bambambwi

[bambambwi]

Paper Spine, Velvet Hands

pairing: choi seunghyun x reader warnings: mdni. contains smut  note: something i wrote up after watching bibi's new mv a hundred times :>> You’ve always returned to this one small library after college classes to “ease” your mind—or maybe you just liked seeing the older guy behind the counter.

Tucked behind the bookshelves of the poetry and art section, you sat quietly with a few books scattered across the floor. Your back rested against the shelf, legs folded beneath you as you flipped through the fourth book of the day.

It was quiet—peaceful, even. The kind of stillness that only settled after the sun had gone down. Everyone else had already left the library hours ago.

Everyone except you.

And Seunghyun—the so-called pretty guy behind the counter.

Minutes, hours passed, but you didn’t feel a thing. Not even the shift in the air. Not even the soft, steady footsteps approaching you now.

Seunghyun stood at the edge of the aisle now, one hand lightly resting against the shelf above your head. His hair fell a little into his eyes, glasses pushed up just enough to reflect the dim library lights.

“I’m about to close up,” he said softly, not quite breaking the stillness.

You blinked slowly, grounding yourself back into the moment. “Right,” you murmured, thumb still tucked between the pages of your book. “Sorry—I lost track of time.”

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes dropped to your lap, where the open book rested. A slim volume of poetry—one of the older ones from the upper shelf. Well-loved. The kind with thin, yellowed pages and soft corners.

Then, a pause.

He leaned in slightly, squinting through his glasses.

“Interesting book you’ve got there,” he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar low timbre, touched with something teasing.

He leaned a little closer, enough that you could feel the warmth of his body beside yours. One hand braced on the shelf just above your shoulder, the other lightly brushing the floor as he crouched. His eyes scanned the open pages resting in your lap.

It was quiet—too quiet.

You shifted subtly, trying to angle the book away, but he was already reading the title on the spine, the passage you’d stopped on, the kind of prose that left little to interpretation. Sensual. Intimate. The kind of book you hadn’t meant for anyone else to catch you reading.

His eyes flicked up.

Not to the book.

To you.

“You like this kind of writing?” he asked softly, his tone low but not mocking. Just… curious. Curious and a little too calm.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the cover. “I—I… no?” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

It sounded weak even to your own ears.

But Seunghyun didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease.

Instead, he stayed there, crouched beside you in that tight little space between bookshelves and breath, his gaze lingering on your face far longer than it should have.

“No?” he echoed, his voice quiet—soft enough to make your skin prickle. “You read almost half of the book.”

You looked down, only now realizing how far in you’d gotten. How closely you’d been reading, completely absorbed and unaware of the time, of the darkened windows, of him.

Your mouth opened, but no explanation came out.

He tilted his head slightly, as if taking you in. His eyes flicked to the curve of your wrist, the grip you had on the book’s spine—white-knuckled and nervous—and then back to your face.

“It’s not shameful, you know,” he said after a pause, tone impossibly gentle. “To like something… personal.”

The air felt heavier with the kind of silence that buzzed between people who knew they were standing on the edge of something they could fall into.

“I’ve seen you,” he murmured. “Every time you’re back here. Tucked into this corner, pretending you’re just here for the books.”

“I am—” you said too fast.

His lips curled faintly.

“You’re a good liar” he said, almost like a compliment. “But you look at me like the books aren’t enough anymore.”

You felt your breath stall—just for a second.

“You look at me,” he said again, softer this time. “Like I’m one of those pages you want to dog-ear.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He leaned in then—closer, slow, heat in every breath.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

You didn’t answer—not because you didn’t want him to continue, but because the closeness made your heart flutter too violently, like any sound might make it break open. You only clutched tighter at the book in your lap, fingers curling around its edges as if it could steady you.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice brushing your ear like silk. His breath was warm, too close, and the scent of his cologne—something woody and clean—blurred your thoughts further.

“I—You—” you stuttered out, your voice trembling as badly as your legs.

Your eyes squeezed shut, trying to gather yourself, but all you could feel was the warmth of him still pressed between your thighs, the ghost of his mouth on your skin, the dizzying way your name had sounded on his tongue.

“It’s Seunghyun.”

The way he said it—low, soft, just for you—made your breath hitch.

You looked up at him, startled. His face was close now, closer than before. He was bent slightly at the waist, hands braced on the shelf above your head, caging you in with his body, eyes dark and unreadable behind his glasses.

“I want you to say it,” he murmured.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You felt it—his knee sliding between your thighs, gently nudging them apart again. Not forcing. Just offering.

You whispered, almost inaudible, “Seunghyun… please.”

And that was all it took.

He exhaled once, shallow and sharp, like he’d been holding his breath since the moment you walked in that evening. He moved—swift but gentle—hooking his hands under your arms and pulling you up, into his lap. You landed with a soft gasp, your thighs bracketing his, your skirt rucked up around your hips. His back leaned into the shelf, yours flush against his chest. The book you’d been clutching slipped from your hand and fell with a soft thud to the floor.

His arms circled you, broad palms skimming down your sides with his lips brushing the side of your neck, feather-light, and he murmured, “I’ve watched you read here like this a hundred times… but never like this.”

Your breathing faltered.

“You always sit so quietly in this corner,” he whispered, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw. “Crossed legs, fingers curled around your book like it’s something sacred.”

His hand splayed across your stomach, holding you still while the other dipped between your legs, brushing over the heat of your panties — soft and damp. You flinched in his lap, your fingers tightening over your knees.

“But it’s not the books you get flustered over,” he murmured against your skin. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

His nose nuzzled along your neck, and then his tongue flicked out—warm and slow—followed by a gentle suck that made your thighs tense around him.

“You press those pretty legs together when I walk past,” he went on, voice low and rough in your ear. “Like I wouldn’t notice.”

His fingers curled against the wet cotton of your underwear, pressing the fabric into your folds making a soft, involuntary sound escaped you. Your hips shifted forward—instinctively chasing more. 

But he didn’t give it. Not yet.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he whispered, circling your clit through the fabric. “We’re in a library.”

As if you could focus on anything outside the heat pooling in your core.

His hand moved slowly—palm broad, fingers skilled. He dragged the damp fabric to the side, exposing you completely to the cool air and the warmth of his touch.

“You’re already soaked,” he said, more to himself than to you. “And I haven’t even kissed you properly.”

Two fingers slid through your folds—barely parting you. Not inside. Just teasing. Your head tipped back against his shoulder with a breathless moan.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips grazing your temple. “Let me hear you.”

He pushed a finger in—just one—slow and deep, curling slightly as your body clenched around the intrusion. “Fuck,” he growled softly, his hand tightening on your waist. “You feel so good like this.”

His thumb began to circle your clit in slow, precise strokes—no rush, just enough to make your hips start to roll against his hand. The arm around your waist tightened, keeping you locked in place, unable to squirm away from the slow build.

“You’ve been walking in here every evening like some quiet little secret,” he whispered, his lips dragging along your ear. “But look at you now. In my lap. Letting me open you up like this.”

He added a second finger, slower this time. The stretch made your legs tremble.

“You always get this wet when I talk to you?” he murmured, and you whimpered as his fingers thrust deeper, rubbing right against that spot inside that made your eyes squeeze shut.

“I knew you were shy,” he said, voice so soft it felt sinful. “Didn’t know you were this needy.”

Your hand flew to his wrist, not to stop him—to steady yourself. He kept moving inside you, fingers curling and pressing while his thumb continued its gentle rhythm over your clit.

His lips pressed back to your neck. “Should I keep going?” he whispered. “Want to come like this? Quietly in my lap?”

You nodded helplessly, your breath catching with every slow thrust.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured, kissing just behind your ear. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Seunghy—”

But you never finished his name.

Because his fingers curled just right inside you, drawing a helpless, broken sound from your throat—something between a gasp and a whimper—your legs trembling around his. Behind you, Seunghyun exhaled softly through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting against your neck.

“Sensitive..” he murmured, dragging his fingers out slow, then pressing them back in just as deep. “I like that.”

Your back arched, and he held you firmly against his chest with his other arm, anchoring you while he kept working you open with those long, skilled fingers. His lips skimmed your neck again, then your jaw.

“You always get like this when I’m close?” he asked softly, voice a low hum in your ear. “Or is this just for me?”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The way his fingers curled up into you— deliberate, patient—made your belly coil tighter and tighter, your mouth falling open as your head tipped back onto his shoulder.

His thumb found your clit then, circling slow and steady.

“Don’t hide it,” he whispered, his hand tightening around your waist. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

Your body clenched hard around his fingers, thighs shaking, mouth parting in a silent cry as you came in his lap, legs spread open, back arched against him, the wave crashing through you so fast it left your head spinning.

He held you, letting you tremble, twitch, shake—all while his mouth stayed close to your ear, whispering things you could barely process.

“That’s it..” he murmured. “Just like that.” he said slipping his fingers out, leaving you shivering at the loss, blinking in the dim library light, heart still racing, limbs boneless.

He stood up, making you slump forward, dizzy, still sitting in the middle of the poetry aisle, skirt pushed up, panties askew. You felt empty. Ruined. And he just smirked down at you like you were nothing more than another favorite book on his shelf.

“I’m closing up now,” he said as he adjusted his glasses, cool and composed like he hadn’t just fingered you senseless.

His gaze lingered for a second longer—unreadable, dark.

“You should get up before someone finds you like that.”

Then he turned, walking away.

The staff door creaked open behind him, then shut. And you were left in silence—flushed, breathless, and dripping between your thighs.

[bambambwi]

Dye Me Down

characters: kwon jiyong x y/n

a bit mid but i miss joker ji so bad

summary: what starts as a playful idea to bring back jiyong’s iconic 2016 green hair quickly turns into a chaotic, steamy mess on the bathroom counter.

tags: 18+, smut, fluff, humor, sensual chaos, established relationship, playful/domestic kink, dirty talk, emotional intimacy

2012-2016 jiyong could ruin my life and I’d still thank him 😣

⸻

The afternoon was slow and sweet, like thick honey poured over warm skin. Jiyong and I were splayed across the bed, wrapped up in the kind of silence that only came with real comfort. No music, no distractions, just the lazy warmth of a Sunday sun and our bare legs tangled together.

His hand rested lightly on my thigh, fingers moving in soft patterns while his phone hovered inches above his face. Every so often, he’d show me something — a meme, a fan edit, a flashback clip from one of his old concerts.

I rolled closer, propping myself on my elbow. My eyes lingered on his bare face, his slightly grown-out black hair, soft and unruly from our nap.

Why do I feel like you’re plotting something?” he asked lazily, eyes not leaving the screen.

