#kwon jiyong angst

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 11)

Choi Seunghyun x fem!reader x Kwon Jiyong | CMH Masterlist

a/n: Can't believe my angsty baby is coming to an end </3 This is my first full length series I've finally actually finished and I'm so proud of myself. Thank you so very much to each and every one of you that enjoyed this series. I loved hearing all your opinions about it and all the love and support!! I hope you all enjoy this final chapter <3

As always, if you think these themes are too much for you, please feel free to DM me for a summary of the chapter! ❤️

warnings: angst, sedatives, mention of suicide, suicide note, Seungri

wc: 3.9k+

“Yo, hyung!” Seungri’s voice echoed through the lobby as he jogged toward the other three members who were waiting in a quiet, uneasy silence.

Seunghyun looked up immediately. “Where’s Y/n?” he asked, brows already furrowed, a nervous edge threading through his voice.

“Ran into her in the hallway,” Seungri replied casually, holding something out. “She asked me to give you this.”

Seunghyun’s stomach dropped the second he recognized the item—your purse. He took it slowly from Seungri’s hands, eyes scanning over it like it didn’t make sense. “She said she’d meet us in a minute,” Seungri added, already plopping down beside Taeyang and Daesung and pulling out his phone.

But Seunghyun didn’t move. He held your purse like it might detonate, his fingers tightening around the soft leather. Something felt wrong. Off. You never went anywhere without your purse. Ever.

He sat it down on a bench beside him, his hands digging through it with growing urgency. Usual things: wallet, lip balm, sunglasses. But then—something unfamiliar. A journal. New. Still smelled like the bookstore.

Sticking out from between its pages was an envelope.

His hands trembled as he slid it out, stomach twisting into knots.

Se & Ji

Each name was written in your handwriting—soft, delicate. Final.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

“Ri?” he called out, voice hoarse. “Where did Y/n say she was going?”

Seungri didn’t look up. “Uh… didn’t say. Just that she’d meet us. She was heading toward the elevators, I think.”

“Up?” Seunghyun asked, more to himself than anyone else. His hands were white-knuckling the letter now. Every cell in his body screamed at him to run.

He turned to sprint—but before his foot even hit the ground, a scream tore through the air.

Sharp. Shattering. Blood-curdling.

The entire lobby fell still.

And Seunghyun? He froze. Envelope clutched to his chest. Breath stuck in his throat.

He already knew.

While the others ran toward the door where the scream had come from, Seunghyun couldn’t.

His legs moved, but sluggishly. Too slow. Like he was wading through a nightmare, one that wrapped around his ankles like wet cement.

He didn’t want to see what waited beyond those doors.

Didn’t want to believe that it was real. That you were real in this moment. That the envelope in his hand meant something.

With every shaky step, the dread carved deeper into his chest, eating away at the sliver of denial he was clinging to.

Please let this be a dream.

Please.

When he finally pushed through the glass doors, the scene before him shattered whatever hope he had left.

Daesung was doubled over on the sidewalk, one hand clamped over his mouth, the other shielding his eyes from the sight. His shoulders shook violently, silent sobs ripping through him. Seungri stood beside him, pale, eyes wide and unblinking, as if frozen in time.

Paramedics swarmed the street, voices sharp and urgent. Police were shouting, forming a barrier with their bodies to push back the growing crowd. Red and blue lights painted the building in pulsing waves, but Seunghyun could barely see any of it.

He took one more step—just one—before a pair of arms wrapped around him.

“Hyung…” Youngbae’s voice cracked as he grabbed him, holding tight. “Don’t go out there… please.”

But Seunghyun thrashed in his hold, desperate to break free. His feet scraped against the pavement as he shoved forward.

“No! Let me go! I need to see her—I need to—!”

Daesung and Seungri lunged to help, their arms closing in around him, trying to keep him grounded. But Seunghyun screamed. Loud and raw. The sound wasn’t just from his throat—it came from somewhere deeper, somewhere ancient and breaking and full of grief.

“Y/N!!!”

The name split the air like thunder. Louder than the sirens. Louder than his friends begging him to stop.

“Let me go!” he cried, voice shredded. “Please, let me go—Y/n!”

“You can’t see her like this!” Youngbae sobbed, locking his arms around him as tightly as he could. “You can’t!”

Two officers rushed over, forcing the group back. The paramedics were already moving—already rushing your body toward the hospital entrance, wrapped tightly in white sheets that told Seunghyun more than any doctor ever could.

Daesung saw it first and lunged forward, covering Seunghyun’s eyes with shaking hands. “No—don’t look,” he whispered. “Don’t look, hyung.”

But Seunghyun was still fighting, still kicking and clawing against them, tears spilling like a storm, heart pounding in his ears.

“I have to see her! Let me just see her!”

But you were already gone.

They all knew it.

The way the paramedics moved, the way the cops avoided their eyes—everything about it screamed finality.

And still, he clung to hope. To you.

“She’ll be okay, right?” Seunghyun gasped, voice barely holding together. “She’ll… she’ll be okay…”

None of them could answer.

All they could do was sink to the pavement with him, three friends holding him together as he fell apart.

“She’ll… she’ll be o—”

But the words wouldn’t come. They dissolved into sobs as he collapsed in their arms, letter still clenched in his trembling fists.

-

Seunghyun sat in absolute silence, his back hunched forward, elbows on his knees, your unopened letter still clutched in his hand like a lifeline he wasn’t ready to let go of. His eyes hadn’t moved in over an hour—fixed on the linoleum floor, as if staring hard enough might rewind time.

Daesung hadn’t left his side. Not even once. He sat beside him quietly, offering nothing but silent companionship and the occasional squeeze of the shoulder whenever Seunghyun's breath would hitch or his hand would start to shake.

Youngbae was across the hall, pacing the same five feet of space while making phone calls no one ever wanted to receive. His voice was low, cracking. Apologies layered between each explanation. Between each name spoken through the lump in his throat.

Seungri had been given the worst job of all.

“Don’t tell him,” Seunghyun had whispered, barely audible. It was the only thing he’d managed to say since you were taken away. “Not yet.”

So Seungri stayed in Jiyong’s hospital room, sitting at the small table with a deck of Uno cards scattered between them, pretending—desperately—that the world outside those walls hadn’t just fallen apart.

Thankfully, Jiyong was groggy from his pain meds, his body still recovering, his mind slow and gentle. He’d only asked about you twice. Both times, Seungri had managed to change the subject with a joke or a distraction, but the pressure was building in his chest.

“It’s your turn, hyung,” Seungri mumbled, nodding toward the cards in Jiyong’s hands.

But his voice was far away, his eyes glued to the door like he was silently begging someone—anyone—to walk through and take this responsibility off his shoulders.

Jiyong picked up a red five and glanced down at his hand, smiling faintly.

“Ya know,” he started, voice light, “Y/n and I always fought over everything, but when it came to Uno? We were weirdly peaceful. Like it was some sacred game we agreed not to ruin.”

He laughed softly at the memory. “Where is she anyway?” he asked again, absentmindedly searching the room like he expected you to walk in at any moment.

Seungri froze.

His mouth opened, but no words came. His throat burned. His chest felt too tight.

“I can’t do this,” he blurted, slamming his cards down onto the table as he stood abruptly, hands in his hair, pacing the room like a caged animal. “I can’t fucking do this.”

Jiyong blinked in confusion. “Do what? Lose to me?” he grinned. “You mad that I’m winning?” He gave a smug little smirk, holding up his hand of cards.

Seungri turned toward him, eyes glassy. “Jiyong…”

Something in his tone made Jiyong sit up straighter, wincing as the stitches in his side pulled tight.

“What?” he asked, smile fading. “What is it?”

Seungri’s mouth trembled. His voice cracked. “Something happened.”

Jiyong’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean something happened? What happened?”

“It’s… it’s bad. It’s really fucking bad, man. I’m so sorry.”

Jiyong’s smile was gone now. His whole body tensed.

“What happened?” he asked again, firmer this time, anxiety starting to seep into his voice. He glanced down at the cast on his arm, the bruises on his chest. “Dude, whatever it is, it can’t be worse than this—”

Seungri broke. “She’s dead.”

The words hit like a gunshot.

Jiyong just… stared.

For a moment, the room was silent. So quiet you could hear the monitor ticking behind him.

“No,” Jiyong said, shaking his head slowly. “No, that’s not—no, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Seungri whispered.

“No. Stop.” Jiyong’s voice rose. His hands were trembling now. “Stop lying, where is she?! She’s probably in the hallway or—”

“She’s gone, hyung.”

“NO!” Jiyong roared, the sound raw and broken as he shoved the cards off the table. They scattered like confetti—colorful, meaningless. “You’re lying! She was just here, she said she’d be back—!”

“She’s not coming back…” Seungri choked.

Jiyong’s face crumpled as the pain finally hit him. Not the bruises. Not the fractures. The real pain. The kind that cracks bone from the inside.

He folded in on himself, a wounded animal, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as he broke.

And all Seungri could do was fall to his knees beside him and hold on.

Jiyong’s screams echoed down the sterile hallway like a siren—raw, guttural, unrelenting. It was the kind of sound that made nurses freeze and families in the waiting room go silent.

Seunghyun was on his feet before anyone could blink, heart in his throat, sprinting toward the source of the agony. Youngbae and Daesung followed close behind, their feet slamming against the tile floor in panicked rhythm.

When they reached the room, the door was wide open. Inside, Seungri was struggling to hold Jiyong down against the bed. Jiyong thrashed violently, his body too broken to fight the way he wanted to, but the desperation in him burned hotter than painkillers ever could.

“Let me go!” he cried, voice cracking under the weight of devastation. “She’s not dead! She’s not—you’re lying!”

“Jiyong!” Seunghyun gasped, rushing to his side and pushing Seungri out of the way, taking over.

Youngbae turned on Seungri instantly, fury in his eyes. “You told him?!” he yelled, shoving him back.

“He wouldn’t stop asking about her!” Seungri shouted, tears already streaming down his cheeks. “I couldn’t take it—I didn’t know what else to do!”

But Youngbae wasn’t listening anymore. The grief had taken the wheel. The blame needed somewhere to go. So his fist collided with Seungri’s face.

Chaos erupted in the room. Three nurses burst in, trying to assess the situation as Jiyong continued to scream, his voice ragged and full of anguish.

“She’s not fucking dead!” he roared, eyes wild, body trembling. “Where the fuck is she?!”

Seunghyun clung to him, his own face soaked in tears. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over again, his voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry, Ji…”

He tried to hold him, tried to calm him, but it was too late—the nurses moved in swiftly. One nurse restrained Jiyong’s arm while another pressed a syringe to his vein, pushing the sedative in without hesitation.

Jiyong’s eyes fluttered, his head falling back against the pillow, limbs going limp. But just before the sedation fully took hold, his eyes met Seunghyun’s, wide and pleading.

“She’s not gone…” he murmured, barely audible, like a child begging for a bedtime story to end differently.

And then—silence.

His body stilled, breathing slow and shallow.

Seunghyun collapsed beside him, burying his face in the hospital pillow as a sob ripped through his throat. His entire body shook with it, grief flooding every inch of him. He clutched at the blanket like it could anchor him to the earth.

He could hear the machines. The footsteps outside. The quiet beeping that reminded him life was still happening around him.

He hated it.

For a fleeting second, he wondered if his own heart stopped—right there, right then—would the nurses save him too?

The thought made him cry harder.

-

Outside, the rest of the group had taken their pain into the cold night air.

The fight between Seungri and Youngbae hadn’t lasted long—just enough to leave bruises on their faces and guilt in their eyes. Now, they sat on the curb outside the hospital, bloodied knuckles resting on trembling knees.

Daesung was curled in on himself, hugging his legs to his chest. His voice was small, broken. “I just… I don’t understand why she would do this.”

Youngbae sat beside him, a cigarette trembling between his fingers. He passed it to Seungri, who took it without a word.

“She probably had demons,” Youngbae muttered. “More than we ever saw.”

Seungri stayed quiet, inhaling deeply, trying to numb the ache in his lungs. But nothing helped. Not the cigarette. Not the cold air. Not the night sky above them, quiet and indifferent.

“I-I just…” Daesung’s voice broke as he stared at the sidewalk, lips trembling. “I can’t believe this all happened. One second she was just here, and now…” His shoulders shook. “It all happened so fucking fast.”

Youngbae placed a steady hand on his knee, fingers gripping tightly—not for Daesung’s comfort, but for his own. Holding his brothers together felt like the only thing left he could do. Even when everything inside of him wanted to crumble too.

-

It wasn’t until the soft glow of early morning light spilled through the hospital window, casting a golden beam directly across his face, that Seunghyun stirred.

His body ached from sleeping upright. His limbs stiff. His heart heavier than ever.

At some point in the night, someone must’ve helped him into the chair beside Jiyong’s bed—probably a nurse, though he couldn’t remember. Everything after the sedation, after the screaming, after you, had blurred into a gray fog.

Jiyong was still asleep, head turned slightly toward the window, his face twisted in discomfort even in rest. Sweat clung to his temples. His brow was furrowed, like he was still fighting in his dreams.

Seunghyun stared at him, and something in his chest cracked open.

Tears burned behind his eyes.

He wanted to scream. To punch a wall until his knuckles split open. To cry until his throat gave out. To destroy something—anything. But none of it would matter.

It wouldn’t fix what happened.

It wouldn’t untangle the three of you.

And it wouldn’t bring you back.

So instead, he stood quietly, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and slipped out the door in search of caffeine.

-

The hospital café smelled like burnt beans and overworked baristas. A far cry from the cozy Sunday mornings the two of you used to share at that little corner shop downtown, the one with the mismatched mugs and the vinyl records always playing too loud.

But it would do.

“Coffee. Black, please,” Seunghyun said, eyes fixed on the counter.

He hesitated, the next words already leaving his mouth on instinct.

“And a car—”

His voice broke.

He swallowed hard, pain blooming in his chest as realization slammed into him like a freight train.

You’re not here.

“What was that?” the barista asked gently.

“Nothing,” Seunghyun whispered. “Just the one coffee. Thanks.” He slid a crumpled bill onto the counter with trembling fingers.

His eyes fell to the floor, and a memory swept over him like a tidal wave.

-

“Seunghyun! A black coffee? Really?” you teased, arms crossed as you leaned over the counter.

“I like it the way nature intended,” he grinned, taking a sip of the bitter drink.

“Add some flare, you grump.”

He arched his brow. “Alright, princess. What’ll it be?”

You turned to the barista with a dramatic flip of your hair. “Caramel macchiato. Two pumps vanilla. Extra caramel drizzle. And whipped cream.”

He’d laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not coffee, baby. That’s a dessert.”

“It’s called enjoying my beverage,” you smirked.

You took the first sip with a playful moan, tongue darting out to lick the whipped cream from the rim of the cup. “Mmmm. Try it.”

And without a word, he leaned down and kissed the caramel and cream from your lips, smiling as you giggled against him.

“Delicious,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours.

That smile—your smile—was etched into his soul forever.

-

“Sir?”

Seunghyun blinked, pulled violently back into the present. The barista held out the paper cup.

“Oh… yeah. Thanks.” He took the drink with numb fingers, tossing another bill into the tip jar before walking away.

As he turned the corner, a familiar voice called out to him.

“Hyung!”

Youngbae. He stood near a row of chairs, Daesung close behind him, both of them exhausted, grief lining their faces.

Seunghyun sipped the scalding coffee. It burned his tongue. His throat. But he didn’t care. The pain grounded him.

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, even though he already knew. He just needed to hear it again.

Youngbae’s expression softened. “She… she was a donor.”

Seunghyun nodded slowly. “They’re harvesting her organs,” he said, his voice hollow.

Youngbae could only nod.

“Is Jiyong awake?” Daesung asked gently.

“Not yet.” Seunghyun glanced at the hallway behind him. “But I’m going to wake him. Tell him everything.”

“Do you want us with you?” Youngbae asked, cautiously.

Seunghyun shook his head. “No. I need to handle this on my own.”

And with that, he turned away, letting the too-hot coffee sear his palm as he walked back toward the room where grief still waited.

-

Jiyong was already awake.

He sat upright in bed, tray of untouched breakfast in front of him, eyes fixed blankly on the skyline. The bruises on his face had darkened, the swelling around his eyes had gone down—but the tears remained. Silent and steady. Tracks of grief painted on his battered skin.

Seunghyun stepped in quietly and sat in the chair beside him once more. Jiyong didn’t turn to look. He didn’t have to. He knew.

Seunghyun studied him—his broken friend, his brother—and the silence sat heavy between them.

Then Jiyong spoke.

“Tell me what happened.”

Seunghyun’s breath caught. “Jiyong…”

“I need to hear it,” Jiyong said, his voice barely holding together. “I need you to say it out loud. I need you to make it real.”

Seunghyun’s heart shattered all over again.

He lowered his gaze. “She jumped.”

Jiyong flinched. A tiny, involuntary reaction that spoke volumes.

“Are you… are you sure?”

“She left us a letter.”

Jiyong nodded, lips trembling as he bit down hard, trying to keep himself from falling apart again. “Let’s read it,” he whispered.

And Seunghyun reached into his coat pocket, the crumpled paper warm from his body heat, heavy with everything you left behind.

-

Seunghyun, Jiyong…

I’m sorry. I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know how you feel right now—maybe you’re angry, maybe you hate me, maybe you’re numb. Maybe you’re relieved, and that’s okay too. I wouldn’t blame you.

But I want to believe… just a little part of you misses me.

I know what I’ve done feels unforgivable. I took the coward’s way out. I left without saying goodbye. And I know I’ve hurt you both more than I ever intended to.

But please, before you throw this letter away or tear it up in rage, just read it all the way through.

Because this one… this letter isn’t just a goodbye.

It’s a love letter.

To the two absolute loves of my life.

Seunghyun,

You were my calm. My safety. My home.

You loved me without asking me to change. You saw me when I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. You made the ugly parts of life feel bearable—and somehow, you made me feel beautiful. And I never knew that was possible before you.

When I was unraveling, you never once tried to fix me—you just stayed. Do you know how rare that is?

The long drives with no destination, the late-night art exhibits, the bookstore dates, the lazy Sundays that felt like something out of a movie… I’ll carry those with me. Forever. That was the closest I ever came to peace.

There were so many times I wanted to tell you the truth. To admit how much pain I was in. But I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t trust you—but because I did. Because I knew the moment I told you, you’d try to carry it for me. And I couldn’t let that weight touch your already-brilliant soul.

You gave me something I never thought I’d have in this life—a love that didn’t hurt. And I hope to God that someday, someone gives you the same.

Go to the museums. Lose yourself in brush strokes and empty space. Drink your bitter black coffee and pretend it tastes good. Laugh too loud at indie films. Keep being the man who makes the world gentler just by existing in it.

And if you ever feel me near you—it’s because I am.

I’ll always be watching you. Cheering for you.

Loving you.

Thank you for saving me so many times without even knowing it.

Jiyong,

It started messy, didn’t it? Screaming matches and eye rolls and hate-fueled hookups. But somewhere along the way, between the chaos and the chaos and the chaos—I fell for you.

God, I fell so hard.

You were the wildfire to Seunghyun’s ocean. You didn’t calm me—you lit me up. You pulled something alive out of me when I was already dimming. And even when we were at each other’s throats, I always knew… you cared.

You’re more than the mask you wear, Jiyong. You always have been.

You don’t have to be the leader every second of the day. You don’t always have to be perfect. You don’t always have to pretend you’re okay just to protect everyone else.

I saw you. The real you. The boy who loved too hard and never felt like he was enough. The boy who covered his sadness with charm and talent and glitter and eyeliner.

You were enough, Jiyong. You are enough. Even at your messiest. Even at your weakest.

And I wish I had the strength to stay long enough to prove that to you. To be the softness you tried to hide you needed. To kiss the bruises this world gave you and teach you that you’re worthy of gentleness too.

I’m sorry I didn’t stay.

But I’ll be watching. I’ll make sure this world gives you a break. And when you’re finally smiling again, when you're laughing and feeling like yourself... know I’m there. Cheering you on.

That’s me, loving you from wherever I am.

Thank you for setting me on fire.

Thank you for making me feel alive.

Thank you for being my beautiful disaster.

I hope the two of you take care of each other now.

There’s nothing to fight over. Nothing to prove.

The love I had for both of you was never a competition—it was infinite, in different ways. Two halves of one heart.

Let that bring you together, not tear you apart.

Take care of each other, please.

And when the nights get too heavy and you wonder if you could’ve saved me—just look up. I’ll be there. In the moonlight. In the lyrics. In the silence.

Always.

I love you both. With everything I had.I just ran out of ways to say it out loud.

Forever yours, Y/n ♡

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[moontabi]

MEAN GIRLS

apart of @gdinthehouseee’s brat series

kwon jiyong x fem! reader

summary: jiyong clings to the hope of saving you from yourself, even if you tear him apart again and again in the process.

warnings: angst, jealousy, swearing, drinking, drugs (one mention), smoking, sexual content/smut. just ouchies all around, self destructive reader, jiyong is painfully inlove with her anyway

a/n: so thrilled to be part of brat summer!! especially with one of my wonderful wives being the one hosting this event <3 be sure to check out the rest of the series!! there are so many talented writers involved

It’s 2 am when Jiyong finds you.

He’s been blowing up your phone for over an hour. Texts, calls, voicemails, one after another, all unanswered. The longer you stay silent, the more reckless he gets. He’s already looped half the city, stopping at every place you’ve mentioned in passing—clubs, bars, rooftops, all the places he hates. His fingers are frozen from the rain, hoodie soaked to the hem, phone slippery in his hand. His heart’s been beating in a slow, tight panic for so long it doesn’t even feel real anymore.

And then, there you are.

Propped against a graffitied brick wall, skin aglow under a flickering streetlamp. Your dress is white and nearly translucent in the rain, clinging to your body in a way that would’ve made his knees weak if he wasn’t so sick with worry. Your makeup’s ruined, mascara trailing in streaks and glitter still stubborn at the corners of your eyes but you don’t seem to care. You’re chain-smoking, eyelids heavy, laughing too easily at something some random guy is saying beside you. He’s holding your waist with a confidence that makes Jiyong’s throat close.

Jiyong sees red fast. Not the kind that burns, the kind that freezes. The kind that makes his lungs feel lined in ice.

He crosses the street in silence. He’s shaking, but not from the cold.

You don’t even notice him until he’s a breath away. You blink, unfocused, and your lips part with mild surprise.

“Oh…It’s you.” you murmur flatly, barely sparing him a glance as you hand the cigarette off to the stranger beside you.

He hates how that lands. As if he wasn’t supposed to show up. As if you’re not secretly glad he did.

“I’ve been calling you.”

You look down at your phone, screen dead in your hand. “Phone must’ve died,” you say with a shrug, disinterested. “You worry too much.”

Jiyong doesn’t answer. He just looks at you, really looks and his stomach twists. You’re tipsy. He can smell the vodka on your breath, see it in the glossy, unfocused haze behind your eyes, in the way your knees barely seem to hold your weight. There’s a lipstick stain on your lips, half smeared across your neck, a crooked flash of glitter still clinging to your collarbone. Your hair is damp, your dress straps are slipping and your skin is flushed. You look unbothered. Almost ethereal.

The fucking devil in a saint’s body.

He turns to the guy still standing beside you.

“I’ve got her.” Jiyong says, monotone.

The man backs off with an annoyed expression. “Didn’t realize she had a handler.”

Jiyong ignores him. He moves to your side and steadies your elbow when your heel catches on the curb.

You flinch at the contact, pulling away too sharply. “Fuck off, ‘m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Don’t start that bullshit with me, Kwon Jiyong.”

But he doesn’t stop, he still walks you to his car and opens the passenger door, hand hovering behind your back as he helps you into the car.

The drive is quiet. The city rolls past in watery streaks, streetlights casting pale flashes over your bare, rain-slicked thighs, the back of your hand, your tangled hair. You hum faintly along to the music playing through the speakers—something slow and melancholy. Lana Del Rey, to be exact. He’s kept a cd of hers in the car ever since you left it there, swearing to him it was essential. “A staple,” you told him one night. “Like a pack of ciggies or lip gloss — every car needs one.” Always Lana. A doomed girl, listening to another doomed girl, singing about doomed love.

You haven’t spoken in ten minutes, and the quiet between you presses heavy in the car. Jiyong’s knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel tighter, the tension in his shoulders stiffening. The silence gnaws at him.

“I was worried.” he says finally, his voice strained.

You exhale slowly, the breath fogging up the window beside you. “You always are.” you reply, voice dry but carrying an edge of tiredness.

“You vanished.”

Your eyes flicker briefly toward him, then drift back to the blurred city lights racing past. “I didn’t vanish. I went out.”

“Out doing what exactly? Drinking? Getting high? With strangers who don’t give a damn if you make it home or not?”

You tilt your head against the glass, the city bleeding color and movement on the other side. Your gaze stays fixed on the blur of lights, distant and unbothered. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

Those words hit hard—a familiar wound reopened with the same soft cruelty you always deliver. It’s a knife; dull from use, but still sharp enough to hurt.

He presses his tongue to his molars,“Guess not.”

A pause.

“You mad at me?” you ask, voice featherlight.

He doesn’t answer. Not right away.

He is. Of course he is.

He’s mad that you keep doing this. Mad that he keeps letting it happen.

Mad that you call him baby when you want something and Jiyong when you want distance.

But mostly, he’s mad at himself—for caring so much, for not being able to walk away, for making room in his chest where you only ever leave mess.

“I’m not mad, Y/n.” he says eventually.

It’s a lie. But one that Jiyong tells so well now, it barely stings to say it anymore.

Ever since you first started seeing each other, Jiyong always brought you flowers almost everytime he saw you.

Whether it was gas station or grocery store daisies, he always had them in hand along with that beautiful smile of his you refuse to admit that you love.

You always wrinkled your nose when he handed them over, pretended not to be phased. Even called them cheesy. But you kept them. Left them on your windowsill until they browned and curled. He thought it meant something. That maybe you didn’t hate the idea of being loved.

Now he wonders if you kept them out of guilt or if you just like watching special things decay.

When you reach your building, you still don’t move to get out.

The rain has slowed and there’s just the whisper of it now, brushing across the windshield in slow streaks.

“I’m sorry.” Jiyong says quietly. “For getting upset the other day.”

You say nothing.

“I was being…too much.”

Still nothing.

His voice tightens. “You were with another guy. You didn’t tell me where you were.”

You blink slowly, head still resting against the window. Your reflection stares back at you — glassy-eyed, lips slightly parted. You shrug one bare shoulder lazily.

“So?”

Jiyong breathes through his nostrils.

“So I didn’t know if something happened to you. I didn’t know if I should be worried…or jealous—” He stops himself, jaw tightening as he drops his voice.

“And I don’t even know if I have the right to be either. But I care, Y/n. I care so fucking much. And it hurts—watching you do this to yourself. Why won’t you just let me love you?”

That gets your attention. Your head turns, eyes finally meeting his—distant, but deliberate. Your tone is spiteful when you speak.

“You’re always trying to turn this into something it’s not, Jiyong.”

He lets out a hollow laugh, tired and bitter. “Then what the fuck is it, Y/n?”

You don’t say jackshit.

You just tilt your head back, lashes fluttering as your eyes close for a moment. When they open again, there’s something unreadable behind them—something hollow. Cruel.

It makes Jiyong want to scream.

The silence between you stretches. Then your voice cuts through it, sharp and soft all at once.

“You want me to be good for you but I’m not even good to myself, Ji.”

He swallows hard. “I’m not asking for perfect. I just want real. I want you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you really don’t.” You look back out the window. “You want the girl in the dress. The fucked-up party story. The one who lets you play the savior.”

He stares at you, throat tight.

“No I want you,” he says again, quieter this time. “The real you. Even when it hurts.”

A bitter smile ghosts across your lips. “Hurting’s the only thing I’m good at.”

You say it like it’s a joke. He hears it as a confession.

