has that trait, and it's a good trait to have. Think about it this way: if a child is content with what they have, they're immune to jealousy, envy, and greed.

KINDNESS. Being kind is a trait that everyone should possess. After all, as time passes by, and when our good looks have faded, we'd only be left with the kindness of our hearts. You don't have to be rich to be kind; it doesn't cost anything, actually. You just have to have a pure heart. The key to kindness? Empathy, patience, and contentment.

When a child possesses all of these, the other good traits will naturally follow.

Choi Seunghyun was born into a rich family. He was born with a solid and complete foundation that many people yearn for. Oh, how he was loved and cared for by everyone in his family. Of course, that played a part in shaping who he was and who he will be.

His parents are proud to say that he grew up to be a decent man. He's a family man, respectful, caring, empathetic, patient, content, and kind. He's a well-rounded individual with the beauty and brains to back it up. In short, Choi Seunghyun is perfect. Any lady would be lucky to have him. Unfortunately, he's always the one being left behind. However, that didn't stop him from loving anyone. For him, love is fearless and growth. When asked why, he said, "If we don't love fearlessly, how will we grow and learn?" He's one hell of a man, indeed. He's right.

It takes a lot of courage to rise above heartbreak just so you can love freely. It also takes a lot of peace to think so open-mindedly about love after going through multiple heartaches. People would think that just because he's now the CEO of his father's company, he'd change his ways. Boy, were they so wrong. As a CEO, he's, of course, headstrong and tough. He's a quick thinker, and he makes sure he's always ten steps ahead of everyone. However, no matter how tired or stressed he is, he never releases his anger. He always tells himself that he's mad at the situation, and not the person (even though the person is partly at fault). He always listens first, and if he's busy, he asks for an incident report before calling the persons involved into his office. Not once has he fired anyone unless the situation calls for it. He makes sure they're well compensated for a month after they leave, though. His heart would physically hurt if he found out that the person he fired was struggling. So far into his 2 years of being a CEO, there are no complaints.

With that being said, he's very much contented.

You were born into a middle-class family to parents who didn't even plan to have you. They only planned to have two children, but somehow, you were a surprise that neither of them really liked. Additionally, the age gap between your siblings was quite substantial. Your parents had you in their late 40s, and by that time, your eldest sibling was already in university, while your second eldest sibling had just entered their first year in college. In short, they didn't have time for a baby like you.

Your parents never paid attention to you. Your eldest sibling stepped up to be a parent to you. She was always there for you. Parent-Teacher meetings, helping with homework, attending school plays, report card day, and many other moments were attended by your eldest sibling, Sun-Ae. You loved her so much, and she loved and cared for you when no one else would. That's why it utterly broke your heart when she moved out of the house to live with her then boyfriend. She didn't want to go, but she had to because she was sick and tired of your parents expecting a lot from her. The trauma she had was far different from yours, and when she finally had the chance to leave, she grabbed it. You were 10 years old at that time, and she was 29. She promised to come back for you, but your other sibling, Won-Joon, knew better. He knew Sun-Ae would never come back after the fallout.

When Sun-Ae left, he took her place. He moved out of the house and brought you along with him. He always, always puts you first. He even sacrificed his relationships just for you. So when the time came for you to start working, you worked extra hard to keep both of you afloat. You even told him that he could finally settle down because you could work now.

Luckily, your life had turned upside down, and things looked up for you. You ended up working at a large advertising agency, and you arrived just in time for your company's partnership with Vortex Industries. At the grand launch, you were required to attend, and every day, you thank your lucky stars that you forced yourself to get dolled up. That was the night you met Vortex Industries' CEO, Choi Seunghyun.

Seunghyun fell in love with you the first time he saw you at the party. You were wearing a sleek, midnight blue dress. The length of the dress was long, and it had a slit on the right. It wasn't seductive, nor was it cheap-looking. It was just the right amount of classy. Your hair was done beautifully, and your makeup was just right. Since then, he knew that he had to have you.