I grinned, propping my chin on his shoulder. “Because I am.”

“Mmm.” He didn’t sound surprised. “Do I need to run?”

“No,” I said sweetly. “But you might need a towel.”

That got his attention. He turned his head to look at me with one perfectly sculpted brow arched. “Y/N.”

“Ji.”

“What are you planning?”

“I want to dye your hair.”

“You know what I miss?” I said, tracing my nail down his chest.

“Hm?”

“2016 Ji.”

He side-eyed me. “Babe.”

I grinned. “The green hair. The wild stage fits. The look in your eyes like you were about to seduce the entire stadium just by standing still.”

“I did seduce them,” he said flatly, but his mouth twitched into a smirk.

I dragged my hand up into his hair, combing through the black strands. “But this… this version of you? Needs a refresh.”

“Oh?” He arched a brow. “Are you saying I’m washed?”

“Never. I’m saying I wanna dye your hair green again.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“You’re insane.”

“Obviously.” I straddled his waist and kissed the tip of his nose. “But you love it.”

He groaned as my weight settled on him. “Why do I feel like you’ve planned this?”

“Because I have,” I said sweetly. “I bought the dye last week. It’s in the bathroom cabinet. Right next to your favorite cologne, which I may or may not have sprayed on my pillow.”

He blinked. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m inspired.”

A beat passed.

He cupped the back of my neck, eyes fixed on mine. “You really want Joker Ji back?”

“Desperately.”

“Right now?”

I leaned down, lips brushing his jaw. “Unless you’re scared.”

He smirked, hands finding their way to my thighs. “You know I’m not. But this better end with you naked.”

“Oh, it will,” I purred. “Eventually.”

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, I was perched on the bathroom countertop wearing only his oversized t-shirt, and he sat between my thighs on the closed toilet lid, towel wrapped around his shoulders, smirking like he was two seconds from corrupting me completely.

I dipped the brush into the dye and stroked it onto the first section. The bright green started soaking into his dark hair, and I couldn’t stop giggling.

“Babe…”

“Hmm?”

“This might stain your scalp.”

“Then I’ll just tell everyone my girlfriend did it while she was straddling me in the bathroom,” he said, resting his hands on my hips.

“You’re not wrong.”

I kept working through the sections, methodical and careful—but Jiyong was anything but patient. His fingers kept wandering. First, just resting on my hips. Then brushing beneath the hem of the shirt. Then gliding higher.

“Ji,” I warned, trying not to laugh. “I swear to God if you make me mess this up—”

“Come on, Aein,” he said lowly. “You’re between my legs, hovering above me, biting your lip, looking like a damn fantasy while smearing neon green into my hair.”

I paused, my thighs tightening around him involuntarily.

He grinned. “Tell me you’re not turned on right now.”

“Okay,” I said breathlessly. “I won’t tell you.”

He chuckled, and I felt his hands curl around my thighs, pulling me closer. I squeaked as I landed fully on his lap, the brush still in my hand.

“Ji, I still have half your head to go—”

“Finish it,” he said, voice husky. “Then I’ll ruin you.”

My stomach flipped. My whole body buzzed. God, this man.

Somehow, I made it through the rest of the application, hands shaking slightly, heart pounding. When I was done, I set the brush down and peeled off the gloves with a snap.

“There,” I said. “Processing time is twenty minutes.”

“Perfect.”

I didn’t even have time to blink before he surged up, gripping my ass and lifting me onto the countertop with a thud. The edge of the cold marble hit the backs of my thighs, and I gasped.

“Ji—”

His mouth was on mine before I could finish.

The kiss was messy, urgent, tasting like toothpaste and mischief. His hands slid under the shirt, fingers splaying over my bare skin. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath—thank God.

“You planned this,” he groaned against my neck, nipping at the skin.

“Maybe,” I whispered, tilting my head to give him more access.

“You little devil.”

I laughed, breath hitching as his tongue traced along my collarbone. “You’re the one with green hair and a hard-on.”

“I’m hard because of you, not the hair dye,” he growled, yanking the shirt over my head in one swift move.

I was completely bare now, legs spread on the countertop, his head between my thighs, hair freshly dyed and wild.

He looked up at me with that glint in his eyes—the one that made my whole body ache. “Look at you, Aein. Already wet.”

“Shut up and do something about it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth was on me in seconds, tongue dragging slow, devastating strokes that made me moan and clutch his hair—green dye be damned.

“Fuck, Ji—“

He groaned into me, the vibration making my back arch. “Say my name again.”

“Jiyong…”

His grip on my thighs tightened. He devoured me like he hadn’t eaten in days, pulling wave after wave of pleasure from my body until I was shaking, thighs clenching around his head, nails digging into his scalp.

When he finally stood up, his lips were slick, chin glistening, and his eyes were dark with heat.

“You look like you’re cosplaying Shrek,” I giggled, brushing the green dye through his roots.

“And you look like a naked housewife with a fetish,” he fired back.

“Housewife?” I snorted. “I’d be the most unqualified—”

“You’d be perfect,” he cut in, more serious than I expected. “If I met you earlier, like during that era… I probably would’ve married you already. Had kids by now.”

I froze.

He looked up, soft and sincere. “Swear to God, Aein. I would’ve changed everything if I knew you then.”

“Ji…” My heart fluttered in a million different ways. “You can’t just say things like that while I’m holding toxic chemicals over your head.”

He laughed, tilting his head back. “You’d be such a good mom. You’re already good at babying me.”

I started laughing, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable—”

Then, just as I exhaled mid-giggle, he surged upward and thrust his hips against the counter, bumping me in exactly the right spot.

I choked.

“Ji!” I gasped, nearly flinging the dye bowl across the sink.

He grinned, completely unapologetic. “Sorry. Did I interrupt your laugh?”

“You timed that on purpose.”

“Oh, I absolutely did.”

My thighs clenched. “You menace.”

“I’m your menace.” He grinned at me, his fingers creeping up the bare skin of my thighs.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I murmured.

He cocked an eyebrow up, with mischief on his eyes. “Still not done with you yet.” His kiss was greedy — open-mouthed and wet, his tongue sliding against mine like he wanted to crawl inside me. He grabbed the back of my neck, deepening it, devouring me.

I gasped against his mouth as his hands slid under my shirt, palming my breasts with a hunger that sent my pulse skyrocketing.

“God, you’re perfect.”

I tugged at the towel around his shoulders and tossed it to the floor. He yanked the shirt over my head and tossed that too and now I was bare, legs spread on the cold marble, and he was standing between them with dye in his hair and sin in his eyes.

“Still so wet,” he said, dragging a finger between my folds. “You like making me look crazy, huh?”

I let out a shaky breath. “You look hot. You’ve always looked hot.”

He dipped his finger inside me and pulled it out slow. “Then say it.”

“You’re so fucking hot, Ji,” I moaned. “Especially when you’re rough.”

His pupils dilated. “Say my name again.”

“Ji…” I whispered, clinging to him.

He leaned forward, mouth at my ear. “Aein, if you keep saying my name like that, I’m not going to last.”

“Then ruin me now and be gentle later,” I said, pulling his waistband down.

He was already hard, thick and flushed, heavy in my hand. I stroked him once, and he hissed, head dropping to my shoulder.

Without another word, he lined himself up and pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until I was stretched wide and gasping, already dizzy from the feeling of being filled so completely.

He held still for a moment, forehead resting against mine.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You always take me so well.”

“Move,” I whispered, nails digging into his arms.

The first thrust knocked the air out of my lungs. He was deep, hot, pulsing, and I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded.

The countertop rocked slightly with each movement, and the mirror behind us fogged with heat. He set a relentless pace, each thrust deeper than the last, hitting every spot just right.

“God, Aein, you feel so fucking good—”

I moaned loudly, hands clutching his shoulders, nails scraping his skin. “Ji… faster, please—”

He growled low in his throat, driving into me harder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the bathroom.

The rhythm started slow — long, deep strokes that had me seeing stars. Every thrust sent shockwaves through me, making the mirror behind fog up with our heat.

My fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tightly. “The green looks so good on you,” I moaned.

He smirked mid-thrust. He slammed into me hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

“I’d have two kids with you by now if I met you in 2016,” he growled, voice ragged.

“You’re insane—oh fuck—Ji, don’t stop—”

“You’d be glowing, barefoot, cooking rice in my shirt while pregnant with our second.”

I was laughing again, breathless and wild, when he gave a particularly brutal thrust that knocked the sound straight out of me.

“Still think I’m kidding?”

“Ji, holy fuck—”

My back arched, heels digging into his lower back. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me slightly, changing the angle. The new position made me scream.

“Come for me, Aein,” he whispered against my neck. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

“Ji—I’m—”

My body clenched around him in waves, my vision going white, my hands clawing at his shoulders. He cursed in Korean, hips stuttering, and then he was coming too, deep inside me, hot and thick and shaking with it.

We stayed like that — tangled, panting, trembling. His face buried in my neck. My legs still locked around him.

Eventually, he kissed my shoulder, then my jaw, then my lips.

“That was the hottest dye job of my life,” he murmured.

I giggled weakly. “You’re never going to a salon again.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me and burst out laughing.

I blinked. “What?”

“You got dye on your nose.”

I gasped. “You got dye on my everything!”

We both laughed, dizzy and high on each other, the air still thick with steam and sex.

He kissed my cheek, then my lips, then my nose—dye stain and all.

“Guess I’m your canvas now,” he murmured.

I grinned, breathless and blissed out. “You’re the hottest art project I’ve ever touched.”

⸻

Thirty minutes later, with green dye rinsed and his hair dripping wet, he came out of the bathroom shirtless in a towel, water still clinging to his collarbones.

I was curled up in bed, utterly ruined.

He crawled in beside me, propping himself on his elbow.

“Still thinking about 2016?” he asked, brushing hair from my face.

I smiled, eyes heavy. “I think I like 2025 better.”

He leaned in and kissed my nose. “You sure?”

“You’re green, naked, and just made me scream loud enough to alert the neighbors.”

“So… that’s a yes.”

“It’s a hell yes.”

He smiled against my skin.

“Okay, maybe next time—purple.”

mom, i love him so much 💔

[bambambwi]

ℜ𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔗𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔬𝔬

Kwon Jiyong x f!reader

a/n: I'm sorry I'm so rusty and this is so ass lol but I made my dog listen to this song on repeat on my drive home from work and it just inspired me to write some stupid lil fluff. I wanted to post something to convince myself I can still write. Sorry its bad lol I'm overwhelmed rn. if you enjoy please leave a comment. I will write better soon ugh

song: rose tattoo - dropkick murphy's

wc: 2.6k+

warnings: alcohol, drunk tattoos

“That was fucking awesome!” Jiyong groaned as he collapsed onto the velvet couch backstage, his body still buzzing with adrenaline. He ran a hand through his damp hair and took a long swig from his water bottle, letting his head fall back with a blissful sigh. His black tank top clung to him, soaked with sweat, and his heart still pounded in his chest from the high of performing.