Silence floods the car, thick and heavy and wet with things that don’t get said.

Then you sigh and close your eyes again, done with the conversation.

But Jiyong? He just keeps looking at you. At the curve of your shoulder in the dim light, inhales the cigarette scent still lingering on your skin, wants to wipe the mascara smudge at the corner of your eye.

He wants to kiss you. To hold you.

“I just wish you’d let me in.”

“I let you in all the time,” you reply.

It’s not true and it is at the same time.

Sure you let him kiss you. Let him see you naked. Let him clean up your messes and read between the lines you never say out loud. But you never let him in. Not in the way that counts.

“You know thats not what I mean.” he whispers.

Your mouth opens. Closes.

And then you lean forward.

He doesn’t move. Just watches you come closer, eyes on your mouth.

It’s you who kisses him first. It always is.

Your lips are warm, your tongue tasting of bitter alcohol and desperation. He kisses you hard, pouring all his frustration and pain into it—but he’s still gentle with you. That’s all he could ever be. Both hands cradle your face, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, trying to memorize every shape, every sigh, every way you come apart.

You crawl into Jiyong’s lap, thighs tight against his sides, and he welcomes the weight.

He feels like a drowning man.

His breath hitches when you grind down against him, and his fingers slide down your arms.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” he gasps into your mouth.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The answer is in the way you roll your hips again, slower this time, and let your head fall to his shoulder.

He palms your thigh and pushes your dress higher. The lace of your underwear is soaked through, warm against the seam of his jeans. It’s maddening. And you’re moaning in his ear like this means something. Like you love him back, even if you’ll never say it.

“You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You hum softly, almost a laugh, breath warm against his ear. Your teeth catch the lobe and tug. “I know exactly what I do.”

And you do because he’s hard under you, twitching against the soaked fabric between you. You rock your hips again, slow and mean, watching his jaw go slack, his eyes gloss over.

He’s already unraveling.

“Y/n…” he breathes your name, pleading.

But you just reach between your rain soaked bodies, undoing his belt with slow, practiced fingers. He hisses when you palm him through his boxers hot, swollen, aching—and you drag the fabric down just enough to free him.

Your underwear stays on. Deliberately, you grind down again, the wet lace dragging over the length of him, and he shudders.

“Baby,” he groans, “please, I can’t—”

You love him like this. On edge. Shaking. Still trying to be good even as you ruin him.

“Hush,” you coo softly, almost sweet. “You said you wanted the real me, right?”

You shift just enough to pull the lace aside, and then you’re sinking down, the stretch slow and aching. Both of you gasp. His hands fly to your hips and grip tight.

You feel too good. Too warm. Too much.

“Oh, Ji…” you exhale, voice cracking slightly.

He can’t even form words—breath ragged, staring up at you. He’s never seen anything more devastatingly beautiful. His hands tremble where they hold you, trying to let you set the pace.

You start to move, slow and deep, hips rolling with bruising intent—and he groans, the sound raw. You feel every inch of him. He feels every drag of your walls around him.

It’s obscene how wet you are. How easy it is to ride him like this, soft whimpers leaving both your mouths, breaths getting faster.

“Ji,” you whisper his name again, dazed, dragging your nails down his chest through his drenched sweater. “Don’t fall in love with me.”

He chokes on a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. “Too fucking late.”

Your hand cups his cheek, guiding his face back up to yours, and you kiss him again sloppy, messy, full of every word you’ll never say to him.

The tension coils tighter and tighter, your thighs trembling, and he feels it in the way you clench around him. He’s close too, can barely hold back, hips jerking up to meet yours.

“I can’t be what you want me to.” you gasp, forehead pressed to his.

Your teeth graze his skin. You fuck with your eyes half-lidded and cruel and quiet.

He closes his eyes. “I don’t want you to be anything but here.”

You don’t respond, not with words. Just a soft sound in the back of your throat as your hips roll a few more times, Your lips brushing his cheek, his jaw, his adam’s apple.

You fuck him to forget. You swear it’s not love. But it’s something. As fucked up as it is—and Jiyong’s too starved to refuse it.

When you finally slide off his lap catching your breath and flushed you don’t say goodbye. You don’t say thank you for the ride home. You just fix your dress and step out into the night barefoot, heels in one hand and his spare jacket draped around your shoulders.

You don’t look back.

Jiyong stays frozen in the driver’s seat. The taste of you lingers in his mouth. His zipper’s still open. His hands are shaking.

He watches your silhouette disappear into the building. He knows this warmth in his chest won’t last.

You’ll break something else tomorrow. Maybe him again. Maybe yourself, if you could even do that anymore than you already have.

But for now, you’re home. You’re breathing.

And Jiyong? He’ll be back again.

Daisies in hand. Hope in his throat. Letting you break him down, one kiss, one silence, one smile at a time.

Because everything beautiful with you withered long before it could bloom.

But no matter how toxic, how wild or how damn impossible you are—he’s already too far gone.

Too in love with the mean girl to ever let go.

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[gdinthehouseee]

Neon Secrets - Part 2: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after management scolding the two of you for sneaking out, you were both distancing yourselves from each other. so what happens when ji-yong finally lets his jealousy boil over after seeing another male idol get close with you?

word count: 6534

tags: angst to fluff; miscommunication, jealousy, alcohol consumption

ao3 link | part 1

Tension was thick in the stark white meeting room. You were sitting with your hands folded in your lap, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts you couldn’t quite process. Ji-yong sat beside you, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found, replaced by a deafening silence. Across from the both of you, a manager from YGE paced back and forth, his face a picture of frustration.

“Do you two have any idea how this looks?” The manager snapped, his voice tight with anger. “A viral video of you two sneaking out, running to a car like you're just out for a joyride? What on earth were you thinking?”

You felt the weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could you say? What could you even explain? Neither of you had meant for it to go viral; all you wanted was to get away for a few minutes—nothing more, nothing less. But clearly, you had misjudged how public your little escape would be.

Ji-yong finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost measured. “We didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just... spontaneous. We didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Their manager shot him a sharp, incredulous look. “Spontaneous or not, this is an image nightmare. You two are supposed to be setting an example, not acting like rebellious teenagers!”

“We didn’t even see anyone. How could we have known?” Ji-yong continued.

“That’s even worse!” The manager blew up, throwing his arms up in anger. Naturally, it made you flinch and Ji-yong noticed from the corner of his eye. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, you could feel your stomach knotting the longer you sat in the hard, wooden chair. You had never been the type to make waves or step outside the rules. The reality of what you had done was sinking in. In the same way you could feel yourself sinking under the weight of the manager’s gaze, but it wasn’t the manager’s disappointment that stung the most. It was the quiet tension coming from Ji-yong. He hadn’t said much else since he’d sat down.

As the manager continued to scold the both of you, the words blurred together in the background. All you could focus on was Ji-yong, who had become uncharacteristically silent. His jaw was clenched, his eyes lowered to the table. You had always known him to be confident, even cocky at times, but now? Now he seemed like a stranger. He was angry, maybe even disappointed in you.

When the manager finally stopped pacing and shot you both one last glare, he spoke in a more controlled tone. “This better not happen again. Lay low. The last thing we need is more negative attention. We’re on a tight schedule now, so you two better stay out of trouble.”

Ji-yong nodded stiffly, but didn’t say a word. The manager gave one last disappointed look before walking out of the room, leaving the two of you in suffocating silence.

The door clicked shut, and you just couldn’t bear it anymore. You glanced over at Ji-yong, expecting him to say something, but he just sat there, his face unreadable. You tried to meet his eyes, but he was looking anywhere but at you. This can’t be good.

Your chest tightened. This wasn’t just about the video anymore. This was about the distance between the two of you that had grown in the past few days—the distance neither of you could quite explain. He had always been so easy to talk to, so carefree, but now... he was silent, distant, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m... I’m sorry, Ji. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t want to get us into trouble.”

He didn’t respond, and that silence was louder than anything. Your heart sank, and a heavy, sickly feeling settled in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time you’d gotten into trouble, but this felt different. This wasn’t right: it felt like something was broken. 

Assuming he was mad at you, you pulled your hands back and looked away, feeling the need to distance yourself. You definitely didn’t want to make things worse, and if he was angry, it would be better to give him space.

Without saying another word, you stood up from your chair. “I think... I think I’ll go,” you mumbled, before turning and walking toward the door. You heard Ji-yong shift in his seat but didn’t wait to see if he was going to say anything.

You were already out the door before you had time to second-guess herself.

As the door clicked shut behind you, Ji-yong stayed rooted to his seat, his body frozen in place. The silence in the room was truly deafening now, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He had barely registered the manager’s words, too focused on the fact that you had distanced yourself from him—you had turned away without a second glance.

It was all his fault. He had wanted to say something, to speak up and tell the manager off for scolding you and making you flinch like that, but he couldn’t find the words. He was angry, yes, but not at you. It was never at you. He was angry at himself. Angry at the way he had let this situation spiral out of control, angry at how helpless he felt. He had been watching you from the corner of his eye, watching your shoulders tighten as the manager yelled at you, and it was eating him up inside.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even comfort you. He wanted to tell you how much he hated seeing you like this, how much it hurt him that you were apologizing for something that wasn’t even your fault. He wanted to reach out and say it didn’t matter what anyone else thought—he didn’t care about the viral video, the managers, or the consequences. All he cared about was you.

But he hadn’t said any of that. He hadn’t said a word. He had sat there in silence, fuming at the injustice of it all, and then watched you walk away.

Ji-yong ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table. The anger he felt was like a knot in his chest, a mix of frustration at himself and something else—something deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge until now.

He was angry because he wanted nothing more than to tell you how he felt. How much he admired you, how much he cared for you, how he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. Every time he tried to open his mouth, the words caught in his throat. It felt too risky, too vulnerable. What if he ruined everything between the two of you? What if telling you how he really felt only pushed you away even more?

He exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. He had wanted to keep things light, to pretend that everything was easy and carefree. But now... now he couldn’t deny it. There was something real between you two, something that had been building long before that night you snuck out together. And it was becoming impossible to ignore.

But he had waited too long. He had waited until the damage was done, until the silence between you had grown so thick that he didn’t know how to break it. Now, he was alone with his regrets, and all he could do was watch as the distance continued to widen. He wanted to chase after you, to tell you everything he had been holding back, but he couldn’t. He had already messed this up.

And maybe it was already too late.

The silence in your own room was suffocating. Staring at your phone, you sat on your bed, but your mind was elsewhere—lost in a whirlwind of guilt and uncertainty. Ever since that night, you had avoided Ji-yong, unable to shake the feeling that you had messed everything up.

You hadn’t seen him at all since that meeting, and honestly, it felt like the universe was conspiring to keep you apart. He hadn’t sought you out. And you? You couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Every time you thought about talking to him, the overwhelming fear of rejection crept in. What if he was angry with you? What if he didn’t want to talk at all? What if he never wanted to see you again?

The thought made your stomach twist, and you felt the familiar pang of regret.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, but you didn’t move to check it. Then, there was a soft knock at the door before it slowly opened, and Taeyang’s head peeked inside. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’ve been in here for a while. Everything okay?”

You didn’t have the words to respond right away. Your chest felt like it might close in on itself, and the thought of speaking to anyone about what was going on inside you felt too vulnerable for your liking. 

“I’m fine,” you said finally. Despite the way your voice was shaking, as if you weren’t just trying to convince him. 

Taeyang stepped inside and closed the door behind him, a slight frown on his face as he sat down next to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder as a casual, reassuring gesture. “You sure? You’re not really acting like yourself lately, and it’s hard to ignore. You’ve been avoiding everyone, especially Ji-yong.”

You bit her lip, looking away from him as your mind raced. The thought of Ji-yong made your heart ache, but there was something about it all that felt too complicated to resolve.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve messed everything up, Taeyang. Everyone here knows we both got in trouble with management, and I’m sure he’s upset with me for making him part of this mess.”

He sighed, a touch of frustration creeping into his tone. “You’re wrong, you know that? Ji-yong’s not angry at you. He’s just… he’s been trying to figure out how to deal with all this, just like you have.”

Unconvinced, you shook your head. “But he’s been avoiding me. I’m sure he regrets everything that happened. And now it’s like… everything is different. He probably doesn’t even like me anymore.”

There was a pause before Taeyang spoke again, softer this time. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You don’t know that for sure. If you keep avoiding him, it’ll only make things worse. You have to talk to him, and you have to stop assuming everything’s falling apart before you even try.”

Just as you were about to respond, the door opened again, and a manager stepped inside, clipboard and various papers in hand.

“Ah, good, you’re in here,” she began. “I’ve got some news for you. You and the girls are scheduled for a variety show tomorrow. You’ll need to be ready for the filming in the morning. I’ll send someone to get you for makeup and wardrobe early, so don’t be late.”

The manager didn’t wait for a response, nodding at Taeyang before leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, and for a long moment, you sat in silence.

“Good to know you’re not blacklisted from the media, I guess.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Tomorrow,” you murmured to yourself, still processing what the manager had said. Your thoughts were swirling, but ideas started to piece together in your mind like clockwork. 

You looked at Taeyang, seeming more uplifted now. “Okay, I think I know what I’m going to do.”

Taeyang raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “What’s that?”

“I’ll talk to Ji-yong after the variety show,” you said, your voice more confident than it had been in days. “I won’t run away from it anymore. But… I’ll do it after we’ve gotten through the show. Once everything settles down, I’ll find him, and we’ll talk. I won’t leave it hanging any longer.”

He gave you a small, approving smile. “I think that’s a good plan. Just don’t wait too long, okay? And don’t let fear keep you from talking to him. It’ll only make things harder if you keep avoiding it.”

“I won’t,” you promised, feeling a weight lift off your chest. “Thank you, Taeyang. I needed to hear that.”

He patted your shoulder again, standing up to leave. “I’m glad I could help. Remember, we’re all rooting for you. And, hey. Things are gonna go better than you might think.” He gave you a friendly wink and dipped out of the room. Was there something else he hadn’t shared with you on purpose? 

As the door clicked shut behind him, you sat for a moment, your heart still racing. Tomorrow, everything will change. You would face Ji-yong, have that conversation, and—hopefully—clear the air. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was the first step.

And for the first time in days, you felt like you finally had control over something.

The next morning, you stood in front of your mirror, applying light makeup in a daze. Naturally, your mind kept drifting back to the night the video had gone viral—the way it spread like wildfire across social media, the comments, the hashtags, the endless reposts. Everywhere you looked, there it was: a short clip of you and Ji-yong running to the car, pure happiness in your eyes, the excitement of your shared secret clear on your faces. To the world, it was just an innocent moment of two idols sneaking out for a bit of fun. But to you, it was the beginning of something much deeper.

You had been trying to avoid looking at the video, but no matter where you turned, there it was—fan edits popping up on your feed, reposted by fans who were obsessed with the idea of you and Ji-yong together. The captions ranged from lighthearted teasing to fans sharing their hope for you to “find happiness with him,” all with colorful hearts and bright emojis filling the comments.

But it was hard to ignore how everything felt so different now. The more you scrolled through those edits, the more the weight of it all sank in. You could feel the eyes of the world on you. In every edit, Ji-yong looked so carefree, so happy—something you hadn’t seen in days. Meanwhile, you felt the typical tightness in your chest, the shame that you’d somehow ruined whatever was between the two of you. Every comment that supported this ship felt like a reminder of the mess you had made.

As the final edit appeared—a slowed-down clip of the moment with soft background music—you quickly closed your phone, fingers trembling. There was no denying it anymore. This was bigger than just you and Ji-yong. The world had their eyes on both of you now, and the weight of it was suffocating.

When the manager from last night reappeared in your room to collect you, the other members of your group behind her, you got up with a newfound determination and followed them down to the car, desperately trying to ignore the way the boys watched you leave.

You had thrown yourself into your work all day today, your heart racing as the clock ticked down the time until you were ready to finally talk to Ji-yong again. With full transparency and honesty. What’s the worst that could happen?

You had barely thought about the hot, new male idol that was sitting a little too close to you during the shoot. 

Later that night, the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV screen the only source of light. Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang were scattered across the couch and chairs, lazily flipping through channels as they waited for the variety show to start.

Ji-yong sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed as he stared at the television screen. When today’s episode had begun playing, Seunghyun, Taeyang, and Daesung were watching with amused expressions, while Ji-yong barely paid attention to anything but you.

There you were, sitting among your group members, your smile as bright as ever—but he could see it. The difference. The way it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way you laughed at the host’s jokes but it seemed just a little too rehearsed.

“She looks so good,” Daesung commented casually, but his eyes flicked toward Ji-yong with curiosity. “Don’t you think?”

Ji-yong didn’t respond. He just tightened his jaw, gripping his own arm to keep himself still as the scene changed—only for his stomach to drop when the male idol group appeared on screen, taking their seats beside you.

He sat on the edge of the couch, his posture rigid, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. His gaze was fixed on the screen, but there was no mistaking the way his jaw clenched whenever the camera cut to the reader on the show. The others noticed immediately, exchanging glances.

“Hey, Ji,” Seunghyun said, leaning back, trying to get his attention. “You okay?”

Ji-yong didn’t respond again. His eyes were still on the screen, but his lips pressed together in a thin line and barely blinking.

The camera zoomed in on you, showing a clip of you laughing with one of the male idols from the opposite group. The guy was leaning in a little too close, making you laugh with something he said.

Daesung noticed Ji-yong’s stiff posture, his eyes narrowing at the screen. He nudged Taeyang with his elbow. “Uh-oh. Someone’s jealous.”

Taeyang grinned but said nothing, watching as Ji-yong’s expression darkened.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow. “You know, he hasn’t said a word since the show started. Something’s up.”

“I’m fine,” Ji-yong muttered, his gaze never leaving the screen.

“Uh-huh.” Seunghyun didn’t believe him for a second. “Are you sure about that?”

He opted to remain silent, even though his leg began bouncing with his anxiety truly kicking in, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the armrest.

On-screen, the man put his arm around your shoulder, and you smiled up at him in a way that made Ji-yong’s chest tighten.

Taeyang leaned forward, raising his voice a little. “You’re really gonna sit here and act like you don’t care?”

Ji-yong’s gaze flicked to him briefly before going back to the screen. “I don’t,” he said flatly. “It’s just a variety show.”

“You’ve been pretty quiet, man. What’s going on?” Seunghyun leaned forward.

Daesung chuckled softly. “Yeah, Ji, you’re looking like you might implode.”

Ji-yong clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as the male idol leaned even closer to the reader, his fingers brushing against her arm.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, though he couldn’t even convince himself of that.

Taeyang took a moment to observe his friend before glancing at the others. “You know, you could use a break. You’ve been watching this show and stewing in your thoughts all night.”

Ji-yong shot him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

Taeyang stood up, stretching his arms out. “Like Daesung just said, you’ve got that ‘about to blow up’ look, man. How about we head out for a bit? Get some air, clear your head?”

“I like that idea. You’re clearly not gonna calm down until you get this off your mind.” Seunghyun agreed.

Taeyang nodded, his expression turning more serious before he kept talking. “And once you’re not so wound up, we can help you sort things out, Ji. We’ll be here to back you up.”

He hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking back to the TV, where you were now smiling at the man, your hand resting on his arm. Ji-yong felt sick to his stomach.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off, but the way his friends were watching him, the concern in their eyes, made him finally sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang exchanged proud looks.

“Great,” Taeyang said, clapping his hands together. “Get your coat, Ji. Let’s get you out of this funk.”

Ji-yong stood, brushing off his jacket. As they left the room, his stomach churned again. But maybe, just maybe, getting out of his head for a bit was what he needed to figure out how to handle what was building up inside him. Finally, figure out how to break the silence between the two of you.

“We’ll help you with this situation when you’re ready, man. But you need to clear your mind first.” Seunghyun told him softly, he hated seeing his best friend so worked up over something that could have been easily fixed if it weren’t for his anxiety and the miscommunication that happened between the two of you. Ji-yong didn’t respond, but he appreciated it more than he let on.

Turns out, the club had been exactly what Ji-yong needed—at least, for a little while.

With the bass thrumming through his chest and a drink in his hand, he felt lighter than he had in days. The guys had been right—being out, laughing, and letting loose was enough to clear his mind, even if just temporarily. He wasn’t thinking about the variety show, the viral video, or the way you had been avoiding him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was just Ji-yong, out with his best friends, not weighed down by the mess in his head.

He laughed as Daesung dramatically butchered the lyrics to the song playing, and he clinked glasses with Seunghyun, who smirked over the rim of his drink. Even Taeyang, who had been keeping a careful eye on him all night, finally seemed satisfied that Ji-yong wasn’t sulking anymore. For a moment, everything felt fine.

And then, it didn’t.

The second he turned toward the entrance, his heart jumped.

You.

You had just walked in, looking effortlessly stunning, your eyes quickly scanning over the crowd as you and your group made your way inside. Ji-yong felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest, a natural reaction he could never seem to control when it came to you. But just as quickly as it came, that warmth turned cold.

Right beside you, close enough that your arms nearly brushed, was him. 

Ji-yong’s grip on his drink tightened as he watched the same male idol from the variety show lean in, saying something in your ear. You laughed—really laughed—like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

His night had just gone from the best he’d had in a while to completely ruined. Ji-yong’s stomach twisted. Up close, it was so much worse.

He could see everything now—the way the man leaned in just enough that your shoulders touched, the way he spoke to you with an easy confidence. But what made his heart sink the most was you. You weren’t brushing the guy off. You weren’t shifting away or rolling your eyes like you sometimes did when she was uninterested. You were smiling, laughing like you were actually enjoying his company. And for the first time, Ji-yong felt something ugly crawl up his spine. Was this what you wanted? Was this why you had been avoiding him? While he had been sitting around, overthinking, missing you, regretting every moment of silence between them, had you already moved on? His fingers curled into fists at his sides, an unfamiliar bitterness rising in his throat. He wanted to look away, wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t stop wishing that, just once, you would look up—look at him—and give him a sign that he hadn’t already lost you.

Taeyang must have noticed the shift because he sighed beside him. “Ji—”

“I’m fine,” Ji-yong muttered, downing the rest of his drink. But even he didn’t believe that. For the first time since you had started avoiding each other, he wasn’t wondering whether you were upset over him. Now, he was wondering if maybe you weren’t upset at all. And he hated how much that possibility made his chest ache.

“You’ve been staring at her for the past ten minutes,” Seunghyun said, swirling the alcohol in his glass. “Not very subtle, Ji.”

Daesung let out a low whistle. “Look at that. She’s laughing. At his joke.” He nudged Taeyang with his elbow, giving each other knowing, wary looks before looking back at Ji-yong. “That’s gotta sting.”

Ji-yong tore his gaze away long enough to shoot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He exhaled sharply, downed another drink, and set his glass down with a clink. “You know what?” He pushed himself up from the booth. “I’m done with this.”

Taeyang raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly are you planning to do?”

Ji-yong ignored him, already striding towards you.

The moment he approached, the male idol’s gaze lifted, eyes widening in recognition. “Oh, wow—you’re G-Dragon.” Ji-yong barely had time to speak before the guy extended a hand, grinning. “I’m a huge fan. Your music’s been a big inspiration to me.”

You tensed beside him, clearly picking up on Ji-yong’s mood shift. Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just the fact that he was here—it was the way he looked. His usual sharp confidence was there, but beneath it, something was off. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unwavering and intense, but there was a slight unsteadiness in his steps, the telltale looseness in his posture that only came when he’d had too much to drink. Had he been drinking because of you? You hadn’t spoken to him in days, especially convincing yourself he was mad at you, that you had ruined things between the two of you. But now, standing under the flashing lights, you could feel the weight of his gaze like a burning imprint on your skin. He barely spared a glance at the idol beside her, his focus entirely on you, and for a second, the rest of the club faded into background noise. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Why was he looking at you like that? And why did it feel like, even in a crowded room, he was the only one who could make you feel like this?

After zoning out for a second, you noticed Ji-yong took the handshake, but his grip was too firm, his expression unreadable. “That’s nice,” he said coolly. His gaze flicked to you, then back to the guy. “But I think you’re getting a little too comfortable with what’s mine.”

The male idol blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“What?” You couldn’t help but blurt it out. 

But before you could say anything else, Ji-yong moved without thinking, casually draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough to make his point clear.

The male idol awkwardly glanced between you. “Uh—I’ll catch you later,” he mumbled before making a quick exit.

Ji-yong smirked, watching him leave. Good.

But when he turned back to you, your expression was far from pleased. You stepped out of his grasp. “What the hell was that?”

Ji-yong shrugged. “Just making sure he knows his place.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “His place? You don’t get to do that, Ji-yong. You don’t get to act like—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

“No, go on,” he said, tilting his head. “Act like what?”

Like you care. Like you still want me.

You huffed, clearly not willing to have this conversation here. Instead, you grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the exit.

Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang had been watching the whole thing unfold from their booth, amusement clear on their faces.

“Well,” Taeyang said, raising his drink. “This just got interesting.”

“Should we follow?” Daesung asked.

Seunghyun smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

By the time you reached outside, the cool night air did little to calm the heat between Ji-yong and you. The moment you were alone, you turned to face him, arms crossed, frustration clear in your expression.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said. “You have no right to get jealous over who I talk to.”

He scoffed. “Jealous? You think I’m jealous of him?”

“Weren’t you?” You challenged. “Because that’s sure what it looked like.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

Ji-yong stepped closer, his voice lower this time. “That I don’t like seeing you with him. That I hate the way he looks at you, the way you smile at him—like he actually has a chance.”

You froze. The words hung in the air between them, too heavy to ignore.

But he wasn’t done.

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair as his frustration spilled over. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you act like I don’t exist, like what we had—what we have—doesn’t mean anything?” His voice wavered slightly, and for a second, he looked almost exhausted, like holding everything in had been weighing him down for too long. “I tried to stay away, I really did. I told myself that if you needed space, I’d give it to you. But then I see you with him, and it’s like—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. “It’s like I was stupid for ever thinking I could just let you go.”

Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to take a step back. “Ji-yong, you’re drunk,” you said, shaking your head. “You don’t mean any of this.”

His expression hardened instantly. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice firm. “Don’t act like this is just the alcohol talking.”

You hesitated, forcing yourself to really look at him. He was tipsy, sure—you could tell from the way his movements were a little too loose, the way his emotions weren’t as carefully controlled as usual. But his eyes—his eyes were clear. Sharp with frustration, dark with something deeper. The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up.

He meant it. Every single word. And that terrified you. 

So why could you practically hear your heartbeat? Your heart fluttered at the possibility of finally getting him back. The truth was, there had never been anyone else. Not even for a second. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that keeping your distance from Ji-yong was the right thing to do, no matter how much you told yourself he was probably mad at you, that you had ruined things, it had never changed one simple fact—you were in love with him. You had been for longer than you were willing to admit, and nothing—not time, not silence, not even the presence of someone else—had ever come close to changing that. The male idol had been nothing more than a distraction, a way to pretend, just for a moment, that you weren’t still aching for Ji-yong. But standing here now, with him looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered, you knew there was no more running from it. There had never been another option. It had always been him.

Ji-yong could feel eyes on them. He glanced to the side and spotted the rest of the members from your respective groups watching from just outside the club entrance. Fantastic.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck it.”

Then, before you could react, he closed the distance between you.

An excited gasp echoed from the group behind them, followed by Daesung muttering, “Oh my god.”

Ji-yong didn’t care.

The moment your lips met, the rest of the world faded—the club music, the street noise, everything. It was just you. The way you tensed for half a second, like you couldn’t believe this was really happening, before you gave in, melting into him like you had been waiting for this all along. The way your breath hitched against his lips, your fingers instinctively gripping his jacket as if you were afraid he might slip away. 

His hands were steady, one cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as if memorizing the shape of you, the other settling at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips were warm, urgent but unhurried, like he wanted to take his time, like he had been starving for this but was determined to savor every second. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and the heat that shot through you made your knees weaken. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a confession, a plea, an apology, a promise all at once. And as your heart pounded against your ribs, matching the wild rhythm of his, you knew—there was no going back now.