After months of trying to woo you, and your brother forcing you to go out with Seunghyun, you finally agreed to be his girlfriend. His one request? To allow him to take care of you. However, you were stubborn. Your whole life, your siblings took care of you, and you didn't want to be taken care of by your boyfriend. After all, your job gave you a sense of confidence that you didn't have from childhood. So, you made a deal. You'll quit your job once you get married.

Five years later, here you are.

A four year old, running around.

A CEO husband.

No job.

At first, you thought you'd love the idea of just staying home and taking care of everything. Over time, you began to realize it wasn't for you. Or maybe you were just overthinking. Won-Joon told you that you were doing an amazing job, and Seunghyun praised you for being the best wife and mother to little Bo-Yun. Seunghyun's best friend and business partner, Jiyong, even praised you for being an amazing person overall.

Somehow, you didn't believe them. You guessed that maybe it was your childhood trauma coming back to haunt you.

If you were to look at Bo-Yun's eyes, you'd see stars. Her eyes have a certain sparkle in them every time she sees you and Seunghyun. She smiles really big, and she's very affectionate. You could see how much Seunghyun taught her things that he learned during childhood. Both of them were so content, and they were so happy. You liked seeing them happy, but part of you feels jealous that you never had that. Most of the time, you think that you don't give Bo-Yun everything she needs. You feel so terrible that you think you're not doing a very good job at being a mother and wife. It makes you wonder what Seunghyun even saw in you in the first place. You want to see his point of view of you sometimes because you desperately want to see what he sees in you.

Unbeknownst to you, your slow decline hasn't gone unnoticed by Seunghyun. He observed how you slowly became disconsolate. Not even Bo-Yun's drawings made you smile, and he knew something was wrong, but he didn't want to pry. He wanted you to approach him because he wanted you to be comfortable enough to tell him. You even started being distant from him, but he still loved you nonetheless. His love for you never wavered, even when you were being rude to him sometimes. He stayed, understood, empathized, was patient, and was still kind to you, no matter what.

Everything came crashing down when Seunghyun arrived home earlier than expected. He walked inside your home, and saw... chaos. Toys were scattered in the living room, Bo-Yun was busy watching Pororo as she slowly abandoned her coloring book, and you were panicking in the kitchen because the food you were cooking turned out to be a disaster. He took in all of his surroundings and nodded to himself. Without a second thought, he puts down his blazer and bag on the couch, rolls up his sleeves, and starts picking up Bo-Yun's toys. He truly didn't mind, but when you walked out of the kitchen and saw him doing something that you should've done an hour ago, you felt so fucking bad. Your husband worked his ass off, and he's doing your job? You immediately walked over to him and quickly picked up the rest of the toys, placing them in the toy basket. After that, you grabbed the toys in Seunghyun's arms, and placed them in the toy basket too.

"I'm sorry." You sighed. "Um, dinner will be ready soon. I hope you don't mind, but I opted to just order something tonight. I started cooking, I swear! It's just that-"

"Hey, what's wrong?" Seunghyun finally asked, as he cupped your face with his hands. You looked at each other, and you finally broke down. Not wanting Bo-Yun to see, you quickly wiped your tears away. He lets go of your face and holds your hand, bring you to the kitchen.

"Okay, tell me what's going on." He said gently. He knew there was something wrong, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. He partly blamed himself for your breakdown, but this isn't about him. It's about you, and that's his priority.

You cried for what seemed like hours, but it's only been three minutes. You calmed down, took a deep breath, and started talking.

"I just feel like a failure lately. I'm not a good wife, I'm not a good mother, and it's taking a toll on me. You weren't even supposed to pick up the toys. That's my job! I-"

"I picked up the toys because I wanted to. I didn't mind at all. Besides, that's my job too because I'm your husband. We're a team, Y/N. Once I clock out as a CEO, I clock in as a dad and husband. My work at the office is different from my work here. It's my duty." He frowned.

"Yes, but you're so tired, and I just want to be the perfect wife for you and the perfect mom for Bo-Yun, and I'm so frustrated because I didn't expect it to be so taxing. It takes a lot from me mentally, physically, and emotionally. I feel like I'm disappointing you, and I fear that I'm making a lot of mistakes, and I hate mistakes." You cried. He frowned even more, and pulled you in for a hug, which you returned.