“No one told me Ireland parties so hard…” Daesung said through a breathless laugh, toweling off his face. His hair stuck up in different directions, and his cheeks were flushed with exertion.

“They’re wild out there,” Youngbae added, chugging from his water bottle before plopping down on the floor and leaning against the couch. “The crowd was insane.”

Jiyong’s eyes lit up. “We have to go out tonight! Celebrate!”

Youngbae raised an eyebrow at him. “Celebrate what?”

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. His smile widened, softening in a way only they recognized. “Our last night in Europe. And… we’ve got a whole week off. No planes. No soundchecks. No stage makeup. Just sleep, good food, and—” His eyes turned dreamy. “—I get to see Y/n.”

The others groaned, but Jiyong didn’t care. His thoughts had already drifted back to you. The way your voice sounded on late-night calls. The blurry selfies you’d send when you missed him. The scent of your shampoo lingering on his clothes when he unpacked.

Seunghyun rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jiyong had been with you for six months, but he talked about you like he’d loved you for years. And maybe he had—just hadn’t met you yet. Seunghyun had seen Jiyong fall hard before, but this was different. You weren’t just some pretty distraction. You grounded him. Balanced out the chaos in his head.

He nudged Jiyong with his knee. “So what’s the plan, lover boy?”

Jiyong looked at them all with the fire of a man on a mission. “Drink with the Irish!”

-

The bar they stumbled into wasn’t the kind of place that catered to tourists. It was tucked on a side street, warm and dim, filled with heavy wooden tables, worn leather stools, and an old jukebox humming in the corner. Locals filled every seat, pints in hand, shouting over traditional music that played on a loop. It smelled like aged wood, beer, and something hearty simmering in the back.

Perfect.

No one recognized them, not really—not the older patrons, anyway. The bartender, a gruff older man with thick hands and a thick accent, didn’t flinch when Jiyong ordered a round of whiskey for the table. If anything, he seemed to appreciate the enthusiasm.

They downed their shots, the Jameson burning pleasantly down their throats, and the laughter came easily. They recounted ridiculous moments from the tour—wardrobe malfunctions, mic failures, Jiyong tripping over a stage monitor in Berlin and somehow turning it into a dance move. Every story spun them further into a haze of warmth and nostalgia.

Seunghyun sat back, watching his best friend with quiet amusement. Jiyong’s cheeks were pink now, and his eyes had gone soft and unfocused—not from the alcohol alone, but from the way he kept slipping your name into every other sentence.

“Y/n would love this bar,” he murmured at one point, twirling his glass by the rim. “She always says divey places have better energy. She’d probably be talking to that old couple over there by now. She just… connects with people like that.”

A fond smile curved his lips as he stared at nothing in particular. “I’ve been counting down the days to see her. She sent me this stupid video this morning—just her brushing her teeth and humming our song. But it made my whole day. Like, fuck the sold-out show. I just want to hear her laugh in person again.”

Daesung chuckled. “You’re so gone, man.”

“I am,” Jiyong said without shame, lifting his glass. “I’m fucking gone for her.”

-

Eventually, the whiskey had found its way into every vein, numbing limbs and loosening tongues. The bar had emptied slightly, the once-rowdy crowd thinning into pockets of quiet laughter and half-empty pint glasses. Youngbae was slumped forward at the table, head resting on folded arms, barely clinging to consciousness. Seunghyun had wandered outside for a smoke, needing air and space. Daesung was lost in animated conversation with an older Irish gentleman who reminded him of someone’s grandpa—laughing heartily and clinking glasses like old friends.

Which meant, of course, no one had been keeping an eye on Jiyong.

Tucked in the far corner of the pub, half-lit by a dim wall sconce, he sat grinning beside a stranger. The man was from London, maybe mid-thirties, rough around the edges, with inked knuckles and a travel-worn bag that doubled as a tattoo kit. He smelled faintly of cigarettes and antiseptic and was currently dragging a needle across the top of Jiyong’s left hand.

“How long ya been with her?” the man asked, his voice low and crackly as he wiped away excess ink.

Jiyong’s eyes didn’t leave his phone screen. Your face smiled up at him from the lock screen—a silly selfie you’d sent the morning after he left for tour. Your cheeks were puffy, hair tangled, eyes barely open. You were brushing your teeth with his sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder. It had made him cry the first time he saw it.

“Six months,” Jiyong murmured, heart softening. “But it feels like forever, man. She’s… fuck, she’s the love of my life.”

There was a raw, aching honesty in his voice—drunken, yes, but completely sincere.

His throat tightened as he blinked down at your photo. The distance between you wasn’t new, but tonight it felt especially unbearable. He missed your warmth, your voice humming in the dark, the way you’d touch his arm just to ground him. He missed your laugh, the way it shook your whole body when something really caught you off guard.

He missed you. All of you.

His eyes welled again.

“Oi, don’t cry now,” the man said, clearly unsure how to handle it. “Here. Have another shot, yeah? You’ll see her tomorrow.”

Jiyong nodded as he accepted the glass, knocking it back and letting the burn distract him from the knot in his chest. “Three weeks,” he whispered. “It’s been three weeks. And I’ve felt her absence every damn second.”

“Well she’ll bloody love this, mate,” the man said with a smirk, finishing the last strokes of the small rose and your name scrawled beneath it in sharp cursive. The ink was rudimentary—far from professional—but it was clear. Personal and permanent.

Jiyong stared at it with glassy eyes. The skin was red, slightly swollen, smeared with blood and ink. But there it was. Your name. On his hand. Close to his pulse. A promise etched into flesh.

“She’s always with me now,” he said softly, smiling.

“Jiyong, what the hell are you doing?” Youngbae’s voice cut through the haze as he stumbled over. Seunghyun followed right behind, a cloud of smoke still clinging to his coat.

“This is the best tattoo I’ve ever gotten!” Jiyong beamed, lifting his hand like a child showing off a finger painting.

“I’m Luke!” the British man offered with a peace sign.

Neither Youngbae nor Seunghyun acknowledged him. They were too focused on the sloppy mess of ink and blood seeping from Jiyong’s hand.

“Dude,” Youngbae hissed, grabbing his wrist carefully. “This is gonna get infected!”

“No it’s not,” Jiyong argued, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Pour some whiskey on it!” Luke slurred proudly, then immediately tilted the nearly empty Jameson bottle over Jiyong’s hand like he was salting a steak.

“Aishh, shibal!” Jiyong hissed, jerking back in pain.

“That’s it. We’re going back to the hotel,” Seunghyun said, not even giving Jiyong the option. He grabbed him by the arm, and Jiyong let himself be hauled up, still waving at Luke.

“Thanks, man! You’re a legend!” he yelled, flinging a crumpled bill over his shoulder.

-

Back at the hotel, the bathroom lights buzzed softly while steam fogged the mirror. Jiyong sat in the empty bathtub, shirtless, soaked with alcohol and happiness, while Youngbae knelt beside him like a tired nurse, scrubbing at his hand with way too much precision for someone who had been nearly unconscious an hour ago.

Seunghyun paced nearby, arms crossed and fuming. “Why the hell would you let some drunk guy in a bar tattoo you?”

Jiyong shrugged, eyes heavy and unfocused. “He offered.”

Seunghyun stared. “You do realize her name is on you. Forever. On your hand, Jiyong.”

Jiyong giggled. “Good.”

Youngbae sighed. “You two haven’t even gone public yet, man. If fans see this—”

“Let them see it.” Jiyong interjected. 

“At least he spelled her name right…” Youngbae muttered, pressing a cloth gently over the skin. “Still, this is gonna need a serious touch-up when it heals.”

Jiyong lifted his hand, his vision swimming slightly, and stared at it. The ink was messy, and the rose wasn’t even symmetrical. But your name stood out clear and proud. It didn’t need to be perfect. It was real.

“She means everything to me,” he murmured. “This… this one means the most. It stays here. For eternity.”

And then, with a dopey smile and one last look at your face on his screen, he let his eyes close and drifted off to sleep, your name resting on his heart—inked in his skin, etched in his soul.

-

Getting Jiyong onto the plane that morning was nothing short of a mission. He was groggy, half-delirious from the hangover, and very much dead weight. Youngbae had ended up tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of rice while Seunghyun coaxed a still-chatty Daesung away from a local woman he’d befriended at the airport bar.

By some miracle, they made it to their first-class seats in one piece. Jiyong immediately slumped back into his seat with a deep groan, pulling the blanket over his head like a sulking child.

Seunghyun rolled his eyes and settled in beside him, just as Jiyong’s phone started buzzing in his lap.

“Y/n’s calling you,” Seunghyun said, glancing down at the screen before nudging him.

Jiyong shot upright like he’d been electrocuted, fumbling clumsily for the phone—only to drop it straight to the floor. “Shit—fuck—wait—”

With a long-suffering sigh, Seunghyun bent down and retrieved it, sliding his thumb across the screen. “Hey, Y/n! Your boyfriend is nursing a world-class hangover,” he said, flipping the camera to reveal Jiyong, who was grinning like a fool beneath a blanket, his cheeks flushed and eyes heavy.

Jiyong struggled to bring up his left hand to wave at you, but Seunghyun caught him quickly, pressing it down discreetly to hide the tattoo.

“Baby! I miss you!” Jiyong cooed, voice still hoarse but full of warmth.

“I miss you too, Oppa,” you said through the screen, your smile melting his exhaustion in an instant. “Please try to sleep on the plane, okay?”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Seunghyun promised, flipping the camera back to himself.

You giggled when Jiyong scooted closer, resting his head on Seunghyun’s shoulder just to get back into the frame. His big, sleepy eyes blinked up at you, and you could see just how much he needed rest—but more than anything, you saw how much he needed you.

“Saranghae, Oppa!” you called, and then hung up before he could say anything else.

-

Two flights and what felt like a lifetime later, they landed in Seoul. Everyone was groggy, sore, and over it—except Jiyong. The moment his feet hit the ground, something inside him lit up.

“Hyung, where is he—?” Daesung began, looking around.

“He ran,” Seunghyun muttered, barely looking up from his phone.

Jiyong didn’t care about his bags, his entourage, or even the airport staff trying to usher him through a private exit. All he cared about was getting to you. His heart thudded in his chest like a war drum, and his legs didn’t stop moving until he was in the car, shouting your address at the startled driver.