When he finally pulled away, he searched your eyes, waiting for a reaction. You just stood there, lips parted, heartbeat hammering in your chest. Their groups stood frozen in shock, waiting for what would happen next.

Ji-yong swallowed hard. “Say something.”

Would you push him away? Would you yell at him? Would you—

Hands still gripping his jacket, you pulled him back in. 

The kiss lingers, but only for a moment longer than either of you intended. It feels like time slows down—neither of you rushing to pull away, as if savoring the shift in everything. Ji-yong's hand still rests at your waist, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. His other hand, however, seems unsure of where to go, hovering for a second before gently cupping your cheek.

You both pull away just slightly, your faces still close, and Ji-yong’s breath comes a little heavier than before. His eyes flicker to your lips, like he’s thinking about kissing you again, but he hesitates.

"Well," he says with a playful grin, "that was definitely not in the plan."

You can’t help but laugh, a little breathless, still trying to process everything. "Yeah, you don’t exactly follow instructions, do you?" You tease, giving him a playful shove on the chest.

He chuckles, taking a step back, but his eyes never leave yours. “Hey, it wasn’t just my fault. You were kissing me back, too,” he says, raising an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think we’re both in this mess together now.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You really know how to make everything sound like it’s my fault, don’t you?”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts here. You're the one who keeps pulling me in. What am I supposed to do, huh?”

“You could’ve, I don’t know, not kissed me like that,” you say with a smirk and your arms crossed, playing along.

“What can I say? I’m a man of action.” 

“Clearly.”

“But seriously though…” he began, taking on a more serious tone again. “I don’t think either of us can pretend like we don’t have something going on between us. Something real.” 

"I thought you were mad at me," you admit quietly, still unsure of how to process everything that's happened. “You’ve barely said anything to me since... well, since everything with management.”

His expression softens. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “I was never mad. I was just... confused. And scared. I didn't know how to deal with what I was feeling. And I didn't want to mess things up.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful side-eye. "And kissing me like that just helps the confusion, huh?"

Ji-yong smirks, but it’s playful, the tension between you both easing. “Hey, if I had known that’s how you’d react, I would’ve done it sooner.” He winks at you, his voice teasing again.

You laugh, finally feeling like things are normal again. The weight of this situation feels a little lighter now, the tension slipping away with every teasing word. “You’re such a troublemaker,” you say, shaking your head but still smiling.

“Guilty as charged,” he replies with a wink. Back to his usual confidence, it seems. “But I think you like it.”

You certainly can’t argue with that.

“So, uh… what now?” You chuckled a little nervously, unable to ignore the way your heart was still pounding.

His smile widens, but this time, there’s no teasing in it. Just sincerity. He takes a step forward, his presence commanding as he gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. “Now… we figure this out, together,” he says softly, voice low. “No more running away.”

“Promise?” You held out your pinky, giving him a shy smile. 

“You’re adorable.” He laughed, before hooking his own pinky around yours. “Promise.” 

The two of you share another kiss, a quicker and lighter one this time, as if to solidify the promise. Your friends standing a little way from you almost forgot about until Taeyang piped up.

“Finally!” 

The others, who had been watching quietly, burst into laughter. Seung-hyun shakes his head. “Took you long enough. I was wondering if you two were ever going to stop pretending.”

“Right?” Daesung added, grinning ear to ear. “You’ve been dancing around each other for months, and all it took was a pinky promise?”

The two of you decide to join your group, hand in hand, and Ji-yong rolls his eyes but his smile betrays him. “You’re all just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Seung-hyun scoffs. “Nah, we’re just happy you two finally figured it out. Took you both long enough to stop being idiots.”

“Could’ve done this a lot sooner,” Taeyang teases, crossing his arms with a smirk. “We’d have saved you both a lot of trouble.”

You roll your eyes but can't suppress your smile. Ji-yong, now fully leaning into the teasing, shoots back, “Yeah, well, now that it’s done, are you guys finally done with your comments?”

“Of course not,” Daesung chimes in, laughing. “You two just gave us the best material for at least a week of teasing!”

One of the girls from your group chuckles and shakes her head. “I swear, the way you two acted around each other was like watching a soap opera. But I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened.”

Another girl smirks and adds, “We should’ve known. You two have been glaring at each other like you're ready to pounce for ages.”

You blush, feeling your face heat up. “We weren’t glaring…”

“You were,” the first girl teases with a playful grin. “And it was adorable.”

“Could’ve saved us the suspense if you’d just kissed sooner,” the third girl laughs, nudging you gently. “We’ve been waiting for that moment.”

Ji-yong laughs, a bit sheepish but still confident. “Guess I’ll just have to get used to it, huh?”

“I think we all will,” you respond, laughing as you nudge him back.

The guys continue to joke, but it’s clear that despite the teasing, the air around you both feels lighter. For the first time, you're not just surrounded by the laughter of your friends; you're wrapped up in a sense of belonging, of something real—and you're excited to see where it goes.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t

[jiyongsangel]

Track 03: Sympathy is a knife

Brat summer writing event!

Summary: you’re Jiyongs ex and you find out he’s got a new girlfriend and you can’t help but always compare yourself to her.

Warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, Self hatred, breakup, heartbreak, insecurities, cheating (Ji on his new partner).

A/n: my part of the brat summer writing event! Thank yall so much for having me. I will warn you this will not be as good as any of the others on here because it was rushed and smut is my strong point NOT angst (sorryyy🙏💔). Anyways please go and support these writers, they’re extraordinary.

A/n edit: this was not meant to be a smut fic and I’m completely aware it goes of plot. Just go with it.

You didn’t expect him to move on so fast, especially when your heart still so desperately ached for him. You often laid in bed, bundled in the same sheets you and him shared so many memories in. You hadn’t changed them since he moved out, you knew it was probably seen as disgusting but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The faint lingering scent of his cologne on the expensive sheets was the only thing getting you to sleep at night.

You stared up at the ceiling wondering where it all went wrong, wondering if his mind was filled with thoughts of you like yours was of him. You had hopes that maybe he would come crawling back to you. even if he for some reason looked happier than ever without you.

That hope lasted, until it didn’t. Of course dispatch being their usual selves can’t give idols a single ounce of privacy. So that’s how you found out Jiyong had found a new girl. She was a pretty model, way prettier than you were in your eyes. She was perfect. Slim figure, killer style, prettiest features. You couldn’t help but almost feel happy for him. I mean he was doing so much better probably because he’d found someone a hell of a lot better than you.

You decided to make it worse for yourself and scroll through the pictures dispatch had uploaded. They were caught kissing, holding hands, going on cozy dates. Just like he used to do with you, you didn’t even realise you were crying until a tear had slid of off your face and onto your phone. You quickly wiped it and threw your phone onto the other side of your bed and tried to fall asleep.

From then you completely spiralled. Your friends noticed and tried to tell you that you were enough and Jiyong didn’t know what he lost. But that voice in your head told you that he knew exactly what he lost and he’s probably happy about it. Probably laughing with his new girl at old photos of you and picking apart every.single.flaw. You don’t say anything about it though, you just smile and nod blinking back tears. You need the fucking sympathy.

The voices in your head were there constantly. Every time you woke up the first thing you’d think about is them. How he was probably waking up tangled together with a girl who is everything you could never be. Everytime you looked in the mirror you saw every single flaw stand out like it was highlighted in bright yellow, constantly comparing yourself to her. The wild voices in your head were slowly but surely tearing you apart.

Everyone was worried about you but you didn’t give a fuck. In your head this was normal, you deserved to feel like this. Every single drop of sympathy you received, you told yourself was a lie, it felt like a fucking knife being stabbed into your heart over and over again. You couldn’t even be her if you tried and it fucking hurt, you were at constant war with your head and it felt never ending. It was so so exhausting.

Your friends had tried to be nice and bought you tickets to Jiyongs first show in Seoul. You weren’t going to go but you were practically dragged. You walked into the venue, hat low, sunglasses covering your eyes so no photographers saw you. You knew what they were like. If they saw you at Jiyongs show they’d assume you were back together or something and you didn’t want to ruin his new relationship Infact you didn’t even want him to see you tonight. You were too insecure now, you felt disgusting compared to his new girl.

You had actually forgotten about everything going on in your head for awhile. The atmosphere was brilliant, energetic crowd, beautiful vocals of course from Jiyong and pretty lights. It was all good until you decided to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and you saw her. The girl who had unknowingly made your life hell. The girl who had completely ruined your confidence even though she didnt even know you. The girl who had been taking over your brain so much, that if anyone could see inside your head they’d probably think you were in love with her.

She walked straight past you, and you were glad. You wouldnt even know what to do with yourself if she had spoken to you. Break down crying? Act nice? You had no clue. Your eyes lingered on her as she walked off, beautiful smile plastered on her Perfect face. God it was like she was made of angel dust. You watched as she headed off to go backstage.

Your stomach turned. That was you once upon a time, happily chatting with security as they led you to see your sweaty, tired but none the less perfect boyfriend after he’d finished performing. And now you were so easily replaced, it almost felt like someone was ripping out your insides just at the thought of it.

You pulled out a pack of cigarettes and leaned against the cold hard wall, lighting the blunt and taking a long drag. As you exhaled you heard footsteps, you thought it was security coming because you were smoking and that wasn’t allowed in the venue. But when you looked up and saw Jiyong, you were shocked.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that but I’m not going to stop you” he said, voice kind of rough after performing but still held that softness that it always had.

You didn’t even know what to say. It had been ages since you and him last spoke and you expected him to be backstage with his girl.

“Shouldn’t you be spending time with your girlfriend? I just saw her go backstage.” Your voice was shaky half because of the cold and half because you were so nervous it was almost humiliating.

“You were always observant.” He said leaning back against the wall next to you. “But no, that’s actually the reason I’m out here because she’s complaining I don’t spend enough time with her.”

He didn’t sound bothered about it at all which concerned you because he would always make enough time for you back when you two were dating.

“So instead of fixing that, you’re out here with your ex? Very convenient.” You scoffed but you weren’t mad, how could you be?

He watched as you took another drag, almost mesmerised.

“Yeah no I actually came out here to find you, I heard you were coming.” He gently took your jaw making you look up at him.

Your breath hitched as his hand made contact with your skin, it felt so right yet so wrong. You leaned closer testing the waters and he smirked cockily.

“So eager hm?” He murmured before connecting his lips with yours. You shivered as he did so, all of the feelings rushing back to you. A wave of nostalgia hit you, he still tasted the same after all of this time. Like mint and cigarettes.

You jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Are you okay with this, Jagi?” His voice was raspy as he said it making you blush. You nodded as you reconnected your lips with his.

He slips a hand under your shirt, his cold ring-decorated fingers making you shiver. You felt him growing hard between your things and every worry about the situation in your head disappears.

When you lifted your arms up he took it as a signal to pull off the shirt you were wearing. His eyes gaze over you like he’d been waiting for this moment, it was making you shudder.

His fingers slide around to the clasp of your bra and he slides it off, your breasts bouncing as he does so. He licks his lips before flicking it over your already hardened nipple. He kisses all of the way up your chest and neck before stopping at your parted mouth.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He whispers, breath hot on your lips. “But I just can’t help myself around you.”

This was the most content you’ve felt since the breakup. It was pathetic really but you had missed this. His lips met yours again, his tongue carefully exploring your mouth while your hips started grinding against him.

“Fuck Jagi I’m not going to last if you keep doing that to me.” His voice was strained and it was so fucking hot.

Your hand reached between you both to hold him through his pants that he had worn on stage. He let out a throaty moan as you rubbed him up and down.

He sets you down and works his way down your body, kissing and licking every part until his mouth stopped at the waistband of your shorts. He slid them off and smirked when he saw the wetness on your panties.

“We won’t be needing these.” He chuckled. He then slid off the Lace material, fingers tickling.

As soon as his mouth is on you, your back arching and you grinded onto his face. You let out desperate needy cries as he took his time sucking your aching, throbbing clit into his mouth. The pleasure jolts through your body and he lets out a little grumble that you felt vibrate on your pussy as his tongue worked its way up your folds making you cry his name out.

You thought he would have relented by now due to how much you were squirming and moaning, but it was not. He secured his arms around your legs, pinning you in position, holding onto you tighter when the overstimulation causes you to start squirming. Watching him bury his face in your pussy, devouring you and moaning happily after so long was too much.

“One more baby.” He murmured into your pink flesh.

And uninevitabley your body does exactly what he asks.

“That’s a good girl.” He cooed before climbing back up your body and brushed out sweat-dampened hair from your forehead. Your sweaty palms struggled to un do his pants but when you finally did you pushed his boxers down watching his hardened cock spring free, you moved your hand up and down and watched him as he groaned in pleasure and his eyes rolling back into his head.

You tasted yourself as you pulled him back in for a slow gentle kiss while also feeling him thrusting it into your hand.

“I dont have a condom with me, it’s not something I’d usually bring to me to a performance.” He said with a chuckle. “I hope you don’t mind or we don’t have to do it if you don’t feel comfy without.”

You shook your head softly, “no I don’t mind Ji.” The nickname still slipping out after all this time.

He lines himself up with your entrance and gently slid himself in. You had had one or two hookups since you and Jiyong broke up but nothing too serious and this was ten times more intense. You feel every bit of him inside of you.

He panted into your shoulder as he adjusted to being inside of you after all of this time.

“Fuck y/n you feel so good, all wet and ready for me.” His voice was deep and needy.

He starts thrusting himself into me hard, your skin was ready to burst into flames and every hair on your body was stood up and you wanted more.

“Mm please Ji harder and faster.” You wrapped your legs around him and crossed your feet at the bottom of his back.

“mm shit y/n I won’t fucking last, you feel so good.” His voice was more desperate than ever.

You started to use your feet to lift your hips and slide up and down him and rolled your hips when you got to the tip.

You wanted him to fuck you right into the wall until you both lost your minds but Ofcourse he always wanted to be careful with you.

“I don’t care Jiyong.” You said with honesty. “I’m begging you to give me all you’ve got.”

You see a smirk flash across his lips as he put his arms under you and gripped your shoulders. You were trying to hide your excited expression but he Ofcourse noticed it and his smirk grew wider.

“Right, hold onto me and remember you asked for it.” He said smirk wider than ever.

His hands that were gripped onto your shoulders tugged you down as he rammed himself in and out of your pussy. Each thrust had you crying in pleasure into his mouths and your nails leaving marks on his broad shoulders. Your legs were vibrating and every time he goes deeper your legs tightened around him.

“Jiyong.” You cried.

“I know baby, I know.” He said, resting his forehead on yours and his lips smash onto yours in desperation.

“You’re such a good girl taking it all.”

“Im close Ji” you cried out, grabbing the back of his neck with your sweaty hands.

“Come for me baby let me feel you.”

“Jiyong, mm fuck.”

Your whole body melts as you cum all over his cock. His body collapsed onto yours, both of your body heats mingling together as you felt him throbbing inside of you.

After you two had gotten dressed Jiyongs phone buzzed. He read the message his eyes lighting up slightly before looking at you.

“My girlfriend, or should I say now ex, has left so I can take you backstage and clean you up properly if you want.” He didn’t want to be un gentleman like and just let you go home.

You were quite surprised at this, mostly expecting him to just forget about it ever happening. “Yeah alright if that’s okay with you.” A small smile already forming on your face.

“It would be a dick move if I didn’t do aftercare, it’s the bare minimum baby.” He gently grabbed your hand, his fingers warm and comforting against yours.

Maybe Jiyong really did love you and didn’t see you for just how pretty you were but also you. And given the past few weeks, that alone made you feel better than ever.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

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[ikwon1c]

Motte

“i’m tired of being g-dragon. can kwon jiyong come home now?”

characters: kwon jiyong x reader

summary: during the MOTTE tour, jiyong was constantly surrounded but never truly seen or heard—performing through exhaustion, buried under expectations, and silently falling apart. but in a rare moment backstage, he allowed himself to fall apart in the arms of someone who simply saw him—as a person, not a legend.

tags: angst, heavy emotional themes, burnout, idol exhaustion, platonic comfort, vulnerability

if only i could hug 2017-2022 jiyong and tell him how proud i was of him 😔 he did so well. i must protect him at all costs 💔

The crowd had screamed his name like he was a god.

Every breath he took on stage felt like another part of him slipping away like the lights, the sound, the sea of people only chipped at the pieces left of Kwon Jiyong. He danced, he sang, he bled on stage in that quiet, metaphorical way people don’t notice unless they really look.

But no one looked. No one ever really did.

Amsterdam’s air clung to the skin differently—cool, wet, detached. The kind of weather that didn’t press against you, didn’t demand warmth. He liked it. Or he would have, if he were still capable of liking things.

Backstage, it was all noise.

Assistants rushed around. Staff chattered and buzzed like they were the ones who just performed a 2-hour set. Cameras flashed. Praise, criticism, commands—all spoken like he wasn’t even in the room. He wasn’t, really. He was there, but also… far. Sitting in the corner of the dressing room on a low, padded bench. Elbows on knees. Head bowed slightly, like a puppet with its strings cut.

No one noticed.

No one, except me.

And me? I was a nobody.

Just an assistant under Geeun—his stylist. My job was to hold the clothing rack when it rolled too fast. To steam out creases. To label shoe boxes. To stay quiet, smile, and keep moving.

But I noticed. I always noticed him.

Jiyong didn’t look like himself that night. He didn’t look like the legend, the fashion icon, the artist, the man with the world in his palm. He looked like a boy who hadn’t slept in days, whose heart had been wrung out and left to dry on a wire no one cared to check.

His eyes weren’t just empty. They were gone.

And I couldn’t stand it.

I didn’t think. I walked. Through the crowd of stylists, producers, sound techs, security. No one stopped me—no one looked long enough to register that I shouldn’t be approaching him.

He didn’t flinch when I got close.

I stood there, in front of him. Close enough to hear the catch in his breath. Close enough to see that his fingers were shaking, just barely. I didn’t say a word. Just offered them like I’d done it a hundred times before like this wasn’t completely crazy, like I wasn’t a nameless ghost in his orbit.

My arms lifted slowly—on instinct, on faith—and I opened them. For a second, I was terrified. He would look up, see me, some nobody intern, and brush me off. He would snap back to stage-mode, fix his posture, flash that trademark smirk, and I’d melt into the floor in embarrassment.

But then…

He looked at me.

Really looked at me.

And his eyes…

God, they were tired. Not just from the show. From life.

So I smiled, gently. Soft and unsure, and maybe a little sad, too.

He stared at me. Still blank. But then, slowly, he moved. And for the first time all night, he did something real.

He stepped into my arms.

No words.

He just… stood up and walked into my arms like that was always where he was meant to go. His body hit mine with a weight that almost knocked the air out of me.

He didn’t hug me gently. He clung to me.

His weight sank into me like the gravity had finally won. His arms came around my waist, slow, unsure, and then all at once tight. Desperate. His face buried in the crook of my neck, breath hot and uneven. And then—

A sound.

Low. Raw. Barely a breath. But I felt it more than I heard it.

A sob.

Silently, at first. Just a tremble in his shoulders, a wetness against my skin. Then a sharp breath, and the quiet hitch of someone trying not to fall apart and failing.

My arms tightened without thinking. One hand cradled the back of his head, fingers slipping into sweat-damp hair. The other pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, grounding him, anchoring him.

He cried.

The kind of tears that don’t fall pretty. The kind that rip through your lungs on the way out. The kind that never get seen in public, because even celebrities deserve the dignity of privacy when they break.

No one noticed. No one cared. They moved around us like we were shadows.

And that night, in a city neither of us called home, surrounded by people who only saw the surface, he broke down in my arms.

Just me. Just him.

Just us.

—

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I just let him cry.

I think he needed it—the quiet. The lack of expectation. No one asking him to be okay. No one telling him to perform happiness.

When his breathing evened out, when the shaking slowed, he didn’t pull away.

He just whispered, “I’m so tired.”

And it broke me.

I whispered, “It’s okay,” not knowing if it was or would be, but it was all I had. “I’ve got you.”

I ran my fingers softly through his hair, careful not to mess up the carefully constructed style too much. “I know baby,” I whispered. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

He didn’t. He just clung to me. I just rubbed his back while his arms tightened even more around my waist. A quiet plea in the way he held on.

We stayed like that for a long time. I don’t remember how long. Minutes? More? At some point, I felt him start to shake. Not from cold. From everything.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red, and his breath came in short, uneven gasps. I helped him sit down again. Still in the corner. Still mostly unnoticed. I grabbed a towel and handed it to him, pretended not to see how red his eyes were. He wiped at his face with trembling fingers.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, finally meeting my eyes.

I gave a little nod.

“You… What’s your name?” he asked after a moment.

I hesitated. “Y/N.”

He repeated it like it meant something. Like it was a name he wanted to hold on to.

“I’m just… with Geeun,” I added, embarrassed.

“Can you come with me?” he said. “Just… for a little while?”

I nodded.

The car ride was quiet. The city lights slid past the windows like oil paintings. Jiyong sat beside me, his hand resting on the seat between us, twitching occasionally like he wanted to reach for something and couldn’t quite do it.

I didn’t push him.

He led the way to the elevator, head down. The suite was on the top floor—of course it was—and silent as a museum when the door opened. Too clean. Too empty. It smelled faintly like polished wood and expensive loneliness.

He dropped his bag just inside the door. Then he stopped moving. Like he didn’t know what came next.

I stood behind him, unsure if I was still supposed to be there. But then he turned, and in his eyes there was something raw. A silent ask.

“Can I… talk?” he said.

“Anything you need,” I answered.

So we sat. Not on the couch. Not at the table. On the bed.

He sat cross-legged, slouched, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck like he was trying to stay grounded. His voice was quiet when it came.

“I don’t remember why I started doing this,” he said. “I used to love it. I think. When I was a kid. Music felt like… like home. But now it’s just pressure. Just noise. I can’t breathe.”

I listened.

“I go on stage and it’s like… I become this thing. This idea. And people scream for it. But when the lights go off, I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what they’re cheering for anymore.”

His voice cracked. He closed his eyes.

“I’m scared I’m not a person anymore.”

I said nothing.

He kept going.

“I can’t sleep. Not really. I smoke, I drink, I take something, I knock out for an hour, and then I wake up like I never rested at all. And everyone just keeps saying, ‘You’re doing amazing, hyung. You’re killing it.’ But I don’t feel alive.”

I didn’t move. Not until he did.

He leaned toward me, slowly, like every movement hurt. Then he laid his head in my lap. No fanfare. No drama. Just a tired, broken man looking for something soft to hold onto.

I placed my hand on his hair and gently ran my fingers through it. He exhaled like it was the first breath he’d taken all night.

He kept talking.

About everything. The loneliness. The isolation. How even surrounded by thousands, he felt like no one really saw him. How the pressure to be a genius, an artist, a brand, was killing the little boy who used to scribble lyrics in the margins of his notebooks.

And I just sat there. Held him and just listened. Tonight, he was just wants to be seen and heard.

Loved him—not romantically, but purely. The way you love someone when you see their soul laid bare and you want to help them carry the weight of it.

Eventually, he stopped speaking.

Eventually, he cried again.

Quieter this time. Softer.

His hands curled into the sheets beside my legs. His face pressed against my thigh. And I felt warm tears soak through the fabric of my pants. He was under the blanket now, and I stayed on top of it, upright, rooted. A silent support beam for the wreckage of his heart.

He whispered, “Thank you.”

I whispered, “Sleep.”

And he did. Still holding on. Like I was the last real thing in the world.

And that’s where it ended.

No promises. No forever. Just a night of being human. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

—

The thing about moments like that night in Amsterdam is that they don’t come with closure.

There’s no dramatic ending, no music swelling as you walk into the sunrise. No promises made. No numbers exchanged. Just the slow, steady fading of something too delicate to name.

I never expected to be called again. I didn’t even know if he remembered it after that night.

And I was okay with that.

Sort of.

In the weeks that followed, the tour kept moving. Cities blurred into each other. Hotel rooms changed. Outfits were steamed and wrinkled and steamed again. The music thumped through arena walls night after night, and backstage was always a mess of coffee cups, frayed nerves, and late arrivals. I kept working under Geeun. I stayed in my lane.

I saw him sometimes, of course.

Jiyong.

Not the man curled up in my lap. Not the broken soul I held like a secret. Just the artist again. The brand. The silhouette striding past with sunglasses at night and security in tow. Sometimes he’d walk within arm’s reach, and I’d wonder if he felt it too, that small hum in the air.

But he never looked my way.

And I never expected him to.

So by the time we were packing to fly out again, I had already filed it all away into the drawer of Beautiful, Quiet Things That Don’t Belong to Me.

It was early.

Too early for the sun to be awake. My eyelids felt like sandpaper. My carry-on strap was digging into my shoulder, and I still had the taste of airport coffee on my tongue. Most of the staff were gathered near the group check-in, buzzing softly as they waited for boarding to be called.

I was scrolling through a half-loaded screen on my phone, earbuds in, mind somewhere else entirely, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned.

It was Minji, one of the production staff. She looked mildly apologetic, like she was bracing for me to be annoyed.

“Hey,” she said. “Change of seat.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You were in economy, right? They moved you to business. Seat 3B.”

I frowned. “Why?”

She shrugged. “No idea. Just told me to pass the message.”

I stared at her, confused. “You sure?”

“Your name’s on the manifest now.” She held up her tablet. There it was, clear as day. My name, my passport number, and the updated seat assignment.

Still confused, I nodded and thanked her. She walked off before I could ask anything else.

Seat 3B.

I was among the first to board. The flight attendants greeted me like they’d been prepped. One even said my name with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I followed the winding path of the jet bridge, stepped into the cabin… and there he was.

Jiyong.

Sitting in 3A.

His head was tilted against the window, hoodie up, headphones resting around his neck instead of over his ears. Sunglasses off this time. Face bare. Tired.

He looked up when I stopped in the aisle.

We locked eyes. And just like that, my heart remembered everything all at once.

The weight of him in my arms. The sound of his voice cracking in the dark. The way his fingers had clutched the sheets beside my legs while he cried. That night had lived inside me like a small, sacred flame but I hadn’t known if it lived in him, too.

Now I did.

He nodded toward the empty seat beside him.

I sat down.

The seat was too wide, too soft, too quiet after the chaos of backstage life. I adjusted my seatbelt. Stared at the touchscreen in front of me without seeing anything.

Neither of us spoke for a minute.

Then his voice, low and tired: “Did I wake you?”

I glanced at him. “No. I’ve been up.”

A pause. Then, “I asked for you.”

My chest tightened. “I figured,” I said softly.

He nodded again, eyes flicking toward the window. The world outside was still dark. The kind of gray-blue quiet that only exists before dawn.

“I didn’t know if I could,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Another silence.

This one heavier.

“I’ve been… trying,” he said at last. “Since that night. To feel things again. To rest. To talk. Sometimes I manage. Sometimes I just… get through the show.”

I nodded, watching his profile. There was something so human about him in this light. No glitter. No spotlights. Just skin and eyes and breath.

“I never said thank you right after,” he added.

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I reached for the blanket tucked under the seat. Unfolded it. Without a word, I laid half across my lap, then held out the other half.

He looked down at it, and for a second, I thought he might resist. Then, slowly, he leaned toward me.

He didn’t lay in my lap this time. He just rested his shoulder against mine, head tipped lightly toward mine, sharing the same warmth. His hand found the edge of the blanket and pulled it a little higher.

The plane took off.

Somewhere over the clouds, he exhaled long and low. Not a sigh, not quite but something close to peace. We didn’t talk after that. We didn’t need to. The space between us said enough. He asked for me and I came.

Quietly.

Gladly.

Always.

[angels-main-acc]

Second Time's the Charm

G-Dragon x AFAB! Reader

Synopsis: Doing your ex boyfriends hair comes with an offer that is hard to refuse.