"If there's a thing I learned as a child, it's empathy, kindness, contentment, and patience." He rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head before pulling away. He stared at you with a small smile and tucked your hair behind your ears.

"Y/N, please listen to me. I understand that you want to be "perfect" for our family, and I appreciate it so much. You're doing a great job as a wife and mother. You have to give yourself credit, my love. If you feel that you made a mistake, you have to empathize with yourself. Be kinder to yourself, Y/N. If something doesn't go your way, be patient. When you've mastered those three, you'll be content with everything, I promise you. You'll get the hang of all these things if you just apply those four things. I know it's difficult for you, but you have to try."

"Y/N, I know you're quite stubborn, and you'll probably ignore what I just said, but you have to understand that this isn't about us anymore. It's about Bo-Yun and how we'll influence her as she grows up. Your actions towards yourself will affect her, too, you know? I understand that it's hard to let go of your past, but you have to unlearn all of that for our daughter. Please trust me when I say that you're doing a great job and it's okay to stumble. It's our first time being parents. Let's cut ourselves some slack and just focus on being better than yesterday."

You sniffed and nodded, "Why are you so kind to me?"

"I love you, that's why. I also choose to be kind because I know being kind is another form of love that's hard to teach and maintain." He answered.

"Sometimes, I ask myself what you saw in me, anyway." You chuckled, drying your eyes.

"Y/N, if only I could give you my eyes so you could see yourself through mine. If that were possible, you'd see a hardworking woman whose perseverance inspires me and Bo-Yun each day. You'd see a naturally beautiful woman who doesn't need to try, and you'd see a wonderful mother who tries to keep everything afloat. You'd also see the woman I fell for, and I thank God every day that we met." He smiled and hugged you once more.

"I love you, Seunghyun."

"I love you more, Y/N. If you're tired, just rest. I can take care of things around here, too, you know? Please trust me."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too because I feel like I wasn't doing enough, but I don't want to dwell on it, okay? Let's not do that. Let's be better together."

You pulled away from the embrace and cupped his face with your hands and said, "You're the best husband ever." Before pulling him into a loving kiss.

a/n: i hope u guys enjoyed it!! <3

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @billiesiousji @hayd3n8 @sherrayyyyy @nbjch05 @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @emmiesoverthemoon @breakmeoff @sayugarper @gdinthehouseee @patheticgirl127 @crvshedpetals

seunghyun taglist: @loveesiren @millytugby @seungttttop @cxr-cam

if you're interested in bts, i've started writing for them too! you can check them out here (only 3 so far and i accept bts reqs too!): jungkook v suga

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the backwards hat just does something to me 😩

8lo8lo8lowme instagram update 08.03.2025

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i know i already posted about this on my main account, but no one was really able to see it because of the ban so im posting it again! (im annoying i know)

in honour of hitting 100 followers on my main account (@slut4kwon), i wanted to host a little writing event to celebrate all of you!

all of the fics will be based on a track from one of my favourite albums (i don’t wanna spoil it yet 🤫), and they’ll all be centred around bigbang ot4!

i’m posting this in hopes that some of my fellow bigbang writers will want to join as well! i already have a few AMAZING writers joining me and i couldn’t be more excited about it!

the event itself won’t be posted about until my main account is unbanned (which i’m praying is soon)!!

if you are interested in participating, please send me a message on this account (i can’t receive messages on my main atm), or even leave a comment on this post and i can send you a message! (im pretty sure sending messages is what got me banned in the first place lol)

i’m too scared to message too many people on here and get this account banned too lolol. i should still be able to message everyone back though! if not, i will still add your name to the list and will finalize everything once my account is back to normal!

obviously there’s no pressure to anyone at all!

i am forever grateful for each and every one of you.

i love you, and i’m really hoping that tumblr can resolve whatever’s going on with my account so that i can share everything i’ve been working on with you guys!

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how i feel getting 15 notes on a post after being shadow banned for over a week now 🫠

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ji looks a little different here

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i’m actually terrified my account is gonna get deleted guys i will bawl my eyes out