The entire ride to your house, his leg bounced uncontrollably. He chewed on his nails. Stared out the window. Clutched his healing hand to his chest. He just needed to see you. Breathe you in. Make sure you were real again.

As soon as the car pulled into your driveway, he was out before it even stopped fully, bolting for your front door and leaving poor Jaeho to deal with your personal security.

“Jagiya! It’s me!” he called, pounding his fist against the door.

Inside, you dropped the ladle you’d been stirring soup with, the clang echoing through the house as you tore off your apron and sprinted for the door.

The moment it opened, the world disappeared.

“Ji!” you screamed, launching into his arms.

He caught you easily, wrapping you up with every ounce of longing he’d carried for the last three weeks. His face immediately buried into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin, pressing desperate kisses into the space where your pulse lived.

“God, baby…” he whispered, voice cracking. “I missed you so fucking much…”

His arms trembled slightly as he held you tighter. It wasn’t just relief—it was a kind of quiet desperation, the ache of missing someone so deeply that you swore your body forgot how to function without them.

You let him carry you to the couch like you weighed nothing, his body pressed flush against yours as he laid you down beneath him. His lips found your cheek, your jaw, your lips, and every sound you let out fueled him like oxygen.

As your hands moved over his body, you noticed something strange—his left hand was wrapped with gauze and medical tape.

“Ji… what happened?” you asked gently.

He paused, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh… that’s actually a surprise.”

“A surprise? You broke your hand?”

“No,” he laughed, kissing your nose. “Worse.”

He sat up a little, cradling your body with one arm as he used the other to gently unravel the bandages. The tape came off slowly, and then the gauze, revealing his tender, still-red skin.

And there it was.

Your name. Inked in bold, crooked lines beneath a simple rose.

“I was drunk,” he confessed sheepishly. “At a bar. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Some guy had a tattoo gun and… I said fuck it. I wanted your name on me. So you’d always be with me. Even when you’re not.”

You blinked down at the fresh ink, your chest tightening. The lines were imperfect, the skin around them swollen—but it was beautiful. He had carved your name into his skin. Because he missed you that much.

“Jiyong…” you whispered, fingers lightly brushing over it. “You know the whole world’s gonna know now, right?”

A slow, proud smile stretched across his face. “Yeah… and that brings me to my next souvenir.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, digging past his passport and crumpled receipts until he pulled out a small black box.

Your heart stopped.

He flipped it open.

Inside sat a diamond ring, elegant and radiant, the center stone catching the soft light like a promise.

“Will you marry me?”

For a second, the air froze. All you could hear was your heartbeat, and the sound of Jiyong’s breathing. He looked terrified. Hopeful. So stupidly in love.

Tears blurred your vision, but your smile never faltered.

“Yes!” you cried, tackling him back onto the couch, your arms wrapped tight around his neck. You kissed every part of his face you could reach—his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, his nose.

“I love you so much,” you said between kisses.

“I love you more than anything,” he replied, arms wrapped around you like he’d never let go again.

You pulled back just enough to look at his hand again, brushing your thumb over the healing ink. “I still can’t believe you got my name tattooed…”

“Signed and sealed with blood, baby,” he grinned. “Forever.”

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[bambambwi]

Bf Jiyong and reader who wake up in the middle of the night and cant sleep and start bang bang bang

-xx 💋

One Look Was Enough

❦ pairing: kwon jiyong x reader ❦ warnings: mdni, dominant!jiyong, smut smut smut!

Is it the LA air, or has he always looked this effortlessly good?

Back at the hotel room, you were sprawled out on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone with a grumbling stomach.

“Ji!” you called out lazily, not bothering to move.

He poked his head out from the bedroom.

“Before you ask, I’ve already ordered,” he said, now leaning casually against the doorframe.

He was wearing a fitted black tank top that clung to him in all the right places, showing off the tattoos inked across his arms and collarbone. His navy jeans sat low on his hips, completing the effortlessly hot look he always seemed to pull off without trying. He looked good—too good. The kind of good that made your heart flutter no matter how many times you saw him like this.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he teased, catching the way your eyes lingered a little too long. “Staring is rude, you know.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips as he walked over and settled beside you, his arm draping casually across the back of the couch. 

“I wasn’t staring,” you mumbled, locking your phone screen and finally giving him your full attention. “Just... appreciating.”

His eyebrow quirked, clearly amused. “Appreciating?”

You shrugged, letting your head lean against his shoulder. “You look really good. Like... stupidly good.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and reached up to ruffle your hair gently. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you say things like that.”

You let out a small hum, your eyes closing for a second as his scent—clean and familiar, with a hint of cologne—washed over you. But when you opened your eyes again, you couldn’t stop them from drifting back to him.

The sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes fanned against his cheek as he checked something on his phone, the way the light from the window hit his skin just right. You knew it was ridiculous, but he really looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine. You found yourself staring again, a soft ache blooming in your chest. Not from longing—but from quiet disbelief. How was someone like him yours?

He didn’t look up, but you saw the slight curl of his lips.

He knew.

Of course he knew.

Still, he didn’t call you out for it this time. Instead, he shifted just slightly, angling his body more toward you, letting his arm drop from the couch to wrap loosely around your waist—subtle, but enough to pull you in a little closer.

But over time, your quiet little habit of staring—of just admiring him without saying much—started to get to him.

At first, he found it cute. Maybe even endearing. You’d do it when you thought he wasn’t paying attention—eyes lingering just a second too long, lips slightly parted like you were lost in thought. But now? Now it was starting to mess with his head.

Especially when his staff was around.

He was standing by the window of the hotel room, deep in conversation with a few of his team members. They were discussing the final lineup for the concert, logistics, last-minute lighting changes. His manager was scrolling through a rundown on his tablet, the stylist was already talking about potential fits for the encore stage.

And you? You were on the other end of the room, curled up on the small couch with a blanket over your legs and your eyes fixed on him like he was the only person in the world.

He felt your gaze before he even saw it. Heavy. Warm. Curious. The kind that made the back of his neck prickle with awareness.

He risked a glance.

There it was again.

That look.

That soft, open look you always gave him—like he was something precious, something worth watching.

He cleared his throat and forced his attention back to the conversation, nodding at whatever suggestion was being made. But his jaw had tightened. His fingers tapped restlessly against his leg. 

Every now and then, his eyes flicked over to you like he was trying to stay composed, trying to be professional.

It wasn’t working.

Because every time he looked, you were still watching. Not in a loud, obvious way—but in a way only he could feel. Like you were touching him without touching him. Like he belonged to you and you knew it.

And damn if that didn’t drive him just a little crazy.

He let out a breath, subtle and low, and ran a hand through his hair, managing to keep it together through the rest of the meeting and by the time everyone left, the sun had dipped behind the buildings, casting the hotel suite in a dim, golden haze. 

Jiyong barely said anything to you as he got ready for bed, pulling on a plain white shirt and some loose sweatpants, brushing his teeth with practiced rhythm. You followed along quietly, slipping into bed beside him once the lights were off and the city outside hummed faintly through the windows.

For a while, it was peaceful. You lay on your side with your back to him, blanket pulled up to your chin, eyes closed, asleep.

But he kept shifting. Tossing gently. Turning one way, then the other. Restless.

Like he couldn’t get comfortable.

He was staring at the ceiling, jaw tight, fingers flexing by his side like he was physically forcing himself to stay still. His breaths came shallow, controlled—but not relaxed. Not at all.

You stirred beside him faintly, murmuring something soft in your sleep, the bedsheet rustling as you shifted just enough for your leg to brush his.

And that was it.

That was all it took.

His jaw clenched harder.

He’d spent the entire day watching you—eyes lingering on your lips when you bit them while scrolling, the way your shirt slipped off your shoulder while you made tea, the faint glint of mischief in your gaze whenever you caught him looking.

And now, in the stillness of the night, with you lying right there in his shirt—so close, so warm, so unaware—it was unbearable.

Jiyong exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was trying to breathe the temptation out of his body.

He couldn’t.

So he turned toward you.

His eyes traced the delicate slope of your neck, the way your lashes fluttered faintly in sleep. He let his hand hover—just above your waist. Not touching yet. Just needing to be closer.

His fingertips finally made contact with your hip—light, almost reverent. You shifted again, just slightly, and the sound you made—barely a sigh—wrapped around his ribs like a slow burn.

He leaned in, softly, pressing his lips to your shoulder, letting them linger. Then he whispered your name, just once, like a secret.

You stirred again, breath catching faintly.

“Mm?” your voice was soft, foggy with sleep.

“Sorry..” he murmured, kissing you again. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You hummed, nuzzling into the pillow.

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He dragged his hand slowly along your waist, under the blanket, fingertips skimming bare skin. He tucked himself closer behind you, his chest against your back, his hips pressing subtly into yours.

“You kept looking at me today,” he whispered, brushing your hair aside. “And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His hand slipped beneath your shirt this time, palm flat over your stomach. Just holding you. But the warmth of it sent a wave of tension through your spine.

“Drove me fucking insane.” He said with his voice rough, low and strangled with restraint.

You blinked slowly, still halfway between dreaming and awake.

He let out a quiet, breathless laugh. One that didn’t hold any amusement—just frustration.

“You..” he murmured, pressing his hips just barely against the curve of your ass. You felt the heat of him, the hard shape of him, even through the thin layers between you.

His hand dragged up under your shirt, palm wide and warm on your stomach. “All day. The way you looked at me. So innocent. Like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

You sucked in a soft breath, hips twitching as he touched you—barely, just a feather-light graze over your folds. But it was enough to make your thighs tense, your body already pulsing with the heat he’d stirred from words alone.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, voice tight. “All this for me?”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely nod.

He kissed your shoulder again—so soft, it almost made you ache—and let his fingers glide through your slick, teasing your clit in slow, tight circles that made your breath stutter.

“I should’ve taken you earlier,” he whispered. “Right there in the hallway. Would’ve bent you over the table if we’d been alone for five more minutes.”

You whimpered, back arching slightly. Your hand reached back blindly, searching for him. He caught it—laced his fingers with yours, anchoring you as his other hand worked between your thighs.

“You liked teasing me all day, didn’t you?” he murmured, dragging his teeth across the shell of your ear. “Staring like you wanted something—like you needed something.”

He shifted behind you, body flush to yours now, the hard length of him pressing into your ass through thin fabric. He rutted against you slowly, his hips grinding into that curve, letting you feel how painfully hard he was. How much it hurt to hold back.