Warnings: Angst with happy-ish ending, minor cussing

Smoke travels through the spring beeze as you exhale slowly. The cigarette between your fingers is almost gone, but your memory is all too vivid.

---

“Why are you doing this?” Your breath was ragged, heart rate exceptionally high.

“Y/n,” was all Jiyong could breathe out. He put his face in his hands trying to gather his thoughts.

“Tell me you don’t love me.” Your arms were crossed, as if it were going to protect you from the blow.

“I don’t love you,” Jiyong’s teeth are gritted, his jaw tight. The words shot through your heart like a bullet used to kill. For a brief moment you’d swore your heart had quit beating.

“That’s not true,” the words came out choked; you were trying to convince yourself.

“You need to go.” His body slumps.

“Jiyong, don’t do this,” your words are barely above a whisper as you step closer to him, you can see the brokenness in his eyes as you cup his face. For a millisecond he leans into it before forcing himself away from the one good thing he had.

“Get out.” His voice is rough and low; dangerously so. Your breath hitches when you hear his tone. With a hung head you grabbed your things and fled the penthouse, unsure of what caused such a flip in your normally warm and compassionate boyfriend.

---

A car horn tears you away from the nightmare that plays in your cranium more than you’d like to admit. You stub the cigarette harshly against the wall of the hair salon and sigh.

Opening the door to the establishment, you hear the bell ding above your head and head back to your station. You were told this next client asked for you specifically, but they were late for their appointment.

“I’m not waiting here all day,” you say to Lisa your manager.

“He called, he’ll be here soon, said he got stuck in traffic and gives his sincerest apologies.” You nod and sit down in the chair. Too intricately focused on your phone, your manager yells out your name.

“Y/n!” Your head pops up like that of a gopher.

“Your next client is here,” she whispers harshly as she walks with purpose, “Look presentable, or at least like you give a damn about your job,” she motions to put the phone away and you nod doing just that.

“I’m sorry Mr. Kwon, she’s ready for you.” Your heart skips a beat.

Shit.

You glance up in the mirror at him and your eyes meet his dark brown ones. Your freeze temporarily as he walks closer. Your anxiety ticks up and time has stopped for all of 5 seconds as you try to compose yourself.

You haven’t seen Jiyong since the night he looked at you as if he was disgusted by you, since he was harsh, cold and unfeeling. He gingerly sits down and doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at you. He takes in the new hair cut and color, red and short. He purses his lips like he wants to say something but you leave the station momentarily.

“He asked for me?” Your disbelief is evident in your voice.

“Yes, here’s what he asked for,” she hands the paper with the particular cut and color he mentioned he wanted.

“He asked for me, by name,” you repeat your question and your manager gives you wary look.

“Just get it done, ok? If he likes it, it’s good for business. Just go work your magic, turn on your charm and make him happy.” She claps your shoulder before going to the back. You flit your eyes to him in the chair where you can see he’s watching you closely; as if you’re a gazelle and he’s the lion waiting for the prime opportunity to take a bite of his next meal.

You grab the bleach, toner and foils for his hair. A simple bleach blonde was what he asked for, causing you to wonder why he couldn’t have his team do this.

As you approach the station your heart thuds in your ears, your breathing slightly uneven as you try to look and keep a professional air about yourself.

“Hey,” he says as you sit down the bleach that’s prepared in the bowl. You clench your jaw as you sigh.

“You just want to bleach it, right?”

“Yes,” he nods his head. The air around him screams G-Dragon more than it does Jiyong, he’s confident, poised and in control.

You get to work on his hair, his eyes calculated as he watches your hands move as you section and brush the bleach on his hair. He finds that he’s missed your touch more than he realized, and he all ready knew he missed it.

The establishment is silent, awkward and cold. As you start foil his hair, he speaks up.

“You look good.” His head rests against his hand on the arm of the chair as you grab another foil.

“Thanks,” your voice is snippy, cold. He scoffs quietly, knowing good and well he deserved the attitude, but it still stings.

“How have you been?” He tries again.

“Good,” once again, short, sweet and to the point.

“I’ve been good too,” he says like you asked him. You nod with pursed lips.

“We’ll let this sit for about 30 minutes and then I’ll rinse you.” You say as you habitually clasp his shoulders looking at him through the mirror.

“Y/n,” he says as you begin to walk away and you act as if you can’t hear him. You make your way quickly to the back room and take a few deep breaths, tears spilling over your lower palpebra as you lean against the back of the door, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You take a select few deep breaths to calm your nerves and steady yourself.

“Fuck him,” you whisper with anger laced in your voice. You smooth down your apron before opening the door, only to be faced with the foil haired man who’s still wearing the cape you draped around his neck.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” you try to sound strong or authoritative, but your voice betrays you as it comes out weak and submissive.

“I,” he begins and searches your eyes. He can see the slight glass like appearance and swollen eyes you’re sporting. Your feet carry you past him without a word. He follows you, cape swishing against his clothes. In the quiet building it’s like a drum being beaten with every step he takes.

“Y/n,” he tries to grab your attention and your bite your lip. He can see it in the mirror. The desire to express every emotion is on your face plain as day, and yet you keep your mouth shut.

“Just do it,” he says, “Scream, yell, push me, whatever you need to do.”

“I would never put my hands on a client,” you say quickly. A beat of silence passes between you.

“I’m sorry,” his apology is quiet, shame filled, even.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you sit down in the chair across from his.

“I asked for you, for a reason.” He tries to continue the conversation.

“Yeah, no duh.”

“I wanted to talk about,” he trails off. You look at him head on. Would he actually be that bold?

“About what happened."

“It’s past, Jiyong. Don’t even worry about it.” Your shoulders shrug automatically. He opens his mouth but before he can speak the timer on your phone goes off.

“Time to rinse,” you hop up quickly and walk to the sink. He sits down in the chair and slowly leans back. You start rinsing his head and he sucks in a harsh breath. One that causes a smirk to appear on your face.

“Sorry, that too cold?” You feign innocence as he glares up at you, a hint of playfulness in his eye. To this day he knows your games, your ins and outs. He can still read you.

“Just a little,” his tone is calming, not what you expected. Once the water heats up you start rinsing his hair out again, watching as the bleach turns his hair a brassy yellow. He closes his eyes as he lets you work your magic, fighting a moan as you begin to scrub his scalp with your fingernails. You can see the satisfied look on his face.

“You can let it out, I remember what I do to you,” your voice takes on an air of teasing seduction. He smirks before letting out a chuckle.

“Do you?” he opens one eye and you roll yours.

“All too well,” you mumble with a sigh. You let him sit up once the process is finished and you give him a towel to dry his hair off. You both walk back over to your station where you apply the toner to his hair.

“Jagi,” he goes to speak and you cut your eyes at him. His eyes grow 2 sizes bigger as he puts his head down, pursing his lips once again. The quiet confidence he had at the beginning of his appointment has dissipated.

“This needs to sit for about ten to fifteen minutes.”

“I still want to talk,” he says quickly and you glance at him in the mirror before walking away from the station to the front desk.

“Go ahead.” You're distant, emotionally and physically.

“Breaking up with you was the stupidest and hardest thing I ever did.” You nod your head to show you’re listening.

“I just didn’t know how to take care of you and myself at the time,” he tries to reason. You bite your lip to hold back the words you desperately want to shoot him with.

“I wanted to give you the best chance at having everything you ever dreamed,” his voice is sincere, but you can’t help the sickening tisk that drips from your lips.

“What?” his voice is overlayed with offense. He stands up walking closer to the front desk.

“You wanna know what? You actually want to sit here and act like you knew what you did was for my benefit?” your voice booms with the last word that leaves your mouth.

“What you did tore me apart, you asshat!” your wince as the name slips out before you can stop it. He nods, letting you continue.

“You fucking broke me," your voice trembles and you take a breath trying to steady your voice, "you made me wonder why I was enough! You could’ve talked to me, let me in so you weren’t fighting your demons on your own but instead you chose to push me away. You chose to lock me out. You chose to just drop me off on the side of the road like it was nothing.” Your shoulders are heaving up and down with the ragged breaths your taking.

“You didn’t have to take care of me and yourself,” your words are quieter, more gentle than before, “I could have helped you, I could have taken care of you.”

“That wasn’t your job,” he cuts in.

“Get your fucking pride out of this!” you throw your hands up and he casts his gaze to the floor.

“It was our job to take care of each other, that’s what a relationship is partly about. Checking in on the other person, being someone they can confide in and be there for when they need it. Doing this complicated shit show called Life together. But you wouldn’t even give me the opportunity to be that for you,” your voice cracks with the last few words. You blink back the tears, scolding yourself internally.

“I didn’t know how,” his own voice is weak, emotional.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you sigh as you quickly wipe a stray tear, “It’s over, we’re done and so is the situation. I’m glad you were able to come out of it. Really,” your words carry a weight of finality that Jiyong inwardly cringes at.

“I miss you,” he says stepping closer to you, too close. You can swear he hears your heartbeat. You can only nod, not meeting his eyes.

“We should get you rinsed,” you mumble as the timer on your phone goes off. You both awkwardly walk back to the sink and rinse the toner. His hair now appears white. You escort him back to your station.

“I have a wedding to attend on Saturday,” he says with a voice full of hope, “You should come with me,” your eyes meet for a brief second before you grab the scissors and begin to cut his hair. It doesn’t take much time to blow dry and he looks at you expectantly.

“What?” you ask as you set the dryer down, grabbing the comb from your pocket. He twists his head side to side in the mirror, smiling in approval.

“You should be my plus one to the wedding,” he says again. You sigh in response as you thread the comb through his hair, making sure it’s not tangled.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I want to see you again,” he begs.

“Why do you want to see me? As a matter of fact, why come to a salon, wasting money,”

“Money spent for or on you is never a waste,” he interjects holding up his index finger and you huff.

“Why didn’t you just have your staff do this?” you ask in regards to his hair.

“Because they are not you and I wanted to, no,” he says closing his eyes, “Needed to see you.” The desperation in the last portion of his sentence is hard to ignore.

“Why now? Why not five months ago?” Your arms are crossed in front of you.

“Because I didn’t know how to say it then, I really don’t know how to say it now but I’m trying.” He tries to reason with you.

“Its too little too late, Ji.” Your voice once again betrays you as it comes out somber and broken.

“It can’t be,” he turns around to look at you. You note the way the light bounces off the beautiful bone structure of his cheeks. The way his features are striking yet soft at the same time. You could melt right then and there.

“I’m not saying we get together again, but I need you in my life,” he mumbles placing his hand on top of the one that’s resting on the back of the chair. Your breath catches in your throat at the contact, it makes the situation feel surreal and sends waves of electricity through you.

“It’s not the same without in it. I’m not the same without you.” He’s laying it on thick, part of you wants to cry, part of you wants to laugh, and the other part wants to run away and hide.

“Can you at least tell me you haven’t missed me?” You tear your self away from him, pretending to fiddle with something on the table. He watches you closely. You sigh before turning around, leaning against the small vanity like table.

“I’ve missed you,” you admit quietly, picking at your finger nails. Jiyong feels relief flood his veins. It’s like the room is now a million times lighter, the air is softer. Meanwhile for you, it’s vulnerable. It’s raw, it’s exposed.

“Just come with me as a friend to the wedding then,” he gets up and tilts your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Please,” he whispers. You look between his eyes, hesitant to oblige with his request. Your heart hammers in your chest and you gulp subconsciously.  

“Sit down, I need to finish.” You instruct professionally. You finish styling his hair and proceed to check him out. He pays you double what the appointment costs and you glance at him. He gives you a knowing look. You pocket the obscene tip.

“Y/n,” he says as you walk him out.

“Yeah, ok. I’ll go.” Your voice is filled with defeat. His smile stretches from ear to ear in a grand slam victory.

“I’ll text you the details, still the same number?”  You nod and he nods back, walking out of the salon to his car. You scrub your hand over your face and sit in the chair he was once in.

“What the hell am I doing?” You rub your temple as you whisper the question and before you can process the events of the day you feel the phone vibrate.

"Wedding is at 2pm on Saturday, I'll pick you up at 11."

[greenxgloss]

Part 1

Summary: Jiyong, usually shy and gentlemanly, shocked you when he fiercely cussed out a man who catcalled you, making you see him in a completely different light. Later, as he bought you a dress and stayed the night, your best friend pointed out what you were reluctant to admit—you might be seeing Jiyong as more than just a friend. Themes: Best Friends to lovers, some suggestive language, Mention of nudity Word Count: 3k

Jiyong had slowly become much more shy in the passed few years. Well, he had always been bashful and timid with girls he really liked while still being a gentleman. He was flirtatious and sweet. that’s why it surprised you when he cussed out the creep who cat-called you the first time the both of you went on a little friend date downtown.

You were staring up in awe at the beautiful lights and decorations peppered all over a new dress store when you heard it. fuck I’d like some of that. it seemed the man didn’t see Jiyong standing a foot away from you —or didn’t care. You definitely didn’t care as it was a common occurrence. Jiyong in his flared jeans, pink grandma cardigan and cute matching pink bucket hat that was fluffy all over huffed, face contorting in anger and disgust as he shouted at the man.

“you think you can just approach people like that? you fucking perv.” he took a step forward, puffing his chest. your awe was now directed at Jiyong, never having stepped in for you that way. not that he ever needed to, no one dared to treat you less than perfect when he was around.

“Get the fuck away from us before I shove my foot so far up your ass, not only will your life flash before your eyes, but so will your ancestors,” Jiyong seethed, his voice sharp and venomous.

You barely had time to process the sheer rage in his tone before you turned to glance at the man who had catcalled you. His confidence had evaporated in an instant. His cocky smirk was gone, replaced by wide, panicked eyes as he took a cautious step back. His hands lifted in front of him, palms out, a weak attempt at de-escalation—though the damage had already been done.

Jiyong took another step forward, chest still puffed, fists still clenched. The catcaller flinched. Then, as if realizing he was no match for the fire burning behind Jiyong’s glare, the man bolted, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to disappear down the street.

You stood frozen, blinking up at Jiyong in stunned silence.

“Whoa,” was all you managed, suddenly feeling a heat grow between your thighs, which was new. Does that usually happen between best friends? You had to ask yourself the question and hope this sudden feeling was not out of the ordinary.

“Do you want one?” Jiyong asked, his voice now calm, as if the fiery outburst from moments ago had never happened. The shift in his demeanor was almost jarring, leaving you struggling to catch up.

“Huh?” you blinked, your mind still reeling from the scene that had just unfolded. You cleared your throat, trying to shake the lingering tension, but your body wasn’t cooperating. Your heart was still racing, pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

Following the direction of his outstretched finger, you turned to look behind you, your gaze landing on the large glass storefront. Mannequins stood elegantly posed, draped in stunning dresses, each one shimmering under the soft glow of the boutique’s lighting.

He was pointing at one in particular—a deep green silk gown that hung delicately on display, the fabric cascading down like liquid. It was stunning. It was expensive. It was also exactly your style.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening for an entirely different reason now.

“Oh! You know I can’t afford these.” You sighed, shifting between your feet as you looked between him and the dark green silk dress on display, mouth watering at the lack of straps and how it glistened in the light. You winced before turning to walk away but Jiyong stopped you, hand on your wrist to spin you around. “It’s on me. After that bullshit you deserve it.” He smiled pulling towards the entrance.

Suddenly you were seeing your best friend in a different light. The strong grip on your wrist fought hard to pull a whine from your throat but you fought harder. You confused yourself but just let it go as you got an up close look at all the stunning gowns in the store, the clerk smiling wide before greeting the both of you.

“That green one you were looking at would look great on you.” Jiyong smiled before walking up to the clerk and asking for one in your size, which he had memorized by heart. It came as no surprise when you remembered your best friend is the fashionista of your tree of friends on top of being the mom friend.

You smiled bashfully as the clerk looked past Jiyong and right at you. “You have your girlfriend’s measurements memorized that’s very sweet. And the first of many many boyfriends who come in to purchase for their counterparts,” The order woman complimented and jiyong smiled happily, causing your heart to almost flutter at his lack of interjecting when she referred to you as his girlfriend.

Once you were home and finished shopping Jiyong encouraged you to try the dress on again. “It looked so pretty and I didn’t get any pictures of you in it come on,” he whined, pulling on your arm. You rolled your eyes playfully. “Fiiiiine.” Letting a giggle spill as you rushed into your room to try on the dress.

Jiyong sat behind you on the edge of your bed while you changed which wasn't an uncommon occurrence, you'd become quite comfortable with him the last few years and now it was second nature.

This time you spotted him watching closely, the tattoos across your hips and shoulder blades being visible to him. He allowed his gaze to linger.

You slipped into the dress, feeling the soft fabric glide over your skin. As you stood up, you spun in a graceful twirl, letting the material swirl around your legs. The moment you stopped, you caught Jiyong's gaze, and a proud smile spread across his face. "Gorgeous," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. He chuckled lightly, clapping his hands together in appreciation. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and snapped a series of pictures, each one capturing your joy and the way the dress seemed to come alive with your movement.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of his excited energy. It was rare to see him so caught up in a moment, and it warmed your heart. Without thinking, you flopped down onto the bed beside him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. The scent of his cologne mixed with the soft fabric of the sheets, creating a sense of comfort that you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

He looked at you, his eyes softening, and you both shared a quiet laugh, the world outside seeming to pause for just a moment.

Laid in silence for a moment after the laughter died down, you turned on your side to look at each other. “Thanks, Jiyong.” You gave him a soft smile. “anything for you.” he pulled you into a cuddle. Your arm was thrown over his waist and his looped around you, pulling your head to his chest. The two of you stayed that way for a few minutes before you looked up at him.

In the moment it was like everything around you disappeared and it was just the two on you on your bed in an otherwise empty cube; No furniture, no windows, no muffled outside noise. Something felt different.

Warmth bubbled up in your belly and you could feel it reaching your cheeks so you quickly dug your head back into his chest to hide the flush creeping up on you so rudely.

what the fuck is going on with you today?

It was late, and after spending the entire day walking around downtown, exhaustion had settled deep into your bones. Without much thought, you found yourself curling up against Jiyong’s warmth, your body naturally gravitating toward his as sleep took over almost instantly. This wasn’t unusual for the two of you—falling asleep tangled together had become second nature after years of friendship. Whether it was crashing on each other’s couches after long nights out or dozing off during late-night movie marathons, moments like these were just another part of your unspoken routine.

When you woke up the next morning, you were still curled up against Jiyong, your body comfortably molded to his as if you had never moved throughout the night. The warmth of his presence was familiar, but as your mind slowly emerged from sleep, you noticed something was different. You were no longer in the clothes you had worn the day before—instead, you were dressed in soft pajamas, and when you reached up to rub your eyes, you realized your makeup had been completely wiped off. Your skin felt fresh, free of the remnants of eyeliner and mascara you had definitely been wearing when you dozed off.

A frown tugged at your lips as you blinked in confusion. How had you managed to sleep through all that? You weren’t exactly a heavy sleeper, yet somehow, Jiyong had changed you, cleaned your face, and tucked you back into bed without waking you. The thought made heat rise to your cheeks—he had taken care of you so gently, so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“hey.” Jiyong croaked as he pulled away, stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did you take my makeup off and change my clothes?” You giggled as you hooked your hand under your pillow and clutched the duvet tight to your chest. He nodded and hummed a yes once he finished his big stretch.

"Thanks," you said with a soft smile, and as always, he returned it without hesitation. His gaze flickered to his phone, checking the time before letting out a small sigh.

"Ah, I gotta get to the studio," he mumbled reluctantly, pushing himself up from the bed. As he stood, you finally took in the sight before you—your sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his upper body completely bare. Heat crept up your neck, and you quickly averted your gaze, but not before the blush had already betrayed you.

"What? So early?" you pouted, tilting your head up at him. "Can’t we at least have breakfast first?" You sat up, watching as he hurriedly pulled on the clothes he had worn the day before, already preparing to rush out the door.

He shook his head. “Can’t. Already overslept. but I can come by later tonight if you’re not doing anything.” Jiyong raked his hands through his hair in a rushed attempt to tame it. You sighed in response. “Okay. I’ll see you later then. I feel like we barely spend time together anymore.” you pouted.

Jiyong had been pouring everything into his album—long nights at the studio, back-to-back promo meetings, and constant traveling had consumed most of his time. It felt like you barely saw him anymore, your usual daily texts turning into sporadic updates about his schedule. That’s why the two of you had made solid plans to go shopping the day before—to finally spend some much-needed time together like you used to.

But now, as you sat there alone in bed, you regretted falling asleep so early. You had missed out on the little moments that made your sleepovers special—the quiet conversations in the dark, the whispered jokes, the deep, unfiltered talks that somehow always felt easier when you were curled up beside each other. It wasn’t just about spending time together; it was about the comfort of those late-night moments, the ones that made you feel like no matter how busy life got, you’d always have Jiyong.

“That will change, I promise. I’m trying to make as much time for you as possible.” he ruffled your hair. “I promise, promise, promise I’ll be here tonight, with food.” he winked playfully and rushed out the door, both of you yelling your goodbyes.

-

By the time noon rolled around, you had already gone through the familiar motions of your morning routine—brushing your teeth, washing your face, making a half-hearted attempt at breakfast, and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Yet, despite the slow start to your day, you found yourself sitting on the couch with nothing to do, staring at the ceiling as boredom settled over you.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone and quickly typed out a message to Marlee, your closest friend outside of Jiyong.

(12:04) You: you free? (12:04) You: Come over I’m dying of boredom

You barely had to wait a minute before the typing bubbles appeared, followed by her enthusiastic response.

(12:05) Lee<3: On my way hope you have snacks

A small smile tugged at your lips. At least now, the day wouldn’t feel so uneventful.

“Heyyy!” Marlee beamed, stepping through the doorway with her usual effortless confidence. One hand rested on her hip while the other clutched the strap of her purse, her oversized sunglasses pushed up into her thick curls. She looked every bit like she had just strutted off a fashion runway, despite probably having just rolled out of bed an hour ago.

You giggled at her dramatic entrance, shaking your head. “Record time! I swear you teleport.”

“Please, I heard urgent fashion news and I moved fast,” she teased, slipping off her shoes before following you inside.

Grinning, you grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward your bedroom. “You have to see the dress Jiyong bought me yesterday,” you gushed, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Marlee let out a dramatic gasp. “He bought you a dress? Okay, now I really need details.”

You reached into your closet, carefully pulling out the gorgeous silk dress before laying it out on the bed. The deep green fabric shimmered under the soft lighting of your room, practically glowing. Marlee immediately sprawled herself across the opposite side of the bed, propping herself up on her elbows as she stared at the dress like it was a piece of art.

Her reaction was instant. She sucked in a breath, eyes going wide before she let out a feigned moan. “Oh my god…” she gasped, clutching her chest.

You watched her face intently, unable to fight the satisfied grin forming as she dramatically fanned herself.

Her jaw dropped letting out a feigned moan. “oh my god…” she gasped as she sat up. “It’s gorgeous and it’s your style… baby why haven’t you hopped on it yet?” she looked up at you with her brows furrowed. “Marlee.” you scolded, face immediately displaying unamusment. “Y/n.” She returned in the same tone of course drawing an eye roll from you.

“I totally would if i had a sexy bestfriend who bought me expensive gifts like this just because.” She spoke nonchalantly, crossing her legs like a little girl and tucking her hands under her knee. “If i had the money I’d be spoiling you too. it’s not like that with Jiyong I don’t see him that way…” you paused and immediately remembered how you felt when he cursed out the catcaller.

“I knew there was a ‘but’ coming,” Marlee grinned, eyes glinting with curiosity.

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Well… some guy catcalled me while Ji and I were out shopping yesterday, and—”

Marlee’s brows lifted expectantly. “And?”

“You know Ji,” you continued, gesturing vaguely. “He’s the sweetest guy. Super shy, total gentleman—he’s the type to pull out chairs for every woman, no matter who she is.”

Marlee nodded, fully invested now. “Right, right. That sounds like him. But—” she motioned for you to hurry up, her hands flapping impatiently.

You grabbed the dress from the bed, carefully placing it back in your closet before settling on the floor across from her, mirroring her posture.

“But he lost it on the guy,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean—lost it. Nose flaring, face red, that little vein in his neck popping. He straight-up cussed him out like he was ready to throw hands.”

Marlee’s eyes widened. “Ji?”

“Ji.” You nodded, still stunned.

Marlee smiled like she knew exactly what you were about to say and unconsciously leaned toward you. “It was so hot.” you covered your face. “We've been friends for so long and I’ve literally never seen him get worked up that way before. I’ve seen him get frustrated and let out little huffs like when he spills something or when he messes up a dance or lyric.” You spun around and rested your back on the foot of your bed. “seeing him get that angry, that fast and the fact that it was over me?!” you exclaimed as Marlee nodded, understanding you entirely. she giggled and drummed on the bed.

“Yeah I totally get what you mean… so what does this mean for you?” she asked. Until that moment you hadn’t even asked yourself that. You hadn’t considered what thinking of your best friend that way meant, you hadn’t considered- hardly accepted that you were even attracted to the behaviour Jiyong displayed yesterday until you uttered the words to Marlee.

"I haven't thought about it actually." you threw your head back pensively before looking at her with wide eyes. "probably because it doesn't mean anything." You shrugged.

"Marlee, you can think someone's attractive without being into them." you blinked at her. "sure but you wouldn't sexualize them if you weren't into them." she gave a tight-lipped smile before letting out a whistle, earning a sigh from you.

Not wanting to discuss the matter any further you changed the subject knowing it would only frustrate you into an argument. "well anyway, how's it going with deli guy?" you asked her as you stood up, grabbed your pillow and laid on your chest. she rolled her eyes playfully and grinned. "Good, he gave me my favourite sandwich for free yesterday and told me when his break is so I think he wants me to come by tomorrow." she gleamed and you could swear her iris' morphed into hearts.

You loved hearing about Marlee's love life even if there wasn't anything going on in yours. that's what she loved about you; never being jealous or antipathous. You just wanted to hear about how happy she was with her newest cute boy-toy. "that's so sweet. you should bring him something in return." You gushed, cupping your cheeks gleefully. She giggled in response. "I hope something actually happens with this one; he really does seem to be into me." She sighed sweetly, sinking into the bed.

Break Me Off Masterlist | Next Part

➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Taglist Form

[fleabagspurplewife]

one last time: part 1

G-Dragon x reader

summary: its your first day back on your college campus after your breakup with kwon ji-yong, and you can't seem to stop running into him.

warnings: sorta angst, suggestive/spicy at the end

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hii this is my first time writing smth like this so sorry if its bad <3

part 2

when you arrive back on campus after three long months of being away from your friends and the city, you can't help but feel a little empty. you spent all summer thinking about your ex boyfriend, kwon ji-yong, and you had tried not to let it ruin your break, but he always seemed to find a way to crawl back into your head.

when you finish unpacking most everything else, you open a small shoebox that you keep your most valuable possessions in; birthday cards from friends, old concert tickets, movie stubs, and beaded jewelry from your childhood. at the top of the box sit two origami butterflies. the only two you had kept. ji-yong used to leave them around your dorm for you to find when he wasn't around (which was rare), and you would find him in his dorm making them at all hours of the night. you had thrown the rest away but couldn't bring yourself to get rid of him completely.

you close the box before you let yourself miss him more and try to remind yourself of how badly it ended, how he left you sitting on the floor crying in silence, how he never reached out after he ended it, how he didn't even seem phased. like telling you he didn't want you anymore was as normal as telling you he had an overdue paper.

to get your mind off him, you take a walk around the city. you pass the movie theater where you had your first date, your favorite dinner date spot, the park where you would bask in the sun and try not to fall asleep on his chest. he's littered all over the city and you curse yourself for getting involved with him. something about the air today makes you crave a cigarette. you had been trying to quit for months and it never seemed to stick.

you buy the only pack you ever smoked; light blue american spirits. the moment it hits your lips you can taste ji-yong. they were his favorites too and he always had a lingering smell of smoke. you try to push the thoughts of his mouth away. this needs to be a fresh start. you stop to sit on the steps of an apartment building, tucked away in the trees; a rare sight in the city. this had always been your smoke spot with your friends, but now you wished you had never introduced it to ji-yong. just as the thought crossed your mind, you see him. he doesn't see you; he's crossing the street, fiddling with his wired headphones, probably late to something but still taking his time. you try to ignore the way his grown-out mullet frames his face, the way his white t shirt hugs his shoulders.

you wait until you're sure he's far enough away to scurry back to your apartment, the one he'd never been in. this was somewhat comforting; it was just yours, no traces of him besides the butterflies.

⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧ ⭒ ✧

later that night, you still can't get him out of your head. you decide to take another walk, hoping this one works better than the last. you circle the same few blocks over and over and over, and somehow it makes you think about him more. you make your way to your smoke spot, planning to sleep as soon as you get home.

as you approach the steps, you see a lighter flick on and stop dead in your tracks. you had been so engrossed in your thoughts that you hadn't noticed someone was already in your spot; ji-yong. you were far enough away that he hadn't noticed. you took too long trying to decide whether you should avoid him or say hi, and he happened to look up at you. he froze, lighter still in hand, cigarette hanging lazily out of his mouth.

the air was thick and neither of you wanted to be the first to speak. you could still turn around and go home and you could both pretend you hadn't run into each other. after too long, he forces out a "hey".

"hey," you say back. you're too focused on what to do with your hands and trying to seem undeterred by his presence.

he pats the ground next to him, motioning you to sit with him. you pause for a moment before settling next to him, trying to avoid eye contact. he flicks his lighter again, but it doesn't ignite. he keeps trying until he looks at you and murmurs, "a little help?" he's more calm than you wanted him; you wanted him to be as nervous as you.

you scoot towards him and cup your hands around his cigarette as he tries again to light it. his hand brushes against yours and he seems unphased. when the cigarette finally catches, he leans back and eyes you up and down. "you cut your hair"

"you didn't" you retort. it comes out meaner than you intended.

he gives a lazy shrug. you motion towards the cigarette, and his fingers brush against yours again as he hands it to you. "i thought you quit. you should know smoking kills", he smirks.

you take a drag and keep your eyes trained on his, trying to feign confidence. "you're the one who got me hooked on 'em. its your fault. as usual". you can't help but stare at his teeth as he smirks, the street light hitting them just right. it shocks you how comfortable you already feel with him

he stays silent and pulls out another from his pack and puts it in his mouth. he keeps his eyes on yours as he leans forward expectantly, waiting for you to light him. you instinctively do it and linger too close to him. when you settle back next to him, its closer than before. "i missed you".

your eyes shoot towards his and you're not sure if you're furious or relieved. maybe both. "you could've called."

"i know. but..." he takes a drag of his cigarette, trying to find the right words. "i didn't know if you'd want to hear from me. if you'd want to see me."

"of course i did" you realize you responded too fast. "i think i'd still like being around you. like this" you don't say the part you're both thinking; even if it's not like before. you can't help the chill that goes through your body. it had been a hot summer day, and you hadn't thought to change out of your t shirt before your walk now that the sun had set.

his eyes graze over your body. "you're cold. my apartment is a block away if you need a sweater"

"its late. i don't need to come over just to get a sweater and leave. i live close, too" you roll your eyes. he was always some twisted version of a gentleman.

"i mean," he inhales, "you could just come over anyway. it has been a while."

your heart skips a beat. you know what happens when you're alone, even when you promise yourself it won't. he scans your face, almost hearing your thoughts.

"come on." he stands up and motions for you to come. you don't protest, even though you should.

when you reach his apartment, you're both too quiet, trying to figure out what to say. outside it had been so easy, so natural, but in here theres a tension that's not a surprise to either of you. he gives you a tour, trying to ease the mood, but you both feel it. when he brings you to his tiny bedroom, you laugh. "how is it messy already, ji". your nickname for him leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

his eyebrows raise just slightly at the name. "hey its not messy! a few clothes on the ground is not bad, you know its not" he says through your giggles. your eyes drift to one of the items on the floor; the navy sweater you would always steal from him. he sees you eyeing it and throws it towards you. "do you want to watch something for a little?" he notices the way your brow furrows. "its just been a while. come on, you know you want to."

you give in, like you always do. he knows how to get his way without even trying. "only for a little" you mumble. he sets his computer up on his desk by the bed, and you both try to find comfort on his twin size mattress, both painfully aware of trying not to touch each other too much, which is near impossible. as you lean back against the bedframe, your skin tingles under his touch. you try not to look at him, though you can feel his occasional glance towards you. you both gradually lean into each other, unintentionally at first, but by the time you notice you're too comfortable to move. you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, breathing in his musk. you can feel his stare and keep your eyes shut, afraid of what you might do if you look up into his.

he wraps his arm around you, carefully placing your head onto his chest. you both slowly shuffle to lay down more. he can feel you getting tired and pulls you over him, one of your legs slung across his waist and your head resting in the crook of his neck. you've both long forgotten about the show you were supposed to be watching and are now focused on trying to interpret each others touches, figure out if the other is thinking the same thing.

his hand finds your thigh and at first just rests on it, but when you don't pull away, he starts to trace circles over you. you know you should protest, but you don't. its been so long and you don't know if this will ever happen again. his breath flutters across your cheek. the tension building makes you try not to clench your fists around his shirt, but he can feel the slight pull and takes it as an invitation to trace his fingers higher up your leg. he can hear your breathing get more shallow, and he knows you're trying to control it.

his touch makes your heart pound and fills your brain with thick, hungry smoke, stifling any intention of leaving. his hands slither up to your waist and ghost up your back. he can feel you shiver and your eyelids flutter against his neck.

will probably be a part 2??

[theformulaimagines]

Untitled. 2017 [part 1]

Time will go by, and you'll forget all that was between you and me, you and me. No, I won't wait for you, but know this, that I loved you. For the last time, the last time, for the last time, the last time…

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x fem!singer reader

Plot: You loved this man. Ever since you were kids. But when self hatred runs deep everything breaks under the weight of it.

Warning: english isn’t my first language, angst, this has two or three parts, mentions of: depression, stress, heartbreak, friends to strangers (to lovers later(?))

2004

You giggled while you heard the door fall back shut. The moment you turned around you saw Jinyong walk up to you. Timid. Which would’ve confused you if you hadn’t felt the exact same way.

„Now?“, you asked, voice hardly above a whisper. Your best friend nodded before taking two big steps forward and pushing his lips on yours. With every other person in the world, it probably would have been awkward and embarrassing, not with Jiyong. With him, it was delicate and felt right.

Maybe because it was Jiyong. Your Jiyong.

2014

A heavy sigh fled your lips while you were looking down at your phone. The kind of sigh that lingers for a while before it needs to find a way out. There was no denying that Kiko was absolutely enchanting. A one-in-a-billion kind of woman. With a face straight out of a magazine. Your chest muscles tighten while you see the new pictures, taken only a few days ago. His hand lays on her cheek. A peaceful smile played on both of their faces, while she leaned into his touch.

He declared that he didn’t have a type. Which was obviously a lie. „Are you okay?“, someone near you asks, however, their voice is so far away you almost don’t hear it. For some bizarre reason, the only thing you were able to hear was the muffled sound of your already breaking heart. It had begun to crack a while ago, but now it was in two chunks. Laying in your ribcage.

No wonder Jiyong never looked your way when girls like Kiko existed in this world. You‘re pretty. Yes. Stunning even…when the lightning is set up right. However, you‘re not beautiful. You swallowed thickly and perked up.

„I‘m fine.“

No, you weren’t. You were far from being anywhere near that. The man you’ve been in love with since you first met had a type, and you figured out that you didn't fit into that.

You started dating as well. An idol from a well-respected boy group. And while the news of your relationship wasn't well received by his female fans there was one person who loathed it more than anyone else. Jiyong. The man who was asking every single girl he met if he could call them by your name. In their troubled on-and-off relationship Kiko wasn’t Kiko…no, she was Y/N. Which led to their countless breakups.

“Why don’t you go for the real thing?“

„You know I can’t.“

2017

The studio was chilly when you walked through the door. Jiyong was sitting next to mountains of papers, notes, and empty coffee mugs.

He asked you for advice. Which, he never asked anyone else about. Maybe you should’ve known by then that he loved you. He hoped you did. He had never been good at talking about his feelings without using metaphors. His reality always had to be hidden in plain sight.

He played the tracks. One by one. And you listened. Arms crossed, head tilted to the side. „I like it.“, you let out after a few moments of silence:“ It‘s honest.“ The man in front of you hummed in response. The anxiety lines, that were covering his features were deeper than usual. Quickly you pulled her gaze off of him, terrified that in a few moments, your view could turn blurry. Rather, they glide over the notes.

„It‘s good.“, you whisper. Which wasn’t a surprise to you:“ Since when…have you been working on this?“

„A while.“, he answers, running a hand through his hair.

„Is this about-?“

Jiyong looks away. He grabbed one of the coffee mugs, bringing it up to his lips. The cold liquid tasted sour, and he swallowed thickly before setting it back down on the table. „It‘s about a lot of things.“, he then responds, licking his dry lips. His fingers play with one of the volume knobs on the console.

„I‘m sorry about that by the way.“

„Don’t. It wasn’t just you. We both changed, right? Over time priorities change.“

„No, I mean Kiko.“ At the sound of her name Jiyongs’ jaw tenses and he leans back in his chair. He wants to look at you, but he just can’t. So he stares at his own reflection.

„Well, it was complicated. It had nothing to do with you.“, he lied, his voice sounding much more careful than before. He hoped you didn’t catch up on that. But you did. „I never said that.“ Your words were cutting deep and he wondered if you realized that. Almost to the bone.

„Things happened. It wasn’t fair to her, or me, or-.“ He paused. Concerned that if you were looking too close you could catch a glimpse of your name etched into the whiteness of them.

[crooked-haven]

Headcannons || GD 18+

➤ Pairing: Kwon Jiyong X (GN!) Reader

➤ Genre: Headcannons, Fluff, NSFW

➤ Rating: Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

➤ Warning/Tags: Kinks mentioned

➤ Disclaimer: All members of BIGBANG are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are purely coincidental.

Also these are just my thoughts!

➤ By: Crooked-haven

Word Count: 820

He bites his lip when he’s really focused.

He talks with his hands!

I think his favorite colors are black & red.

I think he has a habit of leaning against doorways, walls, or counters when he’s observing people or listening quietly. It gives him that calm, confident vibe.

I think he collects books or has his own mini library!

I think he absolutely loves rain.

He’s a perfectionist.

He’s an old soul.

I think he smells like fresh cut wood, musky and a little sweet.

Doodles on receipts, napkins, and his own hands/arms.

Texts in lowercase, rarely uses emojis, but will send you voice notes.

I think that he is a nervous nail biter.

Gets bashful when complimented in person.

Zones out a lot.

He’s independent, unpredictable, likes physical affection on his terms, and loves basking in sunlight near a window with music on.

I think sometimes he goes ghost to reclaim himself, like he will vanish from Instagram for weeks or months, then suddenly post 12 stories in a row.

I think that he is an Introverted Extrovert.

Mornings are not his thing. He’s most alive from midnight to sunrise. That’s when you’ll catch him dancing alone in the studio or scribbling ideas by candlelight, or even simply just chilling at home watching a show or reading a book!

I think that he will be private about his partner. He won’t post you on social media (at least not your face), but you’ll appear in shadows, backshots, or lyrics. His fans will speculate, but he won’t confirm or deny it.

His love language is 100% acts of service! Like designing a shirt inspired by your style, cooking food for you at 2 am, or sneaking you backstage passes no one else gets.

I think that Jiyong is a total hopeless romantic!! He’ll write you poems, leave little notes in your bag, and serenade you with unreleased lyrics he wrote just for you.

He definitely likes to have sex in risky places, like backstage, in his car, in front of a window. The thrill of getting caught turns him on.

This man definitely has a praise kink.

I think he’s a switch!

He worships with his hands. Expect a lot of tracing, hair pulling, gripping your hips tightly, fingers on your throat, but always with care.

Oh he definitely has a spanking kink.

He is obsessed with oral. Giving is practically religious to him. He’ll take his time, arms pinned around your thighs, making you fall apart while holding eye contact.

He also loves receiving, especially when you get on your knees without him asking. It drives him crazy when you look up at him with your mouth full, fingers digging into his thighs.

I think that he loves roleplay! I genuinely think that he’ll get off on power dynamics like CEO X assistant, Idol X Fan, Artist X Muse.

He gets turned on by theatrics, like lingerie, silk ties, masks, mirrors. He likes the performance of sex just as much as the act, so he’s definitely a foreplay kinda guy.

He’s got a worship kink.

Absolutely a mirror kink man. He loves watching you watch yourself while he takes you from behind or fingers you. “Look how pretty you are when I’m inside you.”

Has probably filmed you (with consent) during sex, not for ego but for art. Keeps it private, but may watch it alone on tour when he misses you and he gets turned on by the idea of being watched, but only by you. Might even have you watch while he touches himself, just to see your reaction.

He switches into a gentle sweetheart right after. Warm baths, slow kisses, cleaning you up, holding you, chest to chest, all while whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

He’s a teaser, he’ll spend 20+ minutes just teasing you.

He definitely likes to overstimulate and edge!

Gets off on watching your face as he fucks you, how your eyes flutter, how you lose focus, how you break for him.

Loves dirty talk, it’s slow, whispered filth that wrecks you more than shouting ever could.

“You like when I ruin you like this?”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

“Take my fat cock, yeah?”

“Ya want me to fill you up? Yeah? Beg.”

ღ

@crooked-haven | Tumblr | Library

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 8)

Choi Seunghyun x fem!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: As always, I'm using Jiyong and Seunghyun as characters. I'm not in any way shape or form suggesting that they'd act this way in real life.

synopsis: Feelings are hurt, grief is a strange thing, we take it out in weird ways. But Seunghyun and Y/n just want their friend to wake up.

warnings: dark i guess, hospital, car accident, rough slightly unwanted sex (borderline grape I guess but not graphic), angst, lots of feels, drunk editing, MDNI 18+, if you'd like a summary without reading, DM me

wc: 4.3k+

The crash was horrific. Jiyong hadn’t seen the semi barreling through the intersection until it was too late. There was a sickening crunch of metal meeting metal, then the world turned upside down—literally. His car flipped, once, twice, three times, the screech of twisting steel and shattering glass echoing through the night. The engine ignited on the final roll, flames licking hungrily along the crumpled hood, black smoke curling into the air like a wild fire.

By the time you and Seunghyun had made it outside it was pure chaos. Sirens howled. Lights flashed. A crowd had gathered, necks craned, camera phones out, some already recording. But none of it registered. All you saw was the burning wreckage—and the stranger. A man covered in soot, hands trembling, dragging Jiyong’s limp body across the pavement just seconds before the car exploded behind him, sending a burst of heat and debris into the air. That man, whoever he was, had saved his life.

Your legs buckled at the sight.

The glare from the ambulance flood lights seared into your eyes, making it hard to focus. Police shouted over radios, trying to push back the growing crowd, and the paparazzi—fucking vultures—had somehow shown up already, shouting questions, snapping photos. It was too much. Your lungs seized. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You wanted to run, to scream, to disappear.

Jiyong's body—so pale, so bloody, his face barely recognizable—was carefully loaded into the back of the ambulance. You couldn’t stop crying. The tears came like a dam breaking, soaking your face, your shirt, your trembling hands. Seunghyun pulled you into his side, one arm wrapping around you tightly as if trying to shield you from the nightmare unfolding. His face was buried in your hair, his own sobs shaking both of you as you stood there, helpless, watching the man you both loved so much disappear behind those white ambulance doors.

-

The hospital waiting area felt like the backrooms.

Too bright. Too sterile. Too quiet — except for the occasional ring of a phone at the reception desk or the rhythmic clacking of keys from someone behind the counter. But even those sounds felt muted, distant, like the world was operating at half-speed while all of you sat frozen in a grief that hadn’t even fully arrived yet.

You sat curled up on the stiff plastic chair, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around your shins like they could somehow keep you from unraveling completely. Seunghyun was beside you, close enough to feel his presence but not touching. Neither of you could. There was too much space between you now, and none of it had to do with physical distance.

Across from you, Daesung stared blankly at the floor, his fingers twitching against his leg. Taeyang kept rubbing his hands together, like he could pray the panic away. Seungri looked like he’d aged ten years in the last hour, chewing on the edge of his thumb, phone clutched tightly in his other hand though he hadn’t looked at it in a while. Not really. 

They were all waiting. Hoping. Dreading.

Jiyong’s manager sat silently in the far corner, head bowed, lips pressed into a tight line. A few YG staffers dotted the waiting room, whispering among themselves, but their presence felt like white noise. No one was really speaking. What could they possibly say?

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at anyone. Your vision swam, not from tears — not yet — but from the pressure of holding them back. You blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them.

Because this was your fault.

Every single agonizing minute that passed, you reminded yourself of that.

He’d been leaving your apartment. After your fight. After you'd shattered him with words you couldn’t take back. You could still hear the slam of the door. You could still feel the weight of his anger, his heartbreak, pressing down on your chest.

You buried your face in your arms. It hurt to breathe.

Beside you, Seunghyun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were bone white. He hadn’t spoken since arriving at the hospital. Hadn’t moved much either. But his mind was racing.

It was his fault too.

He should’ve taken Jiyong’s keys. He should’ve told him to stay the night. He should’ve been a better friend — his best friend. But instead, he let him walk out of that bar. Walk out of your apartment. Stumbling and furious, still drunk, still hurting.

And now they were all sitting here, waiting to find out if Jiyong would wake up at all.

Seunghyun glanced at you from the corner of his eye — your small, shaking form beside him, silent tears finally sliding down your cheeks.

He wanted to reach for you. Wanted to hold you and tell you everything was going to be okay.

But it wouldn’t have been true.

And the truth was — neither of you knew who you were grieving harder for:

Jiyong…

Or the pieces of yourselves that had broken beyond repair.

The sterile hush of the hospital waiting room shattered as the doors creaked open and the doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable.

Jiyong’s manager was on his feet before anyone else could even register the movement.

“What’s going on?” he asked, urgency sharpening his voice.

“We need to speak to his family,” the doctor replied, scanning the room with a professional detachment that made your stomach twist.

“His family is on their way,” his manager said quickly, already stepping forward. “But I’m his manager. I’ve been listed on his emergency contacts. We can speak, let’s go talk.” He said, voice eager.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, then gave a tight nod. Without another word, he turned and let himself be led down the hall, disappearing behind the same doors Jiyong had vanished through over an hour ago.

The silence left in their wake was heavier than anything that came before it.

Taeyang sat forward, rubbing his hands over his face before looking at Seunghyun, eyes narrowed with confusion and fear.

“So… what the hell happened?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t you guys go out tonight?”

Every nerve in your body lit up like a warning flare.

You couldn’t breathe. Your chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. Your palms were slick with sweat. You could feel the stares of the other boys — of everyone — even if they weren’t looking directly at you. The pressure was suffocating. The truth was crawling its way to the surface, clawing through the cracks like smoke before a fire.

Seunghyun inhaled slowly. His jaw tightened. You felt his hand come to rest on your knee, grounding you for just a second. But it wasn’t comfort. It was confirmation.

“He was drunk,” Seunghyun said quietly, his voice low and rough.

That was it. Just those three words.

Taeyang flinched slightly, and Daesung swore under his breath.

“He was drunk,” Seunghyun repeated, more to himself now, like he was trying to make sense of it, trying to say it enough times to believe it. “And stupid.”

You bit down hard on your lip, hard enough to taste blood. Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Because even if Seunghyun was technically right, it wasn’t the whole story. Jiyong had been drunk, yes. And reckless. But he hadn’t crashed just because of the alcohol in his veins.

He had crashed because of you.

Because he had stormed out of your apartment with your voice still echoing in his head — every bitter word, every rejection, every cruel truth you hadn't meant to come out the way it did. He’d left with a cracked-open heart and nowhere to put the pieces.

You had taken away the one thing he didn’t even realize he wanted until it was already gone.

A child.

A future.

A family.

And that was what had been driving him faster than he should have been. That was what blurred his vision more than the whiskey ever could. That was what made him miss the light. What made him not see the semi barreling through the far too busy intersection outside your apartment.

Yes, Jiyong had been drunk.

But he had also been hurting.

The doctors, the lawyers, the managers — they’d sort it all out. They’d write it up in reports and argue it in meetings. There would be contracts and coverage and headlines. They’d fix it up for the public.

But none of that changed the truth.

He had been speeding away from your front door with a black hole in his chest, crushed beneath the weight of the love he couldn't keep, and the future he didn’t get to fight for.

And now all any of you could do was wait.

Wait for news.

Wait for forgiveness.

Wait for a miracle.

You stood up without saying a word. No one tried to stop you. No one even looked up. Maybe they understood, or maybe they just didn’t know how to speak anymore. Either way, you were grateful. You needed the air. Needed the distance. Needed a break from the guilt pressing down on your chest.

Outside, the night was cool and still, and the moment the sliding ER doors shut behind you, it was like someone turned the volume down on the world. The hospital buzz faded, replaced by the soft hum of passing cars and the gentle breeze rustling the trees nearby.

You lit your cigarette with shaking fingers, bringing it to your lips like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. The smoke filled your lungs, acrid and warm, and for just a second, you could almost pretend none of this was real. Almost.

You were halfway through your cigarette when you heard the doors behind you hiss open again.

You didn’t turn around. Not at first. You just exhaled slowly, hoping—praying—it wasn’t anyone. That you could just be alone with your guilt for a little while longer.

But then you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

Seunghyun.

He looked nothing like the man you knew.

His shoulders were hunched, his expression hollow, like someone had scooped the life out of him and left the shell behind. His hands were in his pockets. His eyes were red-rimmed, though you weren’t sure if it was from crying or just exhaustion. Or maybe both.

You silently held out your cigarette pack and the lighter.

He took one wordlessly, and sat down beside you on the low stone wall near the hospital entrance. The click of the lighter was the only sound between you as he lit up, inhaling deep like he needed it more than air.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. You just stared up at the night sky, the stars shining far too brightly for how dark the world felt right now.

You wanted to reach for his hand. You wanted to press your palm against his, to offer some kind of comfort, even if you didn’t deserve to give it. But you didn’t move.

“Seunghyun, I—” you started, voice thin and raw.

But he didn’t let you finish.

“You should go home,” he said, cutting you off with a quiet firmness that hurt more than if he’d yelled.

You looked down at your shoes, swallowing hard. “I-I don’t want to go back there…” you muttered, barely audible.

The words carried too much weight.

Your apartment. The place where Jiyong had stood broken and shaking, where the worst things had been said. Where you’d sent him out into the night with a wound he hadn’t been able to outrun.

You couldn’t go back to that.

Seunghyun sighed, and the sound was so heavy it made your chest tighten all over again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys and holding them out to you.

“Here,” he said. “Go to my place.”

You hesitated. “I—”

“I don’t want you here,” he said, voice sharper now. Not yelling. Just... tired. Defeated. Final.

The words sliced through you like glass. You flinched, your hand recoiling from the keys even though you knew he wasn’t wrong.

“I want to make sure—”

“I’ll call if there’s an update,” he said, already turning his gaze away. “Just...go.”

You stared at him, your vision going blurry with tears. But you knew better than to argue. Not now. Not with him. Not with everything so fragile and raw.

You nodded, swallowing the sob threatening to climb your throat.

You called an Uber and didn’t look back.

-

Seunghyun’s apartment welcomed you like a ghost. Everything was familiar — the scent of his cologne still clinging to the air, the soft hum of the fridge, the faint echo of laughter that only existed in your memory now.

You walked slowly through the space, your fingers trailing over the back of the couch, the counter, the hallway wall — like touching these things would somehow bring you back to a time when this place felt like home. When he felt like home.

You reached the bedroom and stripped out of your clothes with a kind of numb autopilot. You opened his drawer and pulled out one of his oversized t-shirts — the one he always wore on lazy Sunday mornings.

You slipped it over your head, the fabric brushing your skin with a familiar comfort, and for a moment, it felt like you could still feel his arms around you.

But it wasn’t real.

You climbed into his bed, curling into his side of the bed, breathing in the remnants of him like they were oxygen.

And then it hit you.

All of it.

The crash.

The guilt.

The fact that Jiyong might never open his eyes again.

The fact that Seunghyun was done with you.

The fact that you may have lost everything.

A choking sob ripped from your throat as you curled into yourself, burying your face into his pillow.

Your body shook with quiet, helpless grief.

Tonight had changed everything.

And there was no going back.

-

The loud slam of the front door jolted you awake. Your entire body tensed, your heart hammering in your chest as your mind scrambled to make sense of where you were.

Then it hit you. Seunghyun’s house.

You sat up slowly, blinking through the haze of sleep. The room was dim, lit only by the morning sun peaking through the blinds, casting pale shadows across the walls. You strained to hear footsteps, movement — anything — but the house had gone quiet again.

It had to be him. He must’ve come home from the hospital.

You waited, every second dragging out painfully as dread curled in your stomach. You counted the minutes in your head, clinging to the silence like it might give you an answer.

After what felt like forever, you heard the soft creak of the bedroom door.

Seunghyun stepped in.

He barely looked at you.

His eyes skimmed over your presence in his bed like you were furniture, like you weren’t someone he had once called “baby,” someone he had once held so carefully. 

Without a word, he walked past you and shut the bathroom door behind him.

You sat frozen, still beneath the blankets, unsure what to do. Your skin pricked with nerves. Did he want you here? Did he even remember that he’d told you to come? Or had that been guilt talking?

The weight of your thoughts crushed you. You laid back down, curling onto your side, arms wrapped tightly around your core. Your heart felt like it might crack open. You whispered a quiet prayer into the silence, not for yourself, but for Jiyong.

Please let him be okay.

Fifteen agonizing minutes passed before the bathroom door opened again. You glanced over your shoulder as Seunghyun walked back into the room, dressed in nothing but his boxers. He climbed into bed beside you wordlessly and grabbed the remote, flicking on the TV. An old sitcom started to play — something bright, cheerful, completely out of place against the oppressive weight in the room.

You chewed your bottom lip, uncertain. The air between you was too thick with unspoken grief and regret. Still, you tried.

“Seunghyun…” you said softly.

No response.

He stared at the screen, his face expressionless.

You tried again, your voice cracking with hesitation. “Is… is there any update? On Ji?”

He took a slow breath through his nose. The pause before he answered made your chest tighten.

“He’s out of surgery,” he finally said. His voice was flat, tired. “Hasn’t woken up yet.”

You felt the sting of tears in your eyes again, but blinked them back quickly. You didn’t deserve to cry. Not after everything.

“Is he going to be okay?” you asked, barely able to form the words.

“I-I don’t know, Y/n,” he said, and for the first time since he got home, there was emotion behind his voice. Sadness. Defeat. “His family’s with him. They told us to go home…rest.”

You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. A long silence passed before you worked up the nerve to ask, “D-Do you want me to leave?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun.

He was quiet for a long time, and just when you were sure he wasn’t going to answer, he whispered, “No.”

You were stunned.

You didn’t know what he meant. You didn’t know if it was love, or guilt, or just the unbearable weight of being alone right now. But you didn’t argue. You didn’t say another word.

You sat in silence beside him, the two of you watching the flicker of people laughing on a screen neither of you were really seeing.

Thirty minutes passed like that. Maybe longer.

Then, without warning, his hand moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

It slid across the bed and settled on your thigh. Warm. Heavy. Familiar yet foreign.

His fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and your breath caught in your throat. Your body reacted before your brain could catch up — tension coiled in your belly, heat blooming where his fingers hovered.

You turned toward him instinctively, crawling over his hips, straddling him.

Your lips met in a rush of desperation and pain. He didn’t pull back. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, deeper. One slid down your back, gripping your ass roughly. His nails dug in. Then came the sharp crack of his palm landing on your cheek.

You whimpered into his mouth.

And that sound — that soft, broken sound — snapped something in him.

He flipped you beneath him with a strength that startled you, not even bothering to undress fully before pushing his boxers down just enough to free himself. He didn’t pause, didn’t ask, didn’t look at you. He pushed your panties to the side.

You didn’t even have time to prepare before he shoved into you.

You cried out, the stretch almost painful. Your nails dug into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself, but he didn’t slow down. Didn’t soften.

He thrust into you hard, fast, his pace punishing. You felt the bed frame creak under the force of it, your breath catching as his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Seunghyun…” you whimpered, your voice strangled.

He leaned close, grunting in your ear, his fingers tightening.

You could feel it now — this wasn’t intimacy. This wasn’t love.

It was anger.

Grief.

Trauma.

“Was he better than me?” he whispered, his voice venomous, hips snapping forward harder.

You gasped at the sting, tears springing to your eyes.

“Who fucks you better, huh?”

“Seunghyun!” you screamed, shoving at his chest. “You’re hurting me!”

He froze for a split second.

You pushed again, harder this time, and he rolled off of you, chest heaving as the realization of what just happened hit him like a freight train.

He stared at you — really saw you now — your eyes red, your body trembling, clutching the sheets tightly around you like a shield.

The darkness in his eyes vanished, replaced by horror.

“Shit,” he whispered, sitting up and dragging both hands through his hair. “Shit, Y/n… I’m—I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t even look at him.

You choked back a sob, stumbling out of bed and rushing to the bathroom. You locked the door behind you, pressing your back to it, sliding to the cold tile floor.

And there, in the silence…you broke.

“Y/n, please…” Seunghyun’s voice came through the door, broken and muffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear to god I didn’t…”

You sat on the cold tile floor, your knees hugged to your chest, arms trembling as your fingers dug into your skin. The sobs shook through you violently, unstoppable, as the night played over and over in your head like a film reel you couldn't turn off.

Everything was broken.

Jiyong. Seunghyun.You.

The man you loved had just used you as an outlet for his pain — not a partner, not someone to hold, but someone to unload on. You felt every thrust like an accusation. Every movement screamed at you: You did this. You destroyed us. You ruined everything.

But it wasn’t just anger. It was grief. It was guilt. It was heartbreak on both ends, a tangle of too many things neither of you had the tools to process.

“I’m sorry,” Seunghyun choked out again. You could hear the weight in his voice, the kind of sorrow that buckled you at the knees. “Please, can we just talk? I can’t breathe without knowing you’re okay…”

And still, even with how scared you were… your heart ached for him.

You loved him. So fucking much.

Maybe that was the worst part — that even after what had just happened, a part of you still wanted to comfort him. To reach for him. To fix what was already in ruins.

Maybe you deserved it.

Maybe you didn’t.

You shifted, hands trembling as you unlocked the bathroom door and slowly cracked it open.

He was sitting right outside, legs folded beneath him, arms resting on his knees. He looked… small. Tired. Wrecked. He’d changed into sweats and an old, worn t-shirt, the one he usually slept in when you stayed over. His eyes were red, tear tracks still glistening on his cheeks.

You tugged your borrowed shirt down, trying to cover yourself, suddenly painfully aware of your body. His gaze flicked to you and quickly away, like even he couldn’t look at what he’d done.

Without a word, he grabbed the blanket off the bed and handed it to you. You took it, wrapping it tightly around yourself, grateful for the shield between you.

You sat beside him, leaning back against the wall, your shoulders just barely brushing. The silence was suffocating, but you weren’t ready to break it.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n,” Seunghyun whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You swallowed, staring blankly at the floor. “Yeah. I did.”

“No.” His voice snapped sharper now, filled with conviction. “No, you didn’t.”

He turned to you then, really turned, his eyes bloodshot and wide. “I took everything I was feeling and dumped it on you. I used you. That’s not love. That’s not who I want to be. That’s not who I am.”

You opened your mouth, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

“I caused all of this,” you finally said, your voice so small it was barely audible.

He sighed and dropped his face into his hands. “I don’t even know how to start this conversation.”

“I don’t think it’s the time to have it,” you whispered.

He nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Wounded.

You stared ahead, unsure if you were waiting for something or if there was simply nothing left to say. Until finally…

“D-Did you tell everyone the whole story?” you asked, heart pounding in your chest.

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “No. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I want Jiyong to wake up first,” he said, his voice cracking at the name. “I want him to be okay. I just… I need him to be okay so bad, Y/n. He’s my best friend.”

And then he crumbled.

He collapsed into your lap and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as the sobs came. Violent. Uncontrolled.

You held him without thinking. Your hands tangled in his hair, your lips pressed to the crown of his head. And then you were crying too. The two of you sobbing into each other, curled up on the bedroom floor like children who had just lost their favorite toy.

You cried for Jiyong.

For yourselves.

For the pieces of this mess you didn’t know how to put back together.

-

An hour passed like that. Eventually, the tears dried, leaving nothing but swollen eyes and silent exhaustion.

“Seunghyun,” you whispered, brushing the hair from his forehead. “Have you slept?”

He sniffled and shook his head. “Not really.”

“You need rest,” you said gently.

He nodded, eyes fluttering. “Will you… rub my back?”

His voice cracked again, soft and wounded, like a little boy asking his mother for comfort. It nearly broke you all over again.

You smiled through the ache. Remembering the last few months how you coaxed him to sleep that way. “Yeah. I will.”

You helped him into bed, pulling the blankets over both of you as he curled onto his side. You slid in behind him, your fingers trailing lightly across his bare back. Drawing soft shapes like you used to. Slow, soothing motions to ease him into rest.

His breathing began to slow. His body finally relaxed.

And you stayed there, in the quiet, drawing circles into his skin and wondering if either of you would ever feel whole again.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[moontabi]

BONAMANA

apart of @igorluvr’s übermensch series

kwon jiyong x fem! reader

summary: caught in a web of infidelity and obsession, you’re once again at jiyong’s place—deep in an affair you can’t bring yourself to end.

warnings: 18+ content ahead including cheating, angst, possessiveness, obsession, unhealthy dynamics, dirty talk, riding, unprotected sex, cumming inside. they’re both not good people, heavily inspired by the actual lyrics of the song (jiyong our messy king), poor seunghyun

a/n: i recommend listening to bonamana while reading if you really wanna feel the vibes. the bold words in this are directly pulled from the english translation🤭 enjoy and make sure to keep up with the rest of the series!! i’m so happy to be apart of it <3

You should’ve gone home.

Your husband Seunghyun had called twice already.

You didn’t answer either time. He was probably sitting in your shared bedroom, eyes heavy with worry.

You told yourself this was the last time.

You stood outside Jiyong’s door, heart pounding with the kind of dread that shouldn’t feel this exhilarating.

Your hand trembled when you lifted it to knock, but you didn’t need to. He opened the door like he was counting the minutes until you got there.

Like he knew.

Jiyong didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you—dark circles under his eyes, jaw sharp with tension, lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Like he hasn’t lived since he last touched you.

You don’t speak.

You just walk in.

And his hands are on you before the door clicks shut.

You don’t kiss.

You crash.

Lips and limbs and heat, breath catching in your throat when he whispers against your skin,

“Finally,” Jiyong breathes, voice hoarse like he’s been screaming inside his head for hours.

“You took your time.”

You barely cross the threshold before his lips are on yours again, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

He kisses you like he’s trying to fix something inside himself—hard, desperate, uncoordinated.

And you let him.

You always let him.

Your fingers find his jaw, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are bloodshot. Hollow.

“I wake up and it’s like—” He cuts himself off, “A whole day gone. Just… gone. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I just sit here, blankly waiting for you.”

He pulls you close again, tighter this time, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Like a beggar,” he says,

“Trapped in solitary confinement after losing his master.”

His words cut you like daggers.

You should stop him.

You should stop yourself.

But you don’t.

You never did.

Clothes hit the floor like they never mattered. Like none of it matters except this—skin on skin, the sick comfort of being wanted too much.

Jiyong treated you as if you were heaven on earth.

An angel to be worshiped and pleasured.

Jiyong falls back onto the mattress and pulls you on top of him, hands rough on your waist. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, eyes dark and feral. “We both know the truth.”

Your thighs bracket his hips and your hands press into his chest.

“How about we have a little fun behind your man’s back?” he whispers, lips grazing your collarbone.

Your breath stutters. You grind against him slowly, letting his words poison you sweetly. He groans, head falling back, fingers digging into your ass.

His hands slide up your back, then down to your hips, gripping tightly as he lifts you up and aligns himself without warning.

You gasp as he enters you suddenly, rough and deep. No foreplay, no teasing words—

just raw, desperate fucking.

You ride him with tight drags of your hips, and his name flowed from your lips like a prayer.

“Missed this pussy so much...” he groans, hands holding your hips firmly to guide your movements. His thrusts are intense, almost punishing, as if he's trying to make up for lost time.

“Fuck, you ride me so pretty,” he says.

“So fucking perfect, baby.”

You bite your lip, moaning as you move.

Faster.

Harder.

His hands guide you like he’s sculpting something divine.

“You suck me in like you were made for me.”

He mutters, watching your tits bounce with half lidded eyes.

“Your husband do this to you?” He asks, eyes snapping up to meet yours. “Does he make you moan like this?”

He pushes your hips down hard, hitting that spot deep inside that makes your eyes roll back.

You feel him everywhere—inside you, against you, surrounding you. His hands are bruising on your hips and ass, his words dripping with filth, You're riding him even faster now, chasing that high only he gives you.

You can feel the sweat trickling down your spine, your breasts heaving with each desperate breath. His cock throbs inside you, each lift of your hips sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

“Why can’t you leave him?” he asks, voice breaking. “Why does he get to have you when I need you like this?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is sitting heavy in your chest, thudding in time with your heartbeat.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Playing with Jiyong’s heart, even engaging in an affair.

But what would life be like without him?

It feels like you’d die.

And Jiyong would too.

“Can you handle this?” he pants against your shoulder, voice ragged. “Ride me just like that—push me hard. Yeah…let me hear you scream, girl.”

And you do.

You let the noise tear from your throat. The rhythm turns reckless, more like train wreck than sex—a violent, beautiful crescendo of something too damaged to name.

A sonata of love gone wrong.

His lips find your throat, then your jaw, teeth scraping like a warning. “You fucking love this, don’t you? Sneaking around. Getting fucked raw by another man while he waits at home.”

His laugh is breathless, bitter.

But his words aren’t cruel—they’re pleading.

“Yes…! Fuck, Jiyong—”

Jiyong flips you without warning, your back hitting the sheets with a thud.

He thrusts into you again, a frantic pace. He’s panting, sweating, muscles tight with restraint he’s clearly about to lose.

He’s not just fucking you—he’s trying to bury something inside you.

The loneliness.

The fear of losing you.

The madness.

His tongue slides into your mouth, hand wrapped tight around your throat—not choking, just holding.

Possessive.

Unhinged.

“I live for this—Fuck, I live for you.”

You arch beneath him, nails dragging down his back hard enough to break skin. He groans—low and guttural—because the pain only pulls him deeper.

It aches, loving you like this. But God, it hurts so good.

He’s completely unraveling now, murmuring sin and worship in the same breath. “You’re mine,” he groans, voice shaking. “At the end of it all—even if no one else knows it—you’re my secret.”

You clench around him, and his rhythm falters, hips jerking as he tries to hold on.

“Ji—please,” you whimper, breath hitching.

“Please don’t stop…don’t you dare stop—”

He finds his rhythm again and your moans mix with his, the room echoing with every slap of skin, every gasping breath, every needy cry.

And just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Jiyong slows down—deep, grinding thrusts now, dragging out the feeling.

He leans in close, sweat dripping from his temple. He grabs your face with his tattooed hand, the rings on his fingers pinching your skin. He forces you to look at him.

“Am I the one who’s fucked up? Or is it both of us?”

He’s panting now. You’re both close.

“It’s me,” you whisper, voice cracking as tears blur your vision. “I’m the one who keeps falling… crawling back to something that ruins us both.”

You press your forehead into his chest, defeated.

He meets you with a slow, aching thrust, drawing a cry from deep in your throat.

“Then we’re a perfect match, baby.” he murmurs against your neck, a bitter edge in his voice. “You and me are the same.”

You come undone with his name in your mouth, tears in your eyes, guilt bleeding out with every gasp.

And Jiyong watches you like he just witnessed something sacred—like you belong to him.

“Only I make you come this pretty...only me.”

You’re still trembling in his arms, your body spent, but he’s not done.

Not yet.

Jiyong grips your hips again, holding you to him—shallow, desperate thrusts that grind against the most sensitive part of you,

“Fuck, baby” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, breath mixing with your own.

You pulsate around his dick, every nerve still raw, oversensitive, on fire.

“Gonna come,” he chokes out, eyes fluttering shut, “Inside you, baby. Gonna fill you up so deep he won’t ever know.”

He kisses you then—hard, uncoordinated, too full of emotion to be anything less than honest.

Like he’s branding the truth onto your lips.

Mine.

With one final thrust, he buries himself deep, hips jerking as he spills his seed into you with a strangled moan. The sound he makes is broken—His arms wrap around you, tight, possessive, so he can fuse you to him through sheer will.

And for a moment, you let him believe you might stay.

That this is real.

That the world outside of this doesn’t exist.

But even as he softens inside you, even as his heartbeat stutters beneath your cheek, he knows better.

The moment is over, and the room is quiet.

He’s the one who breaks the silence.

A soft, cracked whisper against your lips.

“Stay.”

But you don’t.

You never do.

And every time, that’s the part that ruins him more.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ tags: @mashtatosworld @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @xxtoptaexx @tabibabib @numeroun01 @heartubeatusalon @breakmeoff @gdinthehouseee @septywitch @aizshallnotbefound @namsgyu contact me if you want to be added to or removed from my permanent taglist

[gdinthehouseee]

Stars Rewritten: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after he left you, you never heard from ji-yong again. or, that was the case, until you finally saw him again at a fashion show---where the walls you had spent so long building up around your heart finally crumbled down.

word count: 5062

tags: angst to fluff; exes to lovers, arguments, dramatic asf, you have a slight panic attack so please click off if you feel it's too much, hurt/comfort

ao3 link -- smau bonus

The air inside the Chanel afterparty was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and fine champagne, a blur of murmured conversations and polite laughter. Paris had a way of making everything feel ethereal—timeless—but the moment you locked eyes with Kwon Ji-yong, time felt like it had stopped altogether.

He stood near the bar, one hand lazily wrapped around a crystal glass, the other tucked effortlessly into his pocket. Even in a room full of icons draped in couture, he stood out. Always had. And yet, it wasn’t the sharp lines of his suit or the effortless way he carried himself that held your attention. It was his eyes. Dark, searching, and unreadable. They traced over you like a memory long buried, one he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to unearth.

Your chest tightened. You should’ve known he’d be here. Fashion and Ji-yong went hand in hand—just like you and him once did. Still, nothing could’ve prepared you for the way seeing him again would make your pulse stutter, for the way his presence still felt like a song you hadn’t heard in years but somehow still knew the lyrics to.

He didn’t look away. Neither did you. So, you did the only thing you could—you closed the distance.

Ji-yong watched as you approached, his lips curving slightly—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. "Didn’t think I’d see you here," he murmured, voice smooth as ever.

"Paris is big enough for the both of us," you replied, tone casual, though your heartbeat told a different story.

"Is it?" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Funny. I feel like I see you everywhere."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

You refused to be the first to break. A quiet pause. He probably didn’t mean it literally, but the weight of his words settled between you. Did he mean in headlines? In music? In memories?

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "Still quick with the comebacks, I see."

You shrugged. "Some things never change."

His expression flickered—just for a second. Barely noticeable, but you caught it. A shadow of something deeper, something raw. "Some things do," he said quietly.

That—that was the first real crack in his composure.

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable. "Well," you exhaled, glancing around, "it’s good to see you’re still doing well."

"Are you?" His voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer.

"Of course," you answered, maybe too quickly. Too smoothly. Because what else were you supposed to say? That seeing him still made your heart ache? That Paris, no matter how romantic, still felt empty without him?

Ji-yong hummed, swirling the liquid in his glass. "Good." But he didn’t sound convinced.

You should’ve walked away. Should’ve let the moment pass, let him become just another face in the crowd, another ghost of your past that didn’t deserve to be resurrected. That would’ve been the smart thing to do—the safe thing. Just two people who used to know each other, exchanging polite words in a city meant for strangers and lovers alike. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ji-yong had never been just someone you used to know. He had been your beginning and your ending, the song that played in the quiet corners of your mind long after the music had stopped. And now, standing in front of him again, feeling the weight of his gaze, hearing the softness in his voice that made old wounds ache—you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to pretend he was just another person in the room.

"Did you ever miss me?"

His voice—so much quieter, so much heavier—cut through the space between you.

"Did you?" You shot back immediately.

Ji-yong didn’t answer right away. He just stared, gaze unreadable, jaw tightening slightly like he was debating whether or not to tell the truth. Finally, he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always did know how to turn things around on me."

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Guess some things really don’t change after all."

A flicker of something crossed his face—something almost nostalgic. Almost sad.

Before either of you could say anything else, someone called his name. His momentary distraction gave you the chance to take a step back, breathe, and remind yourself that you weren’t that person anymore—the one who used to fall so easily into his orbit.

His gaze flickered back to yours, as if considering whether to pull you back in or let you go. And then, with one last lingering look, he gave you a slow, almost reluctant nod.

"Enjoy your night," he murmured before turning away.

Ji-yong didn’t look back as he disappeared into the crowd, but he felt you lingering—like a song stuck in his head, like the one thing he thought he’d buried but never really could. His grip on his drink tightened, his pulse a little too quick, his thoughts a little too loud. He had spent so long convincing himself that time had dulled the edges of what you once were, that he had moved past the ache of losing you. But seeing you tonight? Hearing your voice, sharp as ever, watching the way your lips curled into that familiar smirk—it unraveled something in him. You still got under his skin. And maybe the worst part? Some small, stupid, hopeless part of him wanted to believe that he still got under yours, too.

The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of Paris beneath it—the soft wail of a saxophone from a street musician, the muffled laughter of strangers, the city breathing all around you. The elegant wrap draped over your shoulders did little against the chill, but you weren’t sure if it was the cold or the lingering weight of Ji-yong’s presence that sent a shiver through you. The party inside carried on without you—glasses clinking, laughter rising and falling, conversations blending into a meaningless hum. But out here, on the secluded balcony overlooking the city skyline, everything was still.

The cigarette between your fingers burned slowly, thin wisps of smoke curling into the night air. You took a slow drag, letting the warmth settle in your lungs, but it didn’t help. Nothing did. You exhaled, watching the smoke dissolve into the sky, your thoughts spiraling. You shouldn’t have come tonight. You knew there was a chance he’d be here. A part of you had even tried to prepare for it—but how do you prepare for seeing someone who once made you feel like your entire world revolved around them?

"You never used to smoke."

Ji-yong.

Your fingers twitched around the cigarette. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Not everything stays the same, y’know.” You mutter before taking another slow drag.

His gaze flickered, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before he stepped forward, resting his forearms against the railing beside you. Close, but not close enough. He let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. "Didn’t think I’d ever see the day."

You arched a brow, finally looking at him fully. "What, me smoking?"

He tilted his head, studying you the way he always used to—like he was peeling back layers, searching for something just beneath the surface. "You hated it. You used to steal my cigarettes just to throw them away."

You exhaled a humorless chuckle. "Maybe I just wanted to piss you off."

"Is that what this is, then? Still trying to piss me off?"

"Not everything is about you, Ji-yong."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached over—slow, deliberate—and plucked the cigarette from your hand. You let him. He studied it for a second, rolling it between his fingers like he was trying to understand something unspoken. Then, just as slowly, he lifted it to his lips, taking a drag. Your stomach twisted. The sight was familiar and foreign all at once.

He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night, before finally speaking—softer this time.

"You used to say my name differently," he said quietly, tapping the ash off his cigarette.

Your breath hitched. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk like—like we’re still the same people we were back then."

A humorless chuckle escaped him, low and bitter. "We’re not. That’s the problem, isn’t it?"

You didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t wrong.

He took another slow drag, his shoulders rising and falling with the inhale before he turned to fully face you. "You never answered me earlier," he murmured.

"About what?"

"If you ever missed me."

Your stomach twisted. He said it so simply, like it wasn’t the very question that had kept you up on too many nights, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had ever done the same.

You wanted to lie. You wanted to tell him no. That you had moved on, that the years apart had erased him, that the sight of him standing in front of you now didn’t make old scars ache.

But your silence said more than words ever could.

Ji-yong’s lips pressed together as he studied your expression, as if searching for something—an answer, a confession, proof that he wasn’t the only one who had spent all this time wondering what if.

And then, barely above a whisper, he spoke.

"I missed you."

It shouldn’t have mattered—it shouldn’t have felt like a punch to the chest, like something raw and aching unraveling inside of you. But it did. You tore your gaze away, focusing on the city lights in the distance, anywhere but him. 

"Don’t do that, Ji-yong." You repeated.

His brow furrowed. "Do what?"

"Say things like that," you muttered, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "Like it changes anything."

"You think it doesn’t?"

It was your turn to huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It’s been years."

"And?" His voice had an edge now, something frustrated, something almost desperate.

"And we ruined each other," you shot back, finally meeting his gaze again.

Ji-yong flinched, just barely—but you caught it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, stretched tight between you like a thread on the verge of snapping. The air felt heavier out here, thick with the past, with every unspoken word, every unsent message, every lingering memory that neither of you had truly let go of. It was in the way Ji-yong’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something—a sign that you still felt it too, that he wasn’t alone in this quiet ache. It was in the way your fingers curled against the railing, gripping it as if it could steady you against the pull of him. So much had been left unsaid between you, but standing here, so close yet so impossibly far, you realized something terrifying. Maybe the past had never really let go of either of you.

"You really believe that?" he asked quietly.

Your fingers curled into your palms. "I have to."

Ji-yong inhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep himself together. Then, before you could react, he took a step closer. Too close. Close enough that you could smell his cologne, something familiar, something that shouldn’t still feel like home. Close enough that the warmth of his body seeped into yours, despite the cold air.

"Then tell me to walk away.”

Your pulse jumped. "What?"

"If you really believe that—if you really think we ruined each other—" he tilted his head, voice low, challenging, "then tell me to walk away."

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

He searched your face, something vulnerable breaking through his mask. "See?" His voice softened, barely more than a breath. "You can’t."

"That doesn’t mean—"

"It means everything," he interrupted, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. "We don’t end like this."

Your throat felt tight, emotions clawing their way up. "Ji-yong—"

He leaned in just a fraction more, voice barely above a whisper.

"Say it," he murmured. "Say you don’t miss me, and I’ll leave. Right now."

Your heart pounded. Because he was calling your bluff. Because you couldn’t say it. Because, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much had broken between you—he was still the one person who could undo you completely.

And he knew it.

"You think this is fair?" You shot back, voice sharper than you intended. “Showing up after all this time like it means something. Like you didn’t—" You stopped yourself just in time, but it was too late. He caught it.

His jaw clenched. "Like I didn’t what?"

You swallowed, pulse hammering against your ribs. Walk away? Give up? Break me? The words were right there, but you couldn’t say them, because then he’d know. Then he’d see just how much of you was still tangled up in him.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "I’m not playing games, if that’s what you think."

"That’s funny, coming from you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means this is what you do," you snapped. "You disappear. You come back when it’s convenient. You say just enough to make me wonder, just enough to make me—" You cut yourself off, breath shaking.

Ji-yong took a step closer. "Make you what?"

You clenched your jaw. "I don’t owe you an answer."

His expression flickered, something breaking through his mask for just a second before his voice dropped lower, rougher. "And who do you think lost?"

You huffed a bitter laugh, voice rising. "I don’t know, Ji-yong! You tell me! Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell wasn’t you."

His eyes flashed. "You think I walked away easily?" His voice was sharp, almost disbelieving. "You think I just—what? Moved on? Forgot about you?" He let out a humorless laugh. "You have no fucking idea."

"Then why did you?"

"Why did I what?"

"Leave!"

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The word rang out between you, cutting through the tension like a blade. Ji-yong’s breath hitched, his entire body going still.

"You think I wanted to?" He finally said, voice low, hoarse.

You scoffed. "I don’t know what you wanted!" You were almost yelling now, hands shaking. "Because if you wanted me, you should have fucking stayed!"

"You think I didn’t try?"

"You didn’t try hard enough!"

The words came out louder than you intended, your chest heaving with the weight of them. And for the first time tonight, Ji-yong flinched. The silence that followed was suffocating. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you, like he had to physically stop himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less intense. "I still love you."

Your breath caught.

Ji-yong swallowed hard, his gaze burning into yours. "Not past tense. Not something I got over. I still fucking love you, and I think you know that."

Your fingers curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. "I—"

He took another step forward, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly in his direction. "Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me to let you go, and I will."

Your chest rose and fell rapidly. You should say it. You should end this now before you drowned in him all over again. But the words wouldn’t come, and he saw it. His lips parted slightly, his hands twitching at his sides, like he was holding himself back from touching you. And then—

"I can’t do this," you whispered, stepping back.

"Why?"

"Because," you breathed, voice breaking now. "Because if I let myself believe you, if I let myself want this again—" You exhaled shakily, blinking up at him, heart on the verge of breaking all over again. "I don’t think I’d survive losing you twice."

Ji-yong’s expression crumbled. His mouth opened, but for the first time tonight, he had nothing to say. And neither did you. The silence between you wasn’t thick with anger anymore: it was replaced with heartbreak.

"That’s all you’re going to say?"

"What else do you want from me!?"

"I want you to tell me the truth," he shot back. "I want you to stop acting like you don’t feel this."

"Feel what?" Your voice was sharp, a desperate edge creeping into your tone. "Whatever this was, it ended. You made sure of that."

His jaw tensed. "You think I had a choice?"

"You always had a choice!" You snapped, stepping forward, your anger swallowing the hurt. "You could have fought for me, for us. But you didn’t. You left, and you—" Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to keep going, keep pressing where it hurt. "You let me think I wasn’t enough for you."

Ji-yong's eyes flashed with something unreadable, something raw. "That’s not fair."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, and what part of this is fair?"

He clenched his fists, exhaling sharply. "You think I wanted to leave? You think I just walked away without looking back?" His voice was rising now, matching yours, the heat between you bordering on explosive. "You have no idea how much I wanted to stay. How many nights I lay awake wishing things were different. Wishing I could be selfish enough to keep you—"

"Then why wasn’t I worth it?"

The words came out before you could stop them, loud and broken, filling the space between you like a gunshot.

Ji-yong inhaled sharply yet again, as if the weight of your words had knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth opened, then closed, his expression crumbling for a split second before he masked it again.

"Don’t," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Don’t say that."

You let out a shaky breath, your throat burning. "Tell me I’m wrong, then. Tell me that when you left, it wasn’t because you decided I wasn’t worth the effort."

He stepped even closer, his voice low and urgent. "I never stopped loving you."

"Then why did you break my heart?"

The question shattered between you, both of you breathing hard, chests rising and falling as the weight of everything you’d buried finally cracked open.

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice almost desperate. "I don’t fucking know. All I know is that being without you felt like hell."

Your breath stuttered, the world tilting beneath your feet, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a tidal wave. Too much. Too much. Too much. It clawed at your chest, curling tight around your ribs, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. The way his voice softened when he said your name, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers all over again. The way your body still knew him, still ached for him, even after all this time.

And it terrified you.

Because if you stayed, if you let him keep talking, keep looking at you like that, keep picking apart the walls you spent so long building—you knew you’d crumble. You’d let him in again. You’d let yourself hope. And hope was the most dangerous thing of all.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding yourself in the sharp sting of it. You had to get out of here. Now. Before your heart could trick you into believing this could end any differently than it did before. Before you drowned in him all over again.