Quickly, he pulled back just enough to nudge your thighs further apart once again, hand moving to push your underwear down your hips. You lifted them slightly to help, barely breathing as the last barrier was removed.

He slid his cock between your folds, the tip catching lightly on your clit before dragging back down—slow, sinful.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his breath hot in your ear. “This was your fault,”

You gasped, nodding weakly, your fingers gripping the sheets.

He groaned—quiet, ragged.

“I could do this all night,” he whispered, grinding forward again. “Just slide between your thighs, feel you soak me. You’re warm.”

The next pass of his cock nudged against your entrance—just barely. He stopped there, hips pressed flush to yours, his cock twitching, throbbing against you.

You whimpered again, needier this time.

“Please,” you whispered.

“Please?” he repeated, cocky and amused, like he’d been waiting for that. “God, I love hearing you beg.”

His hand splayed across your hip, holding you firmly in place as he ground his cock through your folds again—slow, deliberate, letting the swollen tip nudge your entrance just enough to tease, but not give.

You whimpered, your fingers curling tight in the sheets.

“You’ve been aching for me since morning,” he continued, lips brushing your ear now, cock still gliding through your slick folds. “And now you’re begging for it?”

You gasped. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” he cut in, low and amused. His voice curled like smoke around your spine.

His body shifted, slow and deliberate, as he rolled you gently onto your back. Then he followed—hovering over you now, arms planted on either side of your head. His eyes drank you in, dark and hungry and burning like he hadn’t seen you before—even though you’d been with him all day.

“You could’ve just asked me,” he murmured, one hand moving up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face to his.

And then—he kissed you.

His lips brushed against yours like a secret. A ghost of a kiss. Gentle enough to make your chest ache, to fool you into thinking maybe—just maybe—he’d be patient tonight.

But you should’ve known better.

Because the moment his mouth dropped to your neck, everything changed.

The kisses turned open-mouthed—wet, rough, possessive. He sucked at your pulse point until it throbbed, bit down just hard enough to make you gasp—and then, with a sharp roll of his hips, he slammed his cock deep into you.

You choked on his name, the sudden fullness robbing you of air, thoughts, everything.

“Jiyong—!”

“Yeah?” he rasped, voice already wrecked. “That's what you needed?”

He didn’t give you time to answer. Didn’t pull out. Just moved—thrusting again, slow but brutal, grinding down like he wanted to split you open from the inside out.

“You fucking take it so well,” he growled against your throat, hips snapping hard, cock dragging along your walls with practiced cruelty. “Always so quiet, but look at you, clenching around me like this.”

You tried to speak—tried to plead—but the words dissolved into a broken whimper as he fucked you deeper, harder, your body jolting with each sharp thrust.

His hands were everywhere—palming your breast, sliding down your thigh, cradling your jaw like he wanted to control how you took him.

And then his mouth was back on yours, rougher now, tongue claiming, matching the rhythm of his hips.

“Tell me you wanted it,” he growled against your lips. “Tell me this is what you’ve been thinking about all fucking day.”

You could barely manage it. “Yes—yes, I wanted—”

“Louder.”

“Yes, Ji—please—”

He pulled back just enough to see your face, to watch how wrecked you looked beneath him—and he snapped, fucking you so hard your breath caught in your throat, eyes rolling back.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his hips snapping hard into yours again, each thrust driving deeper, harder, like he was trying to bury himself inside you forever. “So fucking tight—so wet—and you take me like you were made for this.”

His breath hitched as he pressed closer, one hand gripping your hip like a vise, the other tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to expose your throat.

“I’m gonna make you come again,” he rasped, teeth grazing your skin, voice rough with need. “Wanna feel you lose it—lose every goddamn piece of control on my cock.”

His hips snapped faster, harder, each thrust dragging deep and relentless, pounding into you like he wanted to leave a mark on every inch of your body.

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling wildly, nails digging into his shoulders as waves of heat pulsed through you.

“Look at me,” he growled, voice low and commanding, fingers tightening in your hair, tilting your head back so your eyes locked with his. “I wanna see you lose it. I wanna see that pretty face wrecked for me.”

You whimpered, tears prickling your eyes—not from pain, but from how utterly undone you felt beneath him.

“Come on, aein” he urged, grinding into you deeper, hips stuttering as he drove you toward the edge. “Come for me again. I wanna hear you scream.”

Your whole body shook, muscles tightening around him without control. Heat hit you all at once, like a wave crashing through you.

You gasped, struggling to catch your breath as your chest rose and fell beneath him. Your hands flew to his back, but instead of just gripping—you wrapped yourself around him completely. Arms pulling him closer, legs locking around his waist like you needed him deeper, needed more, even as the pleasure crashed over you in waves.

He groaned when he felt it—your legs tightening, your arms trembling around him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, breath hot against your skin, burying his face in your neck as you clung to him. “You still want more?” he muttered, panting, the words laced with a twisted kind of awe.

He kissed the curve of your neck, slow and messy, like he couldn’t help himself—even now, when your body was trembling from aftershocks.

You barely had time to breathe before his lips found your shoulder again, open-mouthed and hungry, fingers starting to roam all over.

You weren’t sure if he was trying to soothe you or wind you up again.

But either way…

You both were not going to get any sleep at all.

[bambambwi]

taking care of tired jiyong pls :cc

Suprise!..Oh?

❦ pairing ; kwon jiyong x reader.

❦ warnings ; mni dni, oral (m receiving), not proofread aa sorry..

Your boyfriend’s been busy touring while you were with family in Tokyo. You surprise him at his concert in tokyo, and met him backstage—only to find him completely exhausted. He’s tired, stressed, and clearly in need of a special kind of care… and who’s better to give it than you?

The crowd was still screaming his name when he stepped off stage.

Jiyong walked toward the dressing room, nodding and thanking every staff member along the way. He smiled at each of them, hands clasping their shoulders, gratitude in his voice, but his limbs were dragging, muscles aching beneath the adrenaline still running hot through his veins.

He gripped a towel in one hand, wiping sweat from the back of his neck as he pushed open the door to the quiet room behind the stage—expecting water bottles, silence, maybe a few stylists clearing out.

But instead, he saw you.

You were perched casually on the edge of the couch, legs crossed with the Day-G lightstick glowing softly in your hand

“Surprise!” you said standing up, raising the lightstick in the air like a tiny trophy.

For a split second, he looked like he didn’t recognize you. Then his eyes widened, like the pieces finally connected.

“I thought you were busy” he said, voice rough, eyes still wide. There was something almost boyish in the way he said it—surprised, unguarded, relieved.

You laughed softly and stepped closer, lightstick still glowing in your hand as you reached up to brush his damp hair back from his face.

“I was” you said. “But since i was here, i wouldn't want to miss it”

Jiyong let out a breath—deep and slow and dropped the towel from his shoulder as he closed the space between you. His arms wrapped around your waist tight, the lightstick still glowing between your bodies as he pulled you in.

He held you like he needed you.

Not wanted. Needed.

He pulled you closer, breath warm against your skin as his lips brushed the curve of your neck.

“I didn’t think I’d get to see you tonight,” he whispered, voice softer now—vulnerable but charged, like he’s holding back everything he’s feeling.

He lingered against your neck, his breath warm and uneven, sending faint tremors rippling through your skin. His words hung there between you—soft, yet laced with an unspoken need that made the room suddenly smaller.

Moving a bit back, you looked up into his eyes before leaning in again, your lips brushing his with soft insistence. The kiss broke and reformed, your lips parting and coming back together like a slow dance—but he met you with equal hunger, his mouth warm and needy against yours.

So with gentle strength, you pushed him backward through the kiss, guiding him step by step until his back hit the plush cushions of the couch, letting your lips trail down just below his jawline, your tongue flicking softly over the sensitive skin in the hollow of his neck. His fingers was twined into your hair, pulling you closer as a low, with ragged breaths escaping from him.

Without breaking eye contact, you quietly slip your hand inside his pants, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric.

“Ah—fuck, aein” he whines, voice thick with need.

He threw his head back, the sensation of your hand wrapped around his length was driving him wild.

Smirking, you tug gently, pulling his cock free from his pants, the head finally exposed to the cool air. His hips jerk, the sudden release making him gasp, whining once again as you lean down, your lips brushing the tip, teasing it with soft flicks of your tongue.

“Please… fuck, don’t stop.” He groans, fingers clutching your hair lightly, voice shaky and needy.

You take him slow at first, lips wrapped gently around the tip, sucking just enough to make him shiver, tongue swirling with teasing patience. He bucks his hips lightly, whimpering.

“I’m so close already… aein, please.”

Your hands rest on his thighs, holding him steady as you slowly take more, deepening your mouth inch by inch, savoring the way he trembles beneath you with his whines getting louder, breath ragged, voice breaking as he begs.

“I’m gonna lose it if you keep going like that”

You slow down, pulling back just a little to tease him, flicking your tongue over the sensitive underside, making him groan and whimper, desperate. Then you dive back in, steady and sure, lips and tongue working in perfect rhythm.

His breath was ragged, chest rising and falling fast as your mouth moves over him—slow and deliberate. You feel the heat radiating off his skin, the way his muscles tense and twitched beneath your hands. His hips jerk slightly, trying to find the rhythm that’ll push him over the edge.

“M’ so close..please don’t stop” He whines softly, voice thick with need.

His fingers dug deeper into your hair, pulling you closer as his breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut. You can feel his pulse racing, every inch of him alive and aching.

His voice drops to a desperate whisper, “Fuck…I can’t—”

And then, with a guttural, broken moan, his body shakes, hands clutching you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded as he lets go completely.

You swallow every drop, pulling back with a satisfied smile, brushing a gentle kiss to his lips.

He’s panting, eyes shut tight, sweat glistening on his skin, and his hands tremble as they grip your waist. His voice is low and desperate, barely a whisper,

“Please…don’t stop..i want more…now,”

His fingers trace your skin, shaky but insistent, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. The way he looks at you—raw, open—makes your breath catch.

You smile softly, brushing a strand of hair from his damp forehead. “Not now,” you whisper, voice low and teasing. “Later. When your at home.”

He groans, lips parting in frustration, but the trust in his eyes never wavers.

“Later..?” he repeats, voice rough but hopeful.

You press a gentle kiss to his temple. “I promise.”

His breath is still heavy, and he lets out a low chuckle, eyes sparkling with mischief despite the exhaustion.

“Well, now I'm tired,” he says, throwing his head back with a lazy smile as you help him fix his clothes, your fingers brushing over his skin gently.

You catch his gaze and tease, “You’re more than tired—you’re a mess.”

He grins, eyes softening. “Yeah, but a happy mess…because of you.”