You took a shaky step back. Ji-yong’s eyes tracked the movement instantly, his entire body tensing like he knew exactly what you were about to do.

"Don’t," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but it might as well have been a plea.

Your throat burned. Don’t what? Run? Leave? Break his heart the way he broke yours?

"I can’t do this," you breathed, shaking your head as you took another step back. Then another.

Ji-yong moved instinctively, reaching for you, his fingers just barely brushing your wrist before you yanked away.

"Wait—"

But you were already turning, pushing past him, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you shoved open the balcony door and disappeared into the dimly lit hallway. You didn’t stop. Didn’t let yourself look back, didn’t let yourself hear the way his breath hitched when you slipped through his fingers.

You wove through the crowd in the main room, your pulse pounding in your ears, drowning out the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. The air inside was suffocating, thick with perfume and cigarette smoke and everything you needed to escape. You barely registered the curious glances thrown your way as you reached the entrance, shoving the door open and stepping into the cool night air. Only then did you finally exhale, your breath shaky as it left your lips in a sharp rush.

But it wasn’t enough.

The city lights blurred as you stumbled forward, needing distance, needing space, needing to outrun the ghosts of his words—I never stopped loving you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe, to push him out of your head, out of your heart, out of your bones.

But even as you walked away, every step putting more distance between you and the only man you’d ever truly loved—you knew it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

You pushed yourself harder, each step taking you farther away from the noise of the venue, from him. The streets blurred around you as you walked, each step fueled by the need to get away, the need to breathe air that wasn’t saturated with him. You didn’t want to be there anymore.

Eventually, you found a quiet alley, tucked away between two tall buildings, far enough from the crowd to feel safe, but not too far that you’d lose yourself completely. You sank down to the cold concrete, pulling your knees to your chest, desperately trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart. You tried to force your breathing into something steady, something normal. You were fine. You had to be fine.

You were fine.

But then the panic started to creep in. That tightening feeling in your chest, the same feeling that had gripped you all those months ago. The fear, the helplessness, the suffocating weight of the past, of the break-up, of everything you hadn’t been able to say or let go of. The walls you’d built around yourself trembled. You weren’t fine.

The panic slammed into you full-force, and for a second, it felt like you were falling apart all over again.

This was dangerous.

Just like before. Just like the night he left.

You gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. Your chest constricted, your vision blurred, and you swore you could hear your pulse pounding in your ears. You weren’t going to make it. You weren’t going to survive this. You needed to breathe, you needed to stop thinking about how close you were to that awful, broken place you’d sworn you’d never return to.

And then, you heard it—footsteps.

No.

You jerked your head up, eyes wide with panic, just in time to see him standing there—Ji-yong, standing in the dim light of the alley, his gaze locked onto you like he’d been tracking your every movement.

You tried to push yourself up, to move, to run. But your legs were weak, too weak, your knees buckling as your breath came in jagged gasps. You couldn’t escape this, couldn’t escape him.

“Stop.”

His voice was firm, but not harsh. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your wrist before grabbing your arm. Not painfully, but just enough to hold you still, enough to make you realize you couldn’t keep going.

You froze. The panic still gripped you, tightening your chest with every labored breath, but when his touch grounded you, something about the way he held you still made it worse. You hadn’t expected him to follow you. And now, here he was, like he’d found you in your most vulnerable moment.

He didn’t say anything else at first, just stood there, his grip on your arm gentle but firm, as if he was waiting for you to speak, to explain why you were falling apart, why you couldn’t keep it together. And then he spoke again, softer this time, with that quiet urgency that made your insides twist.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know.”

The words hit you like a wave.

You didn’t have to pretend. And that was all it took.

The tears you’d been holding back came crashing forward, hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks as your body started to shake. You tried to stand, tried to push through it, but the moment your legs gave out, Ji-yong’s arm shot around you, pulling you into his chest, catching you before you could hit the ground.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, his voice full of surprise, full of something else you couldn’t quite name. His arms tightened around you as you gasped for air, your whole body shaking from the intensity of it. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You shook your head against his chest, unable to stop the tears, unable to stop the sobs that tore their way out of you. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to be here, hadn’t expected to break down in his arms again. But somehow, despite everything, despite how much you tried to push him away, you felt something in you soften, a part of you finally willing to let go.

He didn’t say anything more. He just held you, letting you cry against him, his grip never tightening, never too forceful, just enough to remind you that he was there.

Ji-yong's chest tightened as he held you close, his heart breaking into pieces with each sob that wracked your body. The way you trembled in his arms, the rawness of your pain—it was all too much. His mind replayed every moment, every misstep, every word he’d said or hadn’t said, and it all came crashing down on him. He had been the one to walk away. He had been the one to push you out of his life, to let pride and fear dictate his actions. And now, seeing you broken in his arms, it felt like he had destroyed something precious. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unforgiving. He was the reason you were hurting, the reason you’d built walls around your heart. His choices, his mistakes—he had caused this. The weight of it threatened to crush him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed you, that he had broken something that could never be fixed.

"I—" You choked on the air, the pain in your chest too much. Your heart ached, and you thought you might break again. But you couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. "I still love you, Ji-yong… I—I never stopped. But I’m so… so scared."

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even try to pull away or give you a soft smile to ease your discomfort. Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as though he wanted to absorb your pain, to make it his own.

“I can’t open up and have you leave all over again.” 

His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m so sorry… for everything. I—God, I was stupid. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you, how much I was pushing you away. I thought I could handle it, thought I could fix everything, but I only made it worse.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “I’m sorry for leaving you when you needed me most, sorry for all the things I didn’t say, all the things I didn’t do. I’m sorry for every mistake, every time I made you feel less than—less than everything you deserve.”

His hands, which had once been so sure, trembled as they cupped your face, lifting your gaze to meet his. He could barely hold himself together, his own tears falling freely now. “Please… I’m begging you. Give me another chance. I—I swear I won’t mess it up this time. I can’t lose you again. I love you. I never stopped. Please, just—please don’t give up on us.”

The raw desperation in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world, made your heart ache all over again. He wasn’t just apologizing; he was pleading, his voice breaking with the weight of everything he had failed to say before. And even though every part of you screamed in hesitation, you couldn’t help but feel the tiny spark of hope that maybe—just maybe—this could be the moment everything shifted.

“I’ll never give up on us,” he continued, his voice steady now, full of resolve. “I swear.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, despite the tears that still clung to your lashes. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

And with that, Ji-yong’s lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, as if testing the waters, before deepening into a kiss that spoke of all the things you’d both been too afraid to say. It was gentle, full of longing and the sweet promise of healing. The kiss was the beginning of something new, a new chapter where the mistakes of the past could be forgiven and the love between you could bloom once more.

When he pulled away, his thumb gently stroked your cheek, and he smiled—a smile that was as soft and loving as the words he had just spoken. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I know,” you whispered back. “I love you, too.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @petersasteria @allthoughtsmindfull

[currentloser]

i miss you too

pairing: kwon ji-yong x reader word count: 3029 tags: fan x idol, hurt/no comfort, break up fic, angst summary: After going on a date with Ji-yong, a stranger spots you in public. Rumor circulates wildly, and he thinks it best to disappear.

ao3 - this is part 3! continuation from part one - part two

You're still standing just inside your apartment when your phone buzzes. 

The screen lights up with a message from a friend, “Tell me this isn't you. 😳”

You tap it open. It's a fan account. One of those obsessive ones, always digging, always dissecting. You brace yourself without knowing why.

Then, there it is, a blurry photo. Two figures, a kiss, and his scarf.

#GDRAGONDATE

The caption is casual, playful even, but the comments—

“Who's that person?”

“Is he dating?”

“That scarf looks like the one from that fansign in 2018 omg”

Your thumb hesitates over the screen. You know if you keep going, it'll only get worse. Maybe they've gone pixel-by-pixel, looking for a reason to hate you. You try to laugh, to tell yourself it's just noise. 

Your fingers twitch with the urge to throw your phone across the room. You imagine someone from work seeing it, or worse? Your parents. Not for shame but because it's not theirs. None of it was ever supposed to be theirs. It does nothing to still your too-fast heart and your breath catches, right and unmoving in your lungs.

At first, your instinct is to protect him. Of course it is. He never asked for this life to swallow him whole, not like this. He's only a man who wanted a kiss, who tucked his scarf around you like maybe it all meant something. Your eye traces over the blurry outline of your body. The kiss caught in profile, hidden in the folds of your scarf. It would almost be a pretty couple photo, if it weren't smeared across the internet like a scandal.

You see what they see now. Not a man kissing someone he loves— but a legend, caught slipping. The G-Dragon, the idol. A rumor caught red-handed. 

A flicker of doubt pushes cold through your ribs, needle-sharp and quiet. Your stomach sinks as the door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the world— or sealing you in. You can't tell which.

Your apartment feels too quiet, like it's waiting for something. No ambient music or a drink or cups.  You set your phone down and force yourself to take a breath. You try to keep your coat off with shaking hands but the wool sticks to your arms like it doesn't want to let go. Your shoes come off awkwardly. One by one. The scarf ends up puddled on a chair. You tell yourself you'll feel better once you sit down and drink some water.

The hum of the fridge is too loud. A car alarm chirps outside. Somewhere above, a neighbor drags a chair across the floor. Mundane sounds in an unrecognizable world.

Yet, you pick your phone up again. You're back in his message thread without thinking of it. Of course the thread is short. You've only seen each other twice. There were no long voice notes or blurry vacation photos, no silly memes sent late at night. Just a few scattered thoughts, glowing on the screen.

Two days ago:

> You still think that ramyeon place is better than mine? 

Last night:

> You hum when you eat. It's cute.

You smile faintly, the image of him all but vanishing still fresh in your mind. It doesn't last. Your fingers hover for a moment before you try something light.

> Did you get home okay?

No typing bubble, not even a read receipt. You let the screen stay idle for a while. Eventually you open your front camera, half-intending to send him a picture. Something to show you're fine, to prove you're not scared. Your hair is wild from the wind, and the place where he kisses you still burns soft and warm. You wipe it off anyway.

The day drags on for a long while. You microwave something tasteless and scroll past every app without truly taking any of it in. Yours pass in silence. Night fully takes its hold, but it feels like it never truly started. 

Later, curled in bed, you try again.

> Pretty sure you left your lighter in my coat pocket.

Still nothing.

You close your eyes, letting your phone fall to your chest. Maybe he's spiraling too. Maybe he's being told to disappear behind the scenes. Finally, brutally, you consider that maybe you’re foolish to think you’re more than a moment he needs to forget.

This was always going to end like this. Softly, silently, without a real goodbye.

You fall asleep with a weight pressed against your chest, and a single tear sliding cold over your cheek.

In the morning, your phone buzzes.

A message, without a name.

> Don't open your curtains today.

Your pulse jumps. You don't have to check, but still, you do.

You rub your eyes and walk to the window, ducking your head low as you push open a slit in the blinds. There it was. The black van from the night before— or maybe they all looked the same. Tinted windows. Engine humming.

The thought crosses your mind: almost as if it had never left. Watching, waiting for any sign of you. Of the idol’s captured kiss. Your hands are shaking as you pull out your phone, but you text anyway.

> I saw the van. I'm not scared.

Just as you expected, it's left on delivered. You wait, breath shallow, fingers still resting against the screen.

> It was just two dates, but I really liked them.

> I still like you.

And after a ,omg pause, the words you don't want to write, but so anyway:

> Is this how it ends?

Your thumb hovered then retreated. You typed the question three times and erased it twice. Every time you started something different but either sounded too bitter or too soft. In the end, this message still waited. Not because it was the most honest, but because it didn't beg. It only asked. You let the words settle into place like dust.

You keep the thread open until the screen goes dark. You don't delete it, but you won't send another message, either. You lie there, staring at nothing, listening to the low hum of something outside you're finally realizing never quite leaves. 

For a brief, fragile time. You let yourself believe all of this wasn't real love yet. It was too early for this sort of heartbreak. Yet, your heart betrays you and aches like you lost something real.

Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it was just the idea of it, but you wanted it. So badly. That wanting, that possibility, hurts you just as much.

The rest of the day feels like walking through thick fog. You eat half a piece of toast over the sink and stare out the window, not really looking at anything. Every sound outside startles you, every buzz of your phone spikes your pulse. It's never him, it's just spam. Or a friend sending a reel. Worse, someone pretending they don't know, asking if you're free tonight.

You consider deleting your account, just to disappear a little. The way he probably has. You don't. You simply scroll, numb, watching strangers dissect your scarf and the curve of your shoulder like they've earned it. Maybe they have and you were foolish to believe this could ever stay yours.

Evening comes thick and heavy. The kind of gray-blue that settles in your bones. You curl up under a blanket and let your phone okay music, just to fill the space. It plays a track he recommended to you only a week ago, but it already feels like a past life. Heat builds behind your eyes as a soft instrumental washes over you. You remember the way he hummed along when he played it to you, just loud enough for you to notice,

You close your eyes. Maybe if you just let the song play, something will unravel. Maybe it would summon something back.

Somewhere else deep in Seoul, Ji-yong pressed play on the same song.

It wasn't a coincidence. He searched for it, even though it was already saved. His phone had been set to Do Not Disturb all day, his inbox full and unread. His finger hovered over a thread he wants to open, but he didn't. Not yet.

He listened to the track like it wa the only thing holding him together, not loud. Just there. Filling the silence of his balcony as he sat hunched, head bent. A cigarette smoldered in a tray nearby, until it became just a nub. Smoke wafted in the cold air, creating a small trail of it around himself. The lights behind him are off, and his coat still smelled like your perfume.

Rain whispered against the balcony railing, slow and steady. It pooled in shallow puddles below, catching the city lights and warping them into rippling halos. Ji-yong didn't move, letting the cold settle into his bones like a penance. Despite the roof above him a cold drop slipped down the back of his neck, but he barely blinked. It was quieter this way, the question of what it would cost to want something honestly.

He could say something, anything. He could. But he knew what the van meant, what the photo meant. What the silence between you carried.

Still, he wished you would message him again. Even just one word. Something simple, like ‘Hey.’ It would wreck him. He pulled up your last text again, mindful of the way delivered changes over to ‘Read’.

> Is this how it ends?

His thumb lingered over the keyboard. The cursor blinked at him. Yes, he could say. Or No, I'm sorry. But he doesn't.

Instead, he opened your Instagram page again. Not to like anything, just to see if you've posted. You haven't. Still, he scrolled. He stopped on the first photo you ever sent him, that café. The stupid coffee with the foam heart tilted to the side. The one you both laughed at. He thought you looked like the sun itself.

He swiped up, closed the app, and set his phone screen-down.

Then, he stood. Quietly, as if he made too much noise, something between you might break for good. As if it hadn't already.

He looked over the busy streets of the city. From his penthouse. he doesn't spot a van outside. Just a steady breeze of smoke. The city hasn't paused, only he had.

That was the problem, wasn't it?

You didn't pause, you texted. You waited. You left the door open, even as it cracked your chest. He stopped still, listening to the rain and doing nothing. Not because he didn't want to respond— he couldn't figure out how to do it right.

Anything he said now would make it worse. That's the lie he told himself, the same way he told himself two dates wasn't enough to unravel him like this. But it was, it is. The thing between you was quiet and honest in a way he hadn't let himself believe he still had the right to want.

He sat back down, elbows on his knees. His hands ran over his face like it might pull action out of him. All he had was smoke and the song washing over himself. Noise at the back of his head. Versions of himself whispered, Don't drag them into this. They don't know what the media will do. Let them hate you. That's safer.

It's not even about the van, or the photo, or the swarm he knew was coming.

It's about the fact that for a moment, just one stupid moment, he forgot who he was supposed to be. In that forgetting, he let someone see him. Not the brand, not the story. Just Ji-yong.

He’d try to erase it before it could cost you both more.

He told himself this would be a clean break and he wouldn't let it linger. Still, the text sat there like thorns at the back of his mind. Not accusatory, just soft. Hopeful, and that's worse.

He reread your last message.

> Is this how it ends?

A breath caught in his throat, the part of him that wanted to answer No is louder than it should’ve been. It would be easier to let that message fade unanswered, buried beneath notifications, drowned by silence. He told himself that's what's best. But the music kept playing, and your words won't leave him.

His thumb hovered again. Not over the delete button, not anymore. He started typing. Paused, deleted. Started again.

This wasn't a love story, not yet. Not really. It still ached like one.

> I'm sorry.

> It wasn't supposed to go this way.

The cursor blinked. He exhaled, shaking.

> I thought if I disappeared, it would protect you.

Three dots appeared, then vanish.

> I see now it just hurt you.

Still, he doesn't send it. It's too much, too bare. Too late. He deleted it all except one sentence.

Something simple, that still held the weight of everything he can't say.

> I miss you.

He sent it. Not because it would fix anything, or because he expected you to answer. Pretending not to care— that was starting to hurt more than anything the truth could cost him.

Your phone buzzes.

You don't look at it at first. You're used to it by now, the way nothing good ever comes through that glow. Something in you shifts— a pause, an invisible tug.

You reach for it, half-asleep beneath your blanket.

> I miss you.

You blink once, twice. The screen blurs slightly from the tears you hadn’t realized were still sitting in your eyes. You read it again, and again. Somehow, it feels more like goodbye than please come back.

You read the message again, slower this time. As if you could decide something in the rhythm. Maybe the I miss you was typed and erased a dozen times. Maybe it wasn't meant to reach you at all, but it did.

Your chest tightened, but not like before. Not the panic or being watched or the gut-sick twist of silence. This is quieter, you close your eyes and press your phone to your heart. Foolish, maybe. but the warmth there is real.

You wipe your eyes, slowly this time, the motion almost meditative. the room feels warmer now— not from the heater, but from the way something heavy inside you just shifted. You draw your knees to your chest and breathe in deep, letting the scent of your laundry detergent, faint lavender, wrap around you.

For the first time in hours, you notice the smallest things again: the uneven hem of the curtains swaying from the window, the chipped corner of your phone case. The sound of your breath catching on the inhale. You rest your chin on your knees and let the world be quiet with you.

You can't reply, not yet. You pull your phone out and your thumb hovers before falling away. You just sit with the screen, letting the ache stretch wider and softer, like a bruise starting to fade.

The music that once made your ribs sting now okays gently in the background. The same song, you’re not sure how it's still playing. Maybe the app looped. It's just been that kind of day: circular, slow, and cruel.

It wasn't even a song with lyrics. Just a piano and strings, soft and slow. Each note dropped like water from a leaking faucet. Familiar now, almost too much. You could almost hear Ji-yong's breath beside you, reminded of how he once pointed out that you’d hum without realizing it. The track didn't ask anything of you. It simply filled the space that grief hollowed out.

This time, when the instrumental rises, you don't flinch. You let it wash over you. In another apartment, on another balcony, someone else is listening too.

The thought arrived uninvited: Maybe you weren't wrong to want this.

If this wasn't just fantasy, or the version of him that looked at you like the noise of the world disappeared. Maybe that was real, too.

You exhale, your breath shaking a little.

Outside, the van is gone. You didn't see it leave, you only notice through the cracks of the blinds how the streetlamp hits the sidewalk again. The light stretches across your floor, an invitation to begin again.

You pull the blanket closer. You don't text back. Not yet.

Your phone doesn't leave your hand either. It rests against your stomach, warm from your touch. You close your eyes for a second, maybe a minute. The song has cycled again. A string you've heard too many times by now hums quietly, but it doesn't sting like it did this morning.

Sleep deprivation, grief, and the weight of holding so much silence came over you.

Your thumb brushes the keyboard again. Not to confess, just to type something soft. Barely more than a breath.

> I miss you too.

You didn't mean to send it. Not really. It stared back at you, half-formed, like so many unsent things. Your phone buzzes again, the tiniest vibration. You see it's gone through. Sent. Time stutters. You stare at the screen like you've dropped something and can't catch it in time.

You bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. You stare at the screen, like it might take it back, as if there was a rewind button for honesty. Part of you hopes the signal failed even as your heart leaps at the tiny ‘sent’ checkmark. Your mouth is dry. Your breath catches, but you don't unsend it. You don't hide from it, either.

Instead, you let yourself feel what it means. You weren't ready to say it, but it was already true.

Far across Seoul, Ji-yong’s screen lights up again. He sees your words— short, simple, exposed. 

He doesn't move at first, just lets the words echo through him. Then he exhales. Slow like the breath itself might shatter the moment. His fingers curl around the edge of the balcony, attempting to ground himself in the moment.

Something eases in his shoulders. Not a smile exactly, but the ache beneath his ribs softens. He feels the weight of his own name lift just slightly. It's not over yet.

The soft mist of rain has stopped.

taglist: tag list: @petersasteria, @sherrayyyyy, @loveesiren, @aizshallnotbefound, @breakmeoff

[ikwon1c]

Noona pt. 6

noona 7

characters: kwon jiyong x y/n

summary: jealousy doesn’t look good on both of you.

tags: slow burn, angst, jealousy, toxicity, emotional vulnerability, unresolved feelings, miscommunication, cursing, suggestive content

—

“Stop doing that,” he said, eyes flicking sideways.

You muttered, “Doing what?”

He snorted. “You’re doing that thing where you tap your foot and chew your lip like you’re being interrogated by the FBI.”

You stopped. “Maybe because I’m at a party where my ex-situationship slash fuckbuddy is right across the room with basically, a Victoria Secret model.”

Instead, you forced a smile, gripping your water glass like it owed you money.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was that hot?” you hissed.

Seunghyun blinked. “Did you think he was gonna bring a troll?”

You elbowed him hard, cursing under your breath as the two of you whispered harshly back and forth. But to anyone watching closely, it looked like you were just having a good time.

He laughed.

You smiled tight-lipped, slowly running out of patience. “I’m gonna fucking kill you once we get back home, Choi Seunghyun.”

“You owed me,” he shot back, with an annoying grin. “I kept your dirty little secret, remember? ‘Don’t tell Seunghyun,’ you said. ‘He’ll freak out,’ you said. Well, look who freaked out when I found out anyway.”

You hadn’t spoken to Jiyong in weeks. Not since the fight. Not since you’d pushed him away like a coward and told him this—you—was a mistake.

You knew he hated that word.

And now, here you were, in a pair of heels that pinched your toes and a red dress Seunghyun had all but ordered you to wear—“we’re going to make your ex situationship suffer”— sitting in a private lounge like everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

Because Jiyong was already there.

And he didn’t look at you.

Not once. Not even a glance. Not a twitch of recognition.

He acted like you were just another person at the table—background noise.

It was like you didn’t exist. And you were bold faced, teeth gritted lying if you said it didn’t sting like hell. Because God, it did.

You sat between Seunghyun and Youngbae, gripping your drink like it was the only thing anchoring you to the room. Your smile felt too tight on your face, your laugh a little too sharp at the edges. You responded to jokes a beat too late, overcompensating with bright chuckles that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You didn’t look at him. Not directly.

But you saw her.

Sojoo.

He introduced her earlier as his plus one for tonight. A friend.

You rolled your eyes. Friend, my ass.

Every ten seconds, your eyes darted back to Sojoo like your brain had been trained to track her. She was impossible not to notice—effortless and glowing, with long legs crossed just so and hair that looked like it had been styled by angels. She laughed, leaned in close to Jiyong, touched his arm lightly like she had every right to be there.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t even doing anything wrong.

You tried not to think about it. About the way she’d lean on his shoulders like it was second nature, like she’d done it before. About how she leaned in when she whispered something only he could hear, her hand resting on his arm like it belonged there.

It shouldn’t bother you. It really shouldn’t.

Just one night. One dinner. One party.

Nothing permanent. Just pretend.

“Why’s your face doing that thing?” Youngbae asked suddenly, snapping you out of your silent spiral.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What thing?”

“That thing where your eye twitches and your soul leaves your body.”

You forced a brittle smile. “I’m having fun.”

“You sound like you’re at gunpoint.”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

He gave you a look that said he didn’t believe a word of it but shrugged anyway. “Okay. Want some vodka?”

“God, yes.”

You downed the shot the second it hit the table, feeling the burn trail down your throat like punishment. You were trying. Trying to be normal. To laugh at Youngbae’s dumb stories, to nod and smile and sip your drink like it didn’t taste like sawdust and self-loathing.

But it was hard to focus when Sojoo’s perfectly toned legs kept brushing against Jiyong’s every time she shifted in her seat. When her fingers, those perfectly manicured little things, kept smoothing down the same damn wrinkle in his collar like it personally offended her.

And Jiyong—he wasn’t stopping her. Wasn’t flinching. Wasn’t uncomfortable.

No, he was relaxed. Smiling even. Effortlessly cool in his designer blazer, his earrings catching the light, his fingers idly toying with the rim of his glass like he wasn’t casually twisting the knife in your gut.

You didn’t even realize how many shots you’d taken until your vision started to soften at the edges and your limbs went pleasantly numb. A fuzzy sort of courage crept in, loosening your shoulders. You dared to glance his way.

And he was staring.

Dead-on. No flinching. Just him, eyes unreadable, mouth curved into the barest smirk.

A tilt of the head. A knowing smile. He knew exactly what he was doing. And then Sojoo leaned in again, of course she did and whispered something into his ear.

Jiyong didn’t remove his gaze on you. He stared at you intently as her hand slips onto his forearm like it lived there. Your fingers clenched around your shot glass so tightly it creaked in protest. You were one bad moment away from shattering it. From shattering yourself.

He laughed at something Sojoo whispered.

Low. Rich. Intimate.

The kind of laugh he used to save for you when your foot nudged his under the table, when your lips brushed the shell of his ear. It used to be private. Yours.

Now she had it.

The laugh. The proximity. The easy intimacy.

And she didn’t even know what she was stealing.

You did.

You sat there, smiling through teeth that ached, trying to hold in everything rising in your throat. Your nails dug crescent moons into your thigh beneath the table. You tasted blood in your cheek where you bit the inside too hard.

Smile. Be normal. Be unbothered.

“Are you sweating?” Seunghyun asked, squinting at you. You could hear the smirk in his voice before you turned to see it.

“No,” you hissed.

He cocked his head, unfazed. “You look like you’re about to flip the table.”

“That’s just my face.”

“Is it?” he asked mildly, popping a piece of sushi into his mouth. “Because you’re shaking.” You swore you badly wanted him to choke out of spite.

You didn’t answer. You told yourself it didn’t matter. But you felt it in your chest, like a pulled muscle—sharp and hard to ignore. You kept adjusting your posture, fiddling with your glass, pretending like the ache didn’t bother you.

“You just twitched again.”

You glared at him, fire in your throat. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“I am,” he said, far too gleeful. “This is me being supportive. Watching you stew in jealousy is character development.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Seunghyun just smiled serenely, like he’d gladly die this way.

You inhaled through your nose. It shouldn’t bother you. Shouldn’t. You repeated the lie in your head like it might sink in if you said it often enough. One night. One dinner. One woman.

Then she laughed again.

That laugh.

The bright, flirty kind. The kind that said I know he’s hot, and I know you know I know it too.

And that was it. That was your final straw.

You blinked, stunned, as Sojoo held up a forkful of her strawberry cake and leaned towards Jiyong—tilted her head with a sweet smile and offered it like they were on a damn date from a romance drama.

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. He parted his lips. Let her feed him. You could’ve sworn the Earth tilted on its axis. The worst part wasn’t that she did it. It was that he let her.

He let her.

And the laugh that followed—that deep, stupid, perfect laugh that used to unravel your whole damn spine, he gave it to her.

Not in private.

Not behind closed doors.

Right here. In front of you.

You couldn’t breathe.

“Oh hell no,” you muttered, standing so abruptly your chair scraped back with a screech. Heads turned. You didn’t care.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Where are you going?”

“To powder my nose,” you snapped, already grabbing your bag like it might save you from combusting.

“You don’t wear powd—”

You kicked his shin under the table with enough force to make him jolt.