You lean in, giving him a soft kiss. “Relax for a bit,” you whisper, your fingers lingering on his skin as he exhales slowly, the tension in his body easing under your touch.

He closes his eyes, letting himself melt into the moment, the tiredness still there but softened by your warmth.

[bambambwi]

KITTENS, KITTENS!

❦ pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader.

❦ warnings ; entirely fluff :)

It was already late. You lay in bed, still in your pyjamas, aimlessly scrolling through your phone to kill the boredom. Minutes blurred into hours as you waited for your boyfriend to come home.

Eventually, you sighed, shutting off your phone and tossing it aside as your eyes darted to the clock.

"Almost 1 am..” you muttered with a huff.

You lay sprawled on your bed until a sudden thud at the door jolted you upright. Heart skipping, you slipped on your fuzzy slippers and hurried toward the front door.

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you all da—” you began, swinging the door open with a smile.

But your words caught in your throat.

No one was there, not even Seunghyun, the one you'd been expecting all day.

You peeked into the backyard, scanning for any sign of someone or something that might’ve caused the noise but just as you lowered your gaze, you noticed a small bundle of kittens curled up right at your feet. With a startled gasp, you quickly scooted back, horrified by the thought that you might’ve stepped over the poor babies.

“When did you guys get in here?” you whispered, brow furrowing in confusion as you knelt down on the cool concrete ground.

Three tiny kittens lay nestled together just outside the door, their little bodies rising and falling with slow, sleepy breaths. One of them, a soft gray fluffball with a white nose peeked up at you with groggy eyes, blinking lazily. You reached out and gently ran your finger over its tiny head, feeling the warmth of its fur beneath your touch.

You stayed there a moment, quietly watching the kittens as they shifted slightly in their sleep. A soft smile tugged at your lips, until the sound of footsteps on the path snapped your attention back.

“Jagi?” a familiar voice called out.

You looked up to see Seunghyun walking toward you, his brow creased with concern. His keys jingled softly in his hand, and he was still catching his breath, as if he'd just rushed over.

“What are you doing out here this late?” he asked, his tone soft but laced with worry as he glanced from you to the open door.

But in that moment, you completely forgot about Seunghyun as if you hadn’t spent the entire day waiting for him. Your full attention was on the kittens, now purring softly as they nuzzled into your hands as their tiny bodies vibrated with contentment, and your heart melted a little more with each quiet sound.

Seunghyun stood silently in front of you, watching the scene unfold with disbelief. He almost pouted, lips tugging downward as he realized he’d been replaced by a trio of stray furballs but just as he was about to speak, one of the kittens let out a high-pitched mewl, drawing his eyes downward.

He knelt beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“When did you get them?” he asked, tilting his head with genuine confusion. “I thought you didn’t even like having pets.”

You glanced at him briefly, smiling as another kitten tried to climb your sleeve. “I didn’t, they just showed up like tiny burglars. Cute ones.”

Seunghyun’s gaze lingered on the kittens for a moment longer, watching the way their tiny bodies wriggled against your touch. But soon, his attention shifted to you, specifically to your bare legs. You were still in your sleep shorts, sitting out in the chilly night air like it was nothing.

He frowned slightly. “Let’s go back in, it’s cold,” he murmured, gently wrapping his hand around your arm.

“Wait, wait—” you said quickly, pulling away from his grasp as you carefully scooped one of the kittens into your hands. It let out a sleepy squeak, curling against your palm.

Seunghyun exhaled in quiet defeat, sinking down beside you with a resigned sigh. He crossed his legs and settled in, arms resting on his knees as he glanced at you and the kitten with a soft, amused look. He knew you too well. There was no pulling you away now, not when your heart was already wrapped around something so small and helpless.

“Jagi, it’s cold..” Seunghyun murmured, tugging gently at the hem of your shirt.

“Just a moment—” you began, eyes still focused on the kitten in your hands.

“Come on now” he said, more firmly this time, already on his feet as he scooped up the other two kittens with surprising care.

You looked up at him, surprised, as he cradled the tiny creatures against his chest like they were made of glass. His expression was a mix of exasperation and quiet affection, part annoyed boyfriend, part reluctant cat dad.

You let out a soft sigh and stood up, still holding the kitten close to your chest as it purred sleepily. Seunghyun gave you a look, the kind that said I told you so but didn’t say anything as he stepped aside to let you walk in first.

The warm air from inside the house was a welcome change from the chill outside. You both padded softly into the bedroom, careful not to jostle the kittens. Seunghyun set his two down gently on a folded blanket on the bed, and you followed, placing yours beside them. The trio immediately curled up into a soft, warm pile, their tiny bodies rising and falling in unison.

Seunghyun plopped down beside them with a yawn, rubbing his hands together. 

“We’re really doing this, huh?” Seunghyun said, glancing over at you with a half-smile.

“Shh—you’ll wake them” you whispered, placing your hand gently over his mouth while your other hand continued to softly caress the sleeping kittens.

His eyes widened in mock offense beneath your palm, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he grinned against your hand, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to look stern.

“They’re literally dead asleep” he mumbled once you let your hand drop, gesturing to the tiny pile of fluff snoring peacefully.

“Still..” you said, now curled up next to him, “let them have their peace.”

Seunghyun sighed dramatically as he watched you disappear down the hallway, probably off to grab another blanket for yourself. The soft padding of your slippers faded into the quiet hum of the house.

Left alone with the tiny bundle of fur, he leaned in closer, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the sleeping trio.

“You’re lucky you’re cute..” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and half-amused. 

As if in response, one of the kittens stirred. It blinked up at him lazily, then, without warning, swatted his hand with a tiny paw, claws out. A thin red line appeared across the back of his hand.

“Ow—hey!” he hissed, pulling his hand back with a scowl of disbelief. “I take it back. You’re not that cute.”

The kitten blinked once more, yawned wide, and then nestled right back into the pile as if nothing had happened.

Seunghyun stared at it, jaw slightly dropped. “You’ve got some attitude already..” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the scratch.

Just then, you walked back in with a blanket draped over your arm.

“What happened?” you asked, raising a brow at his expression and he immediately held up his scratched hand like evidence.

You bit back a smile as you made your way carefully to the bed, the blanket wrapped snugly around your shoulders.

“I told you not to wake them up” you whispered, settling beside him with a mock-stern look.

“I didn’t!” Seunghyun protested, his voice a little too loud.

Immediately, you pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him before he could say anything else. His eyes widened slightly, and he blinked at you, frozen mid-defense.

You leaned in just a little, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to start a war.”

He glanced down at the kittens, still asleep, but one ear twitching like it heard him. He held up both hands in surrender, expression exaggeratedly apologetic.

“Okay, okay. Truce” he whispered, lips curling into a smile behind your finger.

You slowly lowered your hand from his lips, but your eyes stayed locked with his for just a moment longer than usual. The dim light from your room, casted a soft glow across his face, and in that quiet pause, the playful tension faded into something more tender.

Seunghyun reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You really waited all day for me, huh?” he asked quietly, his voice now gentle, almost guilty.

You gave a small nod, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I did. But I guess the universe knew I needed a distraction before you got here.”

He leaned in, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Well... I’m here now” he murmured, his hand finding yours between the folds of the blanket.

The two of you leaned back together, careful not to disturb the kittens nestled at your feet. The house felt quieter now but warmer too as you both wrapped yourselves in the soft blanket, shoulder to shoulder, watching the tiny furballs sleep, the silence between you filled with quiet comfort.

This time, it’s just him, you, and three unexpected little hearts tucked between.

The quiet of the night slowly gave way to the soft stirrings of dawn. The first light of morning crept in through the curtains, painting the room in shades of gold and amber. You blinked a few times, groggily pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, your body still warm from the night before and as your eyes adjusted, you realized Seunghyun was still beside you, his arm draped protectively around you. His breathing was slow and steady, it was sure he was still dead asleep.

But the peace was short-lived as you heard a faint mewing noise from the corner of the bed. You glanced down to find one of the kittens now awake, its tiny paws reaching out, wiggling in the air as it tried to climb onto your lap.

You smiled, still half-dazed, as you carefully shifted to avoid waking Seunghyun. The kitten wobbled a bit, then tumbled into your arms, purring contentedly and just as you were about to lean back into the pillows, you heard Seunghyun groan softly, shifting beside you. He opened one eye and then the other, his gaze immediately landing on the little kitten in your arms.

“Good morning” you whispered teasingly, your voice still soft and tired. “I think we have a new roommate.”

Seunghyun groaned again, rubbing his eyes, then looked at you with an amused but exhausted expression. “How did we go from just you and me to three of them?” he muttered, trying to sit up but realizing the kittens had made themselves comfortable on his side too.

You chuckled quietly. “I have no idea. They kind of just... appeared.”

Seunghyun, clearly unamused, groaned and buried his face back into the pillow, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “I can’t do this right now,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the soft fabric.

The kittens, however, had other plans.

One of them, a little ball of orange fluff, hopped right onto his back, claws scrambling against the fabric of his shirt. Another one pounced on his arm, its tiny paws kneading at the sleeve as if trying to figure out if he was a new kind of scratching post.

Seunghyun let out a long, exasperated sigh, but he made no move to stop them. Instead, he turned his face further into the pillow with a muttered, “I’m too tired for this…”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. The kittens had no regard for his early morning mood and seemed perfectly content to climb over him like a tiny, purring mountain.

“Seems like they really like you” you teased, sitting up and watching the chaos unfold as Seunghyun tried, in vain, to ignore the soft little paws climbing up his back.

“Ugh” he groaned, finally lifting his head from the pillow just enough to shoot you a half-annoyed, half-amused glance but the kitten on his arm gave a particularly enthusiastic paw swipe, earning a small laugh from you.

Seunghyun sighed once more, but there was a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Well, they certainly know how to pick their target.”

After wrangling the kittens off of him (with much protest on their part), Seunghyun eventually rolled out of bed and trudged into the kitchen behind you, hair a mess and shirt still rumpled from the night before.

You set two mugs on the table, coffee for him, tea for you and began gathering things for a simple breakfast. “Do you want eggs or just toast?” you asked, opening the fridge.

“Anything” he muttered, slumping into a chair at the table like a man defeated by tiny paws and purring.

You smiled, turning back just in time to see a familiar scene unfold.

One kitten, then two leapt onto his lap with the confidence of creatures who knew they owned the place. Seunghyun blinked down at them, arms limp at his sides, too tired to fight it anymore.

“Again?” he groaned, his head falling back with a dramatic sigh.

“They love you” you said sweetly, cracking an egg into the pan. “You’re warm. You’ve accepted your fate.”