“—ow! Okay. You wear powder now. So much powder. Wow.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

You kept your head high, face blank, heels clicking against polished floors like armor. Like a metronome counting down the seconds before you broke.

You weren’t running.

You weren’t jealous.

You weren’t falling apart.

You were fine.

You didn’t look back. Because if you did, you weren’t sure what you’d do.

Cry. Scream. Slap that goddamn spoon out of Sojoo’s hand.

Maybe all three.

You needed air. Space. A place to scream into your own reflection without witnesses. And maybe, just maybe—a reason not to set the entire table on fire.

You found your way to the bathroom on autopilot, slamming the door shut behind you and bracing both hands on the cold porcelain sink. Your reflection stared back at you, flushed and furious and so fucking tired.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered to yourself, jaw tight. “It’s just a party. It’s just one night. He’s not yours anymore.”

That last part hit like a slap. You swallowed against the burn rising in your throat, blinking fast.

You weren’t going to cry. You refused. But your reflection stared back at you with too much tension in your jaw and not enough air in your lungs.

This wasn’t supposed to matter anymore. You had walked away. Told him it wasn’t healthy. That you both needed time and space. But you hadn’t expected him to move on like that. To laugh like he hadn’t been begging you to stay. To bring someone like her.

Your cheeks burned. Not just from the jealousy but the guilt. Because no matter how much you told yourself it was the right thing… you missed him. Constantly.

You’d check your phone at 2 AM and scroll past his name. You’d sleep in one of his shirts even though it smelled less like him and more like you now. You’d look at your couch and remember how he’d kiss the inside of your wrist just to see you melt.

You missed him.

You hated that you missed him.

You had no right to feel this way. You were the one who’d ended things. You were the one who said this has to stop, someone’s gonna get hurt. You made your choice and yet now, watching Sojoo feed him like she belonged there, watching him let her…

It felt like losing something that was already gone.

You closed your eyes, let your head fall forward until it touched the mirror. Your forehead pressed against the cool glass as you took a slow, shaking breath. You could go back out there. Sit down. Be polite. Smile and nod and pretend you hadn’t just imagined choking Sojoo out with her own necklace. Or—

A wicked thought slipped into your head, dangerous and warm with the burn of too much alcohol.

He wants to play? Fine. You’ll play too.

You stood up straight. You smoothed down your dress and fixed your hair. And smirked.

You’d give him something to look at.

You fixed your lipstick even though it hadn’t smudged, swiped a shaky hand through your hair, and made your way back toward the chaos.

But you didn’t return to your seat.

You turned right, towards the hallway where the dancefloor was already loud with laughter and music, with staff and crew blowing off steam. You told yourself it was just for air. Just for a distraction.

You were halfway down the hall before your legs made the choice for you. The dancefloor pulsed under warm lights. A remix thumped through the speakers. The bass was low and sinuous, practically vibrating in your chest. You slipped in between bodies and just let the rhythm take you.

Eyes closed. Head tilted back. Hands sliding over your sides like someone else was touching you. If Jiyong wanted to pretend he didn’t care, you could pretend better.

You moved like temptation — hips rolling slow, lips parted, hair clinging to your temples from the heat. You swayed low, turned sharply, spun your hair off your neck, arms lifted as the crowd shifted and whistled.

Someone bumped into you.

“Y/N noona?”

You turned and saw Youngdon blinking at you, shocked and amused. One of the Kwon Twins who has been with them since debut.

“Oh,” you laughed, breathless, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Hey, Don.”

He flushed. “You’re—uh—you’re dancing.”

“Am I?” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Don’t look so surprised.”

He laughed nervously, hands hovering awkwardly. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hm. Just a little.”

You moved again. Pressed your body to his and rolled your hips slowly, teasingly, like your frustration could bleed into the music. He froze for a second then caught on, chuckling under his breath as the others around you cheered.

“You’re wild tonight, noona,” he said with a grin.

You laughed. “Maybe.”

The song shifted. You bent your knees, hips swaying, one hand in your hair, the other on Youngdon’s chest as you dipped low and came back up slow.

The music thumped. You moved like you’d lost your mind. Like your jealousy was boiling under your skin and you had no other way to release it. You swayed your hips, rolled your body, laughed when Youngdon looked flustered as hell.

That’s when the crowd noticed. Next thing you know, a circle was formed and the cheering got louder.

—

“You gonna stop her?” Youngbae nudged Jiyong, half-laughing. “Noona’s going off.”

Jiyong didn’t answer.

Beside him, Seunghyun was cackling. Completely entertained. He looked like he was dying from too much laughter.

“She’s dancing with Youngdon,” Jiyong said tightly.

“She’s an adult,” Seunghyun replied. “She’s allowed to.”

“She’s wasted.”

“She’s having fun.”

Jiyong turned to him. “You’re really okay with this?”

Seunghyun sipped his drink, raising his perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Not my business.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Exactly. I’m not gonna baby her.” Seunghyun looked at him, entertained. Watching Jiyong lose his shit was far more entertaining than the movie subscriptions he paid for.

Jiyong stared at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m loving this,” Seunghyun grinned. “Karma’s a bitch.”

That did it.

Jiyong slammed his drink down and stormed toward the dancefloor. Not minding Sojoo who called his name, asking where he’s going.

—

That’s when you felt it. That static again. That burning. You didn’t look at first. Didn’t need to. But your eyes followed the line of cheers up the balcony stairs where the lounge looked over the floor.

And there he was.

Kwon Jiyong.

Arms crossed, jaw tight, mouth a grim line.

Watching you from the railing with fire in his eyes. The heat bloomed across your cheeks but you didn’t stop. You looked directly at him and moved even slower.

Deliberately.

You let your fingers trace down your own side, turned in time with the beat, and let your body roll to the music like it had something to prove.

You caught the flicker of disbelief in his eyes. You felt the possessive shift in his stance.

And that’s when you smiled.

Teasing.

Vicious.

Victorious.

But that moment didn’t last. A blur of black descended the stairs like a storm, cutting across the floor.

You didn’t mind him as you kept dancing. You let your whole body loose as you danced provocatively to the music. Right up until a familiar hand caught your wrist and spun you around.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jiyong hissed in your ear, voice low and trembling.

You blinked, breath catching. “Dancing.”

“You’re done.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

He pulled you close, lowering his voice to a hiss. “You’re drunk, and you’re making a fucking scene.”

Youngdon took the hint and slowly backed away from the scene, withdrawing his hand from your waist.

“Jealous?” you taunted.

“Out of your mind,” he growled. His hand tightened around your waist. “You think this is funny? Making a scene like this?”

“You’ve been making a scene all night,” you snapped. “I’m just matching energy.”

He exhaled hard. “Come with me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You barely had time to protest before he pulled you through the crowd. The dancers parted, some still cheering, others confused. You saw Seunghyun watching from a corner, sipping his drink with a shit-eating grin like this was his favorite telenovela.

Jiyong dragged you out into the hallway, cool air brushing your flushed skin. You stumbled a little on your heels and glared at him.

“I’m not yours anymore,” you muttered.

He turned on you. “Oh yeah? Tell that to Youngdon, who looked five seconds away from coming in his pants!”

You slapped his arm. “I was just dancing!”

“You were grinding on him like he was your goddamn boyfriend!”

“Oh, you mean the way Sojoo was touching you all night?”

He froze.

The silence crackled between you, just the two of you and a hallway filled with tension and old feelings.

You didn’t speak.

Not yet.

But you didn’t walk away, either.

He stared at you furiously. As if words can’t describe how furious he was — at you, at the situation, at what’s happening between you. And maybe… that said everything. You two badly needed to talk.

The VIP room was dim and cold, untouched for hours, maybe days. The music downstairs was muted here, just a thump of bass bleeding through the walls like a heartbeat neither of you wanted to feel anymore.

You stumbled in first, not even sure how he got your arm in that grip, or when you started following him like some reckless storm cloud in heels. The door slammed shut behind you, and the silence that followed was thick. Suffocating.

He stood behind you, breathing hard like he’d just run a race he didn’t want to win.

“What the hell was that?” Jiyong’s voice came like a lash, sharp and too loud.

You spun around. “What do you mean what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb now,” he spat, walking toward you like he couldn’t decide whether to yell or kiss you. “Dancing like that? With Youngdon? In front of the whole crew? You think that’s funny?”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” you snapped.

“Then what the fuck were you trying to do?” he growled. “Because it sure as hell looked like a show.”

“I was trying to forget you,” you spat, louder than you meant to. The words came out choked and cruel. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He flinched — small, but you saw it. Like a blade sliding between his ribs. Like he didn’t expect it to still hurt.

“Right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “So now you’re trying to forget me by grinding on my crew?”

“You brought a date!” Your voice cracked, rage and guilt tangled in every syllable. “You showed up with Sojoo like I didn’t matter. Like none of it mattered!”

“You hurt me, Y/N!” he groaned and continued, “and she’s my cousin, for God’s sake!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“…What?” you croaked.

“She’s my cousin, Y/N.” His voice was quieter now, but it cracked like thin ice. “I brought her because I knew it’d piss you off. Because I knew you’d look. Because I knew you’d feel something if I made you jealous.”

You stared at him, chest heaving, eyes wide. “You… why didn’t anyone tell me—?”

“Because Seunghyun thinks your misery is fucking hilarious,” he bit out. “And because I told him not to. Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”

That bastard.

You stumbled back a step, suddenly cold. “So this was a game to you?”

“No!” he yelled, slamming his fist into the wall — not at you, never at you but the sound made you jump anyway. “This isn’t a game. You think this is fun for me?”

“I thought you moved on,” you said, voice trembling, cracking open.

His laugh was bitter, broken. “Moved on? From you?” He pointed to himself. “You think this is me moving on? I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. I smoke half a pack a day and I rehearse like I’m trying to beat my own heartbeat. I’m a fucking mess and it’s your fault!”

“Then why didn’t you come back?” Your voice cracked into something desperate. “Why didn’t you fight harder?”

“Because you pushed me away!” he exploded. “Because you made me feel like I was nothing to you!”

I looked at him, tears threatening to fall out.

“You left me hanging, Y/N,” he said, quieter this time, voice hoarse. “I followed you like a lost puppy. I called. I waited. And nothing.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” You were crying now, mascara stinging your eyes. “I was scared. Of us. Of what it meant.”

“Then say that!” he shouted. “Don’t fucking punish me for being the only one who wasn’t scared!”

“I’m still scared,” you whispered. “I just… I didn’t know how to keep it without losing myself.”

Jiyong stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “Then let me help you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

“Maybe not,” he said, and for a moment, you thought that was it. The end.

But then he grabbed your wrist, not gently, not hard, just enough to make you feel real. “But I still want you.”

You broke.

All of it. The jealousy, the weeks of silence, the guilt, the way he looked at Sojoo just to make you burn — it cracked something open inside you. You lunged forward, shoving at his chest, hitting him once, twice. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

“You made me jealous on purpose.”

“I know.”

“And I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I hate you,” you growled, tears streaking your cheeks. “I fucking hate how much I love you.”

The words exploded from your chest, ugly and raw, louder than you meant. Your hand was already mid-air before you even realized it—rage and heartbreak blurring into one but it never landed.

Your hand flew up before you could think but he caught your wrist mid-swing. Not roughly. Just enough to stop you. Just enough to hold on.

But it wasn’t the almost-slap that stunned him. It was your words.

His brows drew in, eyes wide—not angry, not defensive. Just…shocked.

Like he hadn’t heard you right.

Like your confession hit harder than any blow ever could.

His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if the air had been knocked clean out of him. You saw it—the precise second he realized you meant every word.

His breath hitched. His voice came out hoarse. “Say it again.”

You blinked at him, stunned. But his eyes were already on you — wide, glassy, like you’d just cracked something open in him.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t let go of your wrist.

It wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.

As if hearing it again might make it make sense. As if he needed the pain of your love wrapped in fury to believe it was real.

“Baby…” he whispered, like the word hurt to say. Like it was all he had left. “Baby, say it again.”

And when your face crumpled, when your body finally gave in, he caught you before you could fall. His arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting to do it for a hundred years.

He held you so tightly you could feel the shake in his chest. “Please,” he whispered into your hair. “Just say it again. I need to hear it.”

You shook your head, fists clutching his shirt. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

You looked up at him, eyes wet. “I love you.”

Jiyong’s breath hitched.

“I love you,” you repeated, the words dragging themselves from your chest like a confession you’d buried too long. “Even when I didn’t want to. Even when I swore I was done. I couldn’t stop.”

He kissed you. It was not soft. Not even sweet. It was brutal like a car crash, like drowning, like coming home to a house still burning. His hands buried in your hair, yours clawing at his jacket.

Breathless moans swallowed between kisses that refused to end. You kissed him like you were starving and he was the only meal you ever wanted. He kissed you like he didn’t know if you’d vanish again, and he needed to memorize every gasp, every shake of your lips, every sound you made just for him.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, legs tangled, his knee sliding between your thighs like instinct. You arched into him, whimpering when his mouth dropped to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone — desperate, wet kisses like he was claiming you all over again.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and wrecked. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, tugging his face to yours again, breath hot and frantic. “I’ve always been.”

His hands slid up your thighs, fingers trembling, touch urgent. And god, the heat and the need. It was dizzying. Almost violent. Like if he let go, you’d fall apart again.

And maybe you would.

You kissed him again — deeper, wetter, teeth dragging across his bottom lip until he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands tangled in your hair, the other on your waist, pulling you closer like he couldn’t stand an inch of distance.

And when he finally tore his mouth away, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving. His forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m still mad at you,” he whispered, voice shaking.

“Good,” you said, breathless. “I’m still mad at me too.”

“I can’t lose you again,” he breathed, voice hoarse. “Don’t make me do this twice.”

“You won’t,” you whispered, clinging to his shirt like a lifeline. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Then silence again, the kind that feels like aftermath. Or maybe the start of something that finally, finally had no lies left between the lines.

But even bruised, even breathless—you kissed him again. As if you wanted to make up for the lost time wasted.

Because maybe love was supposed to hurt like this if it meant it mattered.

“Take me back, Ji.” you whispered, “Please…”

He kissed your temple and pulled you in slowly, encaging you with his arms. And when you finally fell into his arms, everything else fell quiet.

[angels-main-acc]

Covenant

Choi Seunghyun x AFAB! Reader x G-Dragon Synopsis: As Seunghyun goes to reveal his secret, tragic news comes out. What happens when Jiyong's own secret is revealed? Warnings: Angst, grief, mentions of a dead body. A/N: Part 6 is here! Thank you for all your support on this story! Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in future updates! Part 5

You watch as he knocks on the door, his posture straight, the bedside lamp the only faint light in the room.

You watch it open, everything feeling like it’s moving in slow motion.

“Can I talk to you, privately?” Seunghyun mumbles. Jiyong’s eyes faintly flit to you, if you hadn’t been watching you never would’ve caught it.

“Yeah,” he says and Seunghyun disappears behind the door.

Your phone rings and you see it’s the hospital.

“Hello?”

-

On the other side of the door Seunghyun patiently waits as Jiyong’s guest is kicked out of the room. Once the door shuts behind her, Jiyong stares at his friend, waiting for him to speak.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Seunghyun starts.

“Oh fuck, you know,” Jiyong mumbles.

“Huh? Know what?” Seunghyun looks at his friend who is now visibly panicking.

“Don’t you?” He asks confused as to why Seunghyun isn’t more upset.

“I don’t know, you won’t tell me what I know.” Seunghyun says.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

“You know about me and y/n,” he sighs and Seunghyun purses his lips.

“I do,” Jiyong interrupts his friend.

“Hyung, listen, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, things were bad between you two, I seen the situation I took advantage,” Jiyong rambles before Seunghyun can stop him.

“Bro, I’m not mad,” he laughs and Jiyong tilts his head in confusion.

“What?”

“Y/n and I,” he sighs, "It's complicated, we aren't,” before he can finish the door busts open, you’re in tears and your body shakes.

“I need to go home,” you sob. You break down, your body falls to the floor before both the boys rush over to your side.

“Wait, baby, what happened?” You cling to Jiyong despite Seunghyun’s presence.

“The hos-hospital called, it’s my sister,” you sob into his shirt and Jiyong looks at Seunghyun unsure of what he should do.

“Y/n,” he says as he hesitantly puts an arm around you, “What did they say?”

 You look into his eyes, nothing but care and concern are present in them.

“She-she’s gone,” you sob. Jiyong’s face turns guilty and Seunghyun’s brow quirks at his friend.

“That makes no sense,” Jiyong mumbles to himself.

“Huh?” What do you mean?” You sniffle as you peer up at him.

Jiyong realizes you heard him and his eyes grow wide as he stiffens. You sit up off him.

“I’m going to let the guys know.” Seunghyun goes to get up. You nod at him as he leaves the two of you alone.

“What makes no sense, Ji,” your eyes are red and puffy, but your voice is steady as an ox.

“Well, you’re mom called me earlier today, she said your sister was doing better and,” your eyes are now growing wide as you shrink away from him.

“You fucking knew something was wrong?” your voice raises a few octaves.

“Y/n, please, she asked me not to tell you, she didn’t want you to worry,” he tries to keep you calm.

“That doesn’t fucking matter Jiyong! You knew she was getting worse?” You shout at him.

“She said there would be no reason to tell you because she was doing better, I was just trying to listen to her,” his defense is useless.

“By keeping me in the fucking dark?! Are you fucking kidding me?” you stand up and what Jiyong see’s pulls goosebumps to the surface of his skin. He’s never seen so much anger and down right hatred in someone’s eyes.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry aint fucking good enough,” your eyes are now watering once more.

“What the hell’s going on?” Seunghyun walks back in, Taeyang and Daesung in tow.

Seunghyun wraps an arm around you as he see’s the disgusted look on your face.

“You’re a piece of fucking shit,” you mutter as you storm out of the room back into your own. Anger bubbles within you, he was a good friend to you and your family, but could he not tell you about your own sister? That this had all happened in the span of a few short days.

Seunghyun enters the room, see's you packing your things furiously and grabs his own suit case. He starts putting away shirts and you stop him.

“No, you have shows to do. Just let me go alone.”

“There’s no way in hell that’s happening.” He states.

“Seung, please I don’t want shows canceled.”

“They won’t be,”

“You’re part of Big Bang, please just stay,” your voice cracks. He looks at you, tears silently sliding down your cheeks.

“I’m your husband. I wasn’t there for you the first time, I’m not making that same mistake again.” He says as he embraces you. Your arms envelope his waist, finally allowing yourself to cry and shake violently in his arms. Your chest heaves, air feels like it’s not enough, and the hurt in your heart from Jiyong is overwhelming.

“I feel like I’m going to pass out,” you say just before you start gasping for air as your body shakes.

“Come here,” he pulls you to the edge of the bed.

“Put your head between your knees.” He guides you and helps you breathe. What neither of you see, is the way Jiyong silently checks on you. The way he peeks his head into the room hearing the chaos. Jiyong feels a hand on his shoulder.

Taeyang.

“She’ll be ok, hyung.” He tries to reassure his friend, but its no use.

He watches as you pick your head up, your eyes meet for a split second before you look away, still too hurt to look at him. He knows he was wrong, but he also didn’t want to burden you for something that he was told the doctors said was fine.

Seunghyun helps you stand up, your breath evening out. The door to your room is shut, the two of you left alone.

“How could he not tell me?” you scoff as you resume packing your things.

“He might have thought he was doing the right thing.”

“He fucking didn’t. Because now, thanks to him, I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” You start to sob again and once again Seunghyun’s arms envelope you in a hug.

“Baby, you may not have gotten that chance anyway. There’s no guarantee you would’ve made it.” He mumbles into your hair.

“I could’ve at least tried!” you pull back from him, not wanting to hear logic and reason. Seunghyun sighs and nods his head.

-

You arrive in Seoul, a car picking you up to take you to the hospital. A few fans showed up but nothing crazy. Seunghyun threatened anyone who told the media would be fired immediately. You meet your mother at the facility; Seunghyun by your side. He hugs your mother and rubs your back soothingly as you step into the room. You’re still able to view her body, and your own starts to shake as you take her cold, lifeless hand.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry.” You sob once more and Seunghyun holds your shoulders and kisses the crown of your head. You drop her hand and turn into him, his chest feeling like the only safe haven you have at the moment. Your hands fist his shirt and tears soak into it.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me? Why did you call Jiyong!” you shout at your mom and your husband does his best to keep you calm.

“I didn’t want you to worry, she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, doctors said it was a result of the chemo and this morning she was better,” she tries to explain with tears in her eyes.

“Baby I never expected this to happen,” she lets a few tears slip but you’re too upset to care.

“So everyone got to know but me. Great.” You scoff in disbelief.

“She knew you loved her,” she says desperately as you grab your bag.

“She should’ve heard it from me,” you bite as you go to the front desk to ask about making preparations.

The nurse fills you in on the details, they’ll have the body frozen and sent to whatever funeral home you choose.

“Honey I can do this,” your mother pipes up.

“NO,” you shout gaining stares from the hospital staff.

“I will do it.” You say quietly.

“Jagi, whatever you want or whatever she wanted, I’ll pay for it, ok? Just do whatever would’ve made her happy.” He whispers to you as you get some paper work from the nurse. You nod and he presses a kiss to your temple.

-

You get to your home that night, walking in you see Hae sitting on the couch. Your body slumps.

“Seunghyun!” She sings, “I missed you, baby.” She throws you a nasty look as she breezes past you to hug him.

You roll your eyes, frustration with him slightly rising within you. He seriously couldn't tell his girlfriend not to come over for one stupid night?

“I’m going to bed,” you mumble as you race up the steps. The door slams behind you as you fall onto your bed, allowing all the emotions to come up. Screams, tears, body shakes and all. You beat your fist against the mattress as you scream into it.

-

Downstairs Hae is already pulling Seunghyun to the bedroom.

“Stop, Hae.” He pulls against her, earning a look of confusion.

“Not tonight,” he sighs. He knew this was coming, he just wasn’t sure how he wanted to deal with it.

“How did you find out I was even home?” He asks as he takes off his jacket.

“I called your team because you weren’t answering your phone and they said you were on a flight back.” She shrugs.

“So I used my key to get in and wait for you. After being with y/n I was sure you missed me.”

“She’s the reason I’m home,” he tries to explain to her.

“Figures, selfish bitch,” she spouts off, “can’t even think of your career,” she mumbles.

“Hey, watch your mouth! That’s my wife and you will not disrespect her!” He shouts. Hae takes a step back.

“She’s your FAKE wife!” she yells.

-

Upstairs you can hear the heated discussion and you step out onto the top of the steps, just out of sight. At least someone else was having problems now.

“Or do you not remember complaining to me night after night about how awful she is. How she’s so boring and annoying and you'd rather be dead than do this any longer?” Your heart aches in your chest at her words.

“How you hated her, hated her presence around you, how she was just a stuck up bitch who wanted you for your money. The endless times you’d come crawling to me to work out your frustrations.” She steps closer to him, laying her hand on his chest.

“She doesn’t love you, Seunghyun. She’s in a contract with you. There’s a difference.” Seunghyun, despite his best efforts, starts to question her words.

“I said all that before this happened,” he weakly defends.

“You still said it, and after one night with me, you’ll remember why.” Her smile is devious and calculated.

She leans up to whisper in his ear, “And if you don’t, then I’ll make sure the whole world knows your little secret.” She pulls him off to the direction of the downstairs bedroom and the door shuts.

Your heart shatters into pieces as you walk back to your bedroom. You let out an ear-piercing scream into your pillow.

No Jiyong.

No Seunghyun.

You’re on your own. Your body shakes, and you feel as though you could collapse in on yourself.

So much for trying in your relationship.

You need Seunghyun but he isn’t there. You need someone, but you’re too mad at Jiyong to even call him, despite all the times he tried calling you. You spend the night alone, your tears making a wet spot on the sheets. Your body weak and exhausted.

The darkness swallows you whole that night, you toss and turn unable to sleep. You slip on our slippers and pad down to the kitchen, who says you can’t drink at 1 in the morning?

You pour yourself a glass of wine, the house still.

“Wow, a dead sister and a drinking problem, huh?” you hear a snarky voice suddenly speak. You jump at the sudden intrusion before rolling your eyes.

“Fuck off, Hae.” You raise the glass to your lips, tasing the sweetly bitter beverage.

“Fuck you, bitch, I’ll do what I want in my house,” she folds her arms and smirks.

“This isn’t your house, but whatever.”

“Oh, sweetie, it is. My name’s on the deed.” Your heart skips a beat.

“What?”

She chuckles to herself.

“Yeah, well, mine and Seunghyun’s anyway, and that’s my wine you’re drinking so you can replace it when your through.” She smirks.

You smirk back at her as you take the rest of the wine and pour it back in the bottle. Backwash and all.

“No need, keep it.” She makes a disgusted face.

“God, how he could ever even pretend to love a girl like you.” You stare at her. Disbelief running through your veins. He never told you Hae’s name was on the deed, he never said this was her house.

“Baby, trust one thing, once Seunghyun’s done with this funeral business, he won’t need you. So you may as well keep your shit packed.”

“How do you know?” Your voice waivers but you can’t help it.

“Because what’s better for his image than a doting husband being there for his wife. Then due to tragedy his wife leaves because she just can’t handle the life anymore. Or they could say you had an affair because of your grief or something. Either way, this is the perfect excuse for him to get out of this stupid ordeal. So, I guess I have your sister to thank for dying. She’s giving me my man back.” Her smile is evil and she chuckles as she walks back down the hall to the bedroom.

-

You and Seunghyun walk into the funeral home, the air between you ice cold.

The funeral director starts showing you plans, but you’re barely there. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Thoughts of Jiyong come to mind, thoughts of what Seunghyun and Hae did and talked about come to mind, thoughts of your mother who hasn’t bothered to call or check in, thoughts of how you sister must have felt when you weren’t there and she couldn’t hold out any longer. Tears brim your eyes but Seunghyun’s hand on your thigh pulls you out of your head.

“Baby?” He asks with a questioning look.

“Huh, oh right,” you wipe the few escaping tears from your cheeks.

“I guess, I uh, gosh I don’t know,” you try to think back to what your sister wanted.

“I think her wish was to be buried.” You nod your head and the funeral director goes into the process, explaining everything that will happen, but once again, it’s muffled as you return to your head.

-

Back in the car, you both sit there silently.

“Do you want to talk or,” Seunghyun asks breaking the silence as he starts the car.

“Just take me to the Crown Park Hotel,” you mumble as you look out the window.

“Wait, what? You have a room at the house-,”

“I want to stay in the hotel!” Your voice snaps and Seunghyun’s lips part slightly as his brows shoot up on his face.

“The room is paid for so just take me there,” you cross your arms over your chest. Seunghyun pulls over and turns to look at you.

“Not without you talking to me,” he says. You scoff with a bitter laugh.

“Why the hell do you care. As soon as the ordeal is over you can be free. I’ll take the fucking blame, just get me to the damn hotel and get the hell away from me.” You shoot daggers at him.

“Woah, what are you talking about? I thought we were working on this,” he motions between you.

“So did I,” you say weakly.

“If you don’t drive me to the damn hotel, I’ll get out and walk.”

“Y/n, no,”

“No? Ha,” you laugh defiantly. You open the door and slam it behind you. Seunghyun watches as you round the car. He opens his door when he see’s you start to walk toward the busy street. He jogs up to you, taking you by the arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you yank your arm from him, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“I’ll drive you to the hotel, ok?” You walk back past him and get back in the car.

Seunghyun drops you off at the hotel, he doesn’t come in, he just watches you disappear inside. The place is nice, red carpeting, golden fixtures, very high end.

You’re sitting in the hotel room, the tv is on for background noise, staring at the ceiling.

You pick up the phone, seeing yet another three missed calls from Jiyong. You tap on the icon, briefly considering calling him. But there’s a knock on your door before you can do so.

You get up with a huff and slowly pad across the hardwood floor.

You open the door, your eyes growing wide at the face before you.

Jiyong.

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Covenant Masterlist

Part 7

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