“They’re climbing on me, jagi” he said, looking down as the third kitten attempted to scale his thigh like a mountain.

You stifled a laugh. “Don’t move.”

“I am going back to sleep” he muttered, glaring down at the smallest kitten now curled comfortably in the crook of his elbow.

One of them meowed up at him, stretching its tiny head to nuzzle his shirt.

“…Okay, that one’s kinda cute” he admitted, petting it gently with two fingers.

You brought over a plate of toast and sat across from him. “Only took you six hours to admit it.”

He gave you a sleepy smile. “Shut up and pass the butter.”

You slid the plate of toast in front of him, followed by scrambled eggs still steaming slightly. Seunghyun mumbled a quick “thanks” and picked up his fork, just as one of the kittens made itself at home on his lap again followed immediately by the other two.

He stared down at them, then at you, eyes half-lidded in disbelief. “Are they... magnetized to me or something?”

You giggled from across the table, sipping your tea. “You’re the chosen one.”

He carefully tried to maneuver his plate closer without jostling the kittens, who had now formed a cozy pile across his thighs. One paw rested against his stomach, another on the edge of the table, inching dangerously close to the food.

As he brought a forkful of eggs to his mouth, the smallest kitten perked up, nose twitching. In an instant, it reached up with a tiny paw, swatting at the fork like it was a toy.

Seunghyun froze, fork mid-air. “Did you just—”

The kitten meowed in response, completely unfazed.

He slowly lowered the fork. “This is war.”

You laughed, pushing your plate aside and walking over to him. Carefully, you scooped up the bold little troublemaker and cradled it in your arms.

“Let the man eat” you whispered to the kitten like it could understand, rubbing your nose gently against its tiny forehead.

Seunghyun gave a dramatic sigh of relief and finally took a bite of his food. “Thank you. I was about to starve to death under three purring weights.”

But the other two kittens didn’t move an inch, both still firmly nestled in his lap, staring up at him with unblinking eyes, like silent, fluffy judges.

He glanced down mid-chew. “They’re waiting for me to drop something, aren’t they?”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Better not spill.”

You leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling the smallest kitten in your arms, watching Seunghyun slowly surrender to his new reality, half-eaten breakfast, kittens piled in his lap, and a resigned look that somehow still held a smile.

“They’re kind of perfect” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

He looked up at you, fork paused mid-air. “You mean we are kind of doomed.”

You laughed, walking over to press a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Same thing.”

Seunghyun let out a quiet chuckle, then glanced down at the two kittens now sleeping soundly in his lap once more.

“Guess we’re keeping them” he said softly.

You smiled, settling into the seat beside him and placing the third kitten back with its siblings and in the gentle hum of the morning light, the two of you sat there with your coffee cooling, plates half-empty, hearts a little fuller than the day before.

[bambambwi]

to the bahamas!!

Lets go to the bahamas!

❦ pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader.

❦ warnings ; none

You were lying on your stomach, sprawled across the couch, legs swinging back and forth as you scrolled through vacation destinations.

Yes, vacation.

Last night, your boyfriend, Seunghyun had finally agreed to take a break from work and spend time with you. He even gave you the go-ahead to choose the destination, and now you were determined to find the perfect place for both of you. So, you were completely absorbed in your phone, your eyes flicking back and forth across the screen, trying to decide. 

You were so immersed that you didn’t hear the door creak open, the soft turn of the doorknob.

Seunghyun stepped inside, his hair slightly tousled and beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, a result of whatever he’d been doing before walking in. He took in the scene for a moment but seeing you so cheerful and engaged, and he didn’t want to interrupt your good mood. So, he quietly moved towards the couch, gently sliding your legs down to sit next to you.

You shifted, sitting up and leaning against him as he moved closer.

"I'm still looking..." you murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

Without saying a word, Seunghyun slid his arms around you, pulling you closer. His face appeared beside yours, his gaze dropping to your phone, curious to see what had you so absorbed.

"What if I told you I was joking last night?" he said, his voice low, teasing, and laced with a mocking tone.

"Hey!" You snapped, immediately bringing all your attention to him, your eyes narrowing in disbelief. 

"You better not lie about this now."

Seunghyun chuckled softly, his fingers brushing through your hair as he gave you a playful smile. You could tell he was enjoying your reaction, but the thought of him backing out now made your heart race.

"You know..” he started, leaning in a little closer.

”I could easily pull the 'I was just kidding' card... but I’m not that cruel."

You weren't even listening to him anymore, too caught up in your search. Your fingers moved quickly over the screen, mindlessly scrolling, until something finally caught your eye.

"Bahamas!" you yelled out, suddenly standing up, your excitement palpable. 

You practically jumped out of your seat, leaving Seunghyun sitting there in a mix of confusion and amusement, blinking as he tried to process what just happened.

He tilted his head, watching you bounce around, clearly caught up in your excitement. 

"The Bahamas?" he echoed, half-laughing. 

"Is that where we’re going now, or are you just yelling about vacation spots for fun?"

Your excitement didn’t even last a minute after hearing that teasing remark from him. You turned around, your gaze sharp, glaring at Seunghyun as you planted your feet firmly back on the ground.

"You're not backing out now, are you?" you asked, sitting back down beside him, crossing your arms, fully focused on him.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping up his face as he leaned back on the couch.

"It's not like I can, but is this your way of giving me the chance to?" he replied, his grin growing wider.

"Absolutely not!" you yelled out, your hand instinctively shooting forward to weakly punch him in the chest, making him dramatically slump deeper into the couch with an exaggerated gasp.

He laughed, clearly enjoying the playful banter. 

"Alright, alright." he said, his voice dripping with mock surrender, but the sparkle in his eyes said he was far from done teasing you.

That day, everything fell into place. You and Seunghyun had finalized the details. After all the back-and-forth teasing, it was real now. You were really going to the Bahamas with him for vacation. There was an undeniable sense of excitement that bubbled up inside you as you looked at the confirmation on your phone. The beaches, the clear blue water, the sun, everything you'd dreamed of for a perfect getaway and the best part? It would be with Seunghyun. The two of you, together, no distractions, no work, just time to relax and make memories.

Fast forward a few days, and there you were, stepping off the plane into a wave of warm, salty air that instantly wrapped around you like a welcome hug. The sun was bright, the sky impossibly blue, and the Bahamas felt just as perfect as it looked in the pictures you'd scrolled through back on the couch.

You glanced at Seunghyun, his sunglasses on, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he took it all in.

“This already feels like a dream!” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you both made your way toward the shuttle.

“Let’s hope you didn’t overschedule us with food spots..” he teased, nudging you lightly.

You laughed, the sound blending into the laid-back rhythm of the island around you. The vacation had officially begun and it was already everything you hoped it would be.

After settling into the resort and taking in the ocean view from your balcony, it didn’t take long before the thrill-seeker in Seunghyun kicked in. He dragged you away from his half-unpacked suitcase with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Parasailing.” he said proudly, holding up your phone with the confirmation email like it was a winning lottery ticket.

You froze. 

"Wait—what?"

"You’re going to love it." he grinned, already halfway out the door.

"You know I’m afraid of heights!" you called after him, still trying to mentally process the idea of being dangled hundreds of feet in the air over open water.

He popped his head back in. 

"Exactly why you should try it. It's the Bahamas!”

You groaned but followed him anyway, your heart thudding louder with every step toward the beach. Minutes later, you were standing on the deck of a speedboat, the parasail billowing like a giant, colorful warning flag above you.

“Seunghyun..” you whispered as the crew tightened the harness around your waist. 

“if I die, I’m haunting you.”

He leaned in, eyes sparkling. 

“Then we’ll really be together forever.”

You tried to glare, but his ridiculous grin made it impossible not to laugh even with your legs feeling like jelly.

And then, the boat surged forward.

You screamed the entire way up, clutching Seunghyun’s arm for dear life, eyes squeezed shut but when you finally opened them, the fear started to melt into awe. The ocean stretched beneath you like liquid glass, islands dotting the horizon. The wind rushed past your face, and for the first time, the height didn’t feel terrifying, it felt freeing.

Seunghyun looked over at you, his hand finding yours mid-air.

“Still scared?” he asked, breathless from laughter.

You took a shaky breath, eyes locked on the view. 

“Maybe… but I think I like it.”

As the parasail slowly descended and your feet finally touched the boat deck again, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Seunghyun helped you out of the harness, his hands lingering protectively at your waist as he watched your slightly shaky legs find solid ground.

"You survived.” he teased, brushing wind-tangled strands of hair from your face.

"Barely..” you muttered, still catching your breath, but unable to stop the grin stretching across your face. 

"I’m never doing that again.”

Once back on the beach, shoes in hand and toes sinking into the warm sand, you and Seunghyun began walking along the shore, the ocean lapping gently beside you. The sun was high, the sky a perfect blue, and your parasailing adrenaline slowly faded into something quieter, peaceful, content.

You reached over and laced your fingers with his, your joined hands swinging gently between you.

“Food?” he asked, giving your hand a slight tug.

“Please. I feel like I just used up my lifetime bravery points. I deserve something fried and fruity.”

He laughed. 

“Good, because I already looked up this beachside spot that supposedly has the best conch fritters on the island.”

"Look at you, taking some enthusiasm.” you teased softly, leaning your head onto Seunghyun’s shoulder as the two of you strolled barefoot along the warm sand toward the open-air restaurant nestled under a canopy of palm trees.

The scent hit you first, grilled seafood, sweet citrus, and something sun-warmed and comforting that immediately wrapped around you like a memory in the making. It was the kind of place that didn’t try too hard, didn’t need to and it already felt like one of your favorite spots on the island.

You found a table tucked just close enough to the water, where the view stretched wide and endless. The ocean shimmered under the afternoon light, waves catching bits of gold from the sun. You leaned back into your chair, arms loose at your sides, your gaze fixed on the horizon as your mind drifted into quiet thought.

For a moment, Seunghyun didn’t say anything.

He just watched you.

The way the light settled on your skin, warm and golden. The way your hair danced gently with the breeze, brushing across your cheek like the ocean itself was trying to kiss you. You looked completely at ease, far away from work, stress, or anything that could ever dull your glow.

To him, you looked like an entire dream. Alive, radiant, and his.

He let his gaze linger, a soft smile playing on his lips before finally reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You turned slightly at the touch, your eyes meeting his, questioning and warm.

"What?" you asked, smiling a little.

He shook his head, still watching you like he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real.

"Nothing.” he said, voice low. 

"Just... glad I didn’t back out."

You gave him a soft smile, letting the moment pass without needing to say anything more. The quiet between you was comfortable, like the kind that only comes when everything feels right.

A waiter approached with a friendly smile, handing you both menus and offering a quick rundown of the specials, fresh grilled snapper, coconut shrimp, conch fritters, and a mango ceviche that made your mouth water just hearing about it.

“I want everything..” you mumbled, eyes scanning the list like it was sacred text.

“We just survived being in the sky so i'd say we earned it.” Seunghyun said chuckling.

And that's how you both ended up ordering a bit more than necessary, conch fritters to share, jerk chicken skewers for him, grilled fish tacos for you, and a frozen daiquiri each that came out in tall, sweating glasses rimmed with sugar and garnished with a wedge of lime.

Within 15 minutes, the food had arrived and you wasted no time, diving in savouring that taste.

“Oh my god..” you said after your first bite of taco, eyes wide. 

“I might cry. This is so good.”

Seunghyun nodded in agreement, already halfway through a fritter. 

“This is dangerous, i might just never go home.”

You clinked your glasses together again with a laugh, the ocean breeze brushing past as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. For now, all that mattered was the food, the view, and the quiet comfort of being here, together.

After clearing your plates, every last bite and lingering over the last sips of your daiquiris, you both decided to skip dessert in favor of something even sweeter.

The view.

Without saying much, you took Seunghyun’s hand and wandered back down to the beach once again. The sand was cooler now beneath your feet, the air tinged with the fading heat of the day. The sun was starting its slow descent, casting long golden shadows and painting the sky in strokes of pink, orange, and lavender.

You found a quiet spot near the shore where the waves lapped gently just a few feet away. Sitting down in the sand, you pulled your knees to your chest and leaned lightly against Seunghyun, who sat beside you with one hand propped behind him and the other reaching to rest on your leg.

The sky was glowing.

Seunghyun shifted a little, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“You know..” he said quietly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this calm.”

You turned your head, facing him fully now. His hair was still a little messy from the wind, and a few strands fell over his forehead but somehow, with the soft, golden hues of the sunset casting a warm glow across his face, he looked absolutely gorgeous. Maybe even better than the view behind him.

There was something in the way he looked at you too, steadier, softer. Like he saw straight through you and still couldn’t get enough.

“You can always ask, you know?” he said, voice low and quiet, as he leaned in closer.

Before you could ask what he meant, he closed the space between you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It was unhurried, familiar, yet still enough to send a slow rush through your chest.

When he pulled back just slightly, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded and smiling.

“Anything. Anytime.” he murmured.

And in that moment with your fingers curled into the sand, the sky still glowing behind him, and his kiss lingering, you believed him completely. You stayed like that for a while, foreheads touching, the waves crashing softly in the background, the last colors of the sunset melting into the horizon. There was nothing left to say, not really. His kiss still lingered on your lips, and his words settled somewhere deep inside your chest, warm and safe.

The breeze picked up just slightly, and Seunghyun slipped his arm around you, pulling you in closer, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. You both watched as the sky faded into deep indigo, stars beginning to peek out one by one, like tiny sparks scattered across the sky just for you.

You let out a quiet sigh, completely at peace.

“This is the part I want to remember.” you whispered.

Seunghyun pressed a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Me too.”

And with the sound of the ocean cradling you, and the world quiet all around, you stayed there, wrapped in each other, under a Bahamian sky, letting the night hold you in the softest kind of forever.

[bambambwi]

this was so cute 😭

Where sunshine meets midnight.

❦ pairing ; kang daesung x reader.

❦ warnings ; none

The studio was alive with energy, but you sat perched on a windowsill, legs crossed, sipping your iced coffee with casual disinterest. You were the picture of calm, dressed in dark clothes, subtle makeup, and wearing that usual unreadable expression like armor.

Today, Jiyong had dragged you along as a temporary replacement for his stylist, who’d called in sick last minute.

However, you were now stuck in the practice room until he finished up his work.

Just great.

"You'll survive.” Jiyong said coolly, lounging back on the sofa without a care.

"I have to just sit here for hours..” you muttered, tilting your head, eyes glued to your phone.

"Right!" he shouted suddenly, smacking the phone out of your hands as he stood up.

Your phone slipped from your fingers and slid across the floor, coming to a stop at the feet of someone wearing unfamiliar shoes.

You looked up slowly, your gaze meeting Daesung’s.

He stared down at you, clearly confused and unsure if you were part of the staff or some random new person who had wandered into the wrong room.

"Oh, that’s my temporary stylist for today.” Jiyong called out from across the room with a lazy grin. 

"She bites!"

You turned immediately, scoffing under your breath, fists clenching for a second before forcing yourself to stay calm, completely ignoring Daesung, who just stood there awkwardly, like a lost puppy unsure if he should follow or flee.

"Okay..." you muttered, shaking out your shoulders and brushing off Jiyong's teasing.

Without another glance at Daesung, you walked back to the sofa and settled down, curling into your corner like a cat ready to nap through the chaos.

And through that slight chaos, Daesung’s eyes didn’t leave you.

He watched you the entire way back, studying the way you moved, the way you carried yourself, his head tilting slightly as if he couldn’t help but be drawn in. His heart thudded loud in his chest as he awkwardly shuffled back to the center of the practice room, casting quick glances at you every few seconds.

On the other hand, you didn't spare him another look. You just lounged back against the sofa, scrolling casually on your phone, legs crossed again like you had all the time in the world and none of it was meant for anyone here.

God, you were cool.

Way cooler than anyone Daesung had ever met.

And that made him feel like an excited puppy left outside the glass door, nose pressed against it, desperate for attention but too nervous to bark.

"You're drooling.” Jiyong teased, smirking.

His comment made Daesung shriek, loud enough that, for once, it actually caught your attention.

You looked up from your phone, catching him mid-panic, meeting his eyes just for a second before Daesung immediately whipped his head away, face burning with embarrassment.

"I hate, hate, hate you so much, you liar!” He groaned dramatically, collapsing to his knees, hands tangled in his hair.

Everyone in the room blinked, staring at him in confusion, well everyone except Jiyong, who clearly enjoying every second of the chaos he had just created.

Time ticked by. You were now sprawled out on the couch, legs stretched comfortably across the cushions, one arm draped behind your head, your phone resting in your other hand. Completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around you, you remained utterly relaxed.

Jiyong, Daesung, and now Taeyang were in the middle of some heated argument, probably over something ridiculous knowing them. 

But you? You didn’t bat an eye.

Their loud voices filled the space, but all you did was swipe lazily through your phone, occasionally glancing up when the noise reached an absurd volume.

Daesung, however, couldn't help but notice how unbothered you were.

He shifted on the floor, glancing over at you with a hesitant look, trying to figure out how to get your attention.

"You’re staring, Daesung.” you said coldly, not even glancing up from your phone.

His heart skipped a beat.

"My bad..." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned away, trying to act casual.

But when he turned around, both Jiyong and Taeyang, were leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, watching him with knowing smirks plastered across their faces. They were enjoying every second of this, and Daesung felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Great. Just great.

He couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. 

"It’s like he’s hypnotized.” Jiyong whispered to Taeyang, leaning in with a grin.

Taeyang shot him a side-eye, raising an eyebrow. 

"No, he’s clearly about to hyperventilate.” he said, pointing at Daesung with a disbelieving look. 

"Look at him."

Daesung, was now a shade of red that could rival a tomato. He kept fiddling nervously with his hands, avoiding everyone’s gaze like it was a life-or-death situation.

Jiyong just chuckled at Taeyang’s response, glancing over at you to see if you were noticing the drama unfold but clearly, you weren’t and that, somehow, made it worse for Daesung.

Finally, after what felt like hours of noise and chaos, the music cut off.

Practice was over.

You barely reacted, still sprawled lazily across the couch, one leg kicked up along the cushions as jiyong walked over, towel slung around his neck, still catching his breath and without warning, he lightly slapped your leg.

"Move, princess.” he said, wiping his forehead with the towel.

You grumbled under your breath but shifted your legs enough for him to drop onto the couch beside you, casual like he owned the place. His arm stretched along the back of the couch, dangerously close to brushing your hair.

For a moment, the room still buzzed with leftover energy, Taeyang chatting with a manager, Daesung hovering awkwardly nearby but Jiyong didn’t pay them any mind.

He leaned toward you slightly, voice dropping to something quieter, more serious.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, tone stripped of the teasing edge he usually wore.

You blinked, finally looking up from your phone to meet his gaze.

"Fine.” you said simply.

He smirked, like he knew that wasn't the full answer. 

"You’re a terrible liar."

You snorted, tucking your phone away, finally giving him a little more attention.

"Maybe or you’re just too nosy.’’ you said, voice cool but not unkind.

Jiyong chuckled under his breath. 

"Nah. Just making sure you’re still breathing. You’ve been sitting there like a ghost all day."

You shrugged, eyes drifting lazily over the practice room. 

"Nothing interesting to do."

He gave you a look, one of those rare, real ones and for a second, the teasing dropped away completely.

"You should come by the studio sometime.” he said casually. 

"Not just for babysitting duty. Bring your vibe. It's different. Kinda... needed."

You blinked, a little surprised.

Before you could answer, Daesung, still lingering nearby, sneezed so loudly that both of you turned your heads sharply.

"...Idiot.” Jiyong muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

You hid a small smirk, feeling the tiniest ripple of amusement finally crack your carefully built wall as you let the moment hang for a beat longer and then shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"Anyways..” Jiyong said, standing up and running a hand through his messy, sweat-damp hair. 

"Fix my hair. I’ve gotta head out soon."

You arched an eyebrow but stayed silent, tossing your phone aside with a sigh as if this were just another chore you were forced to endure.

He grinned at your reaction, watching you drag yourself upright, motioning lazily for him to sit.

Jiyong plopped down in front of you, unbothered by your complete lack of enthusiasm.

From the corner of the room, Daesung fidgeted, still stealing glances your way like a kid too shy to approach a stray cat.

Taeyang was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hiding his smirk behind his hand as he watched Daesung.

You clicked your tongue, grabbing a comb from the nearby table and without a word, you raked your fingers through his hair first, smoothing out the tangles with a kind of detached expertise which made jiyong close his eyes, clearly soaking up the attention from you.

"Feels nice..” he muttered under his breath.

You dragged the comb lazily through Jiyong’s hair, ignoring his dramatic sighs and occasional complaints.

Finally satisfied, you dropped your hands to your lap. 

"Done."

Jiyong checked himself quickly through his phone, then grinned, however instead of thanking you, he turned toward Daesung, who was still awkwardly loitering nearby, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

"You’re next.” Jiyong called out casually, waving him over.

Daesung stiffened. 

"Huh?"

"Come here.’’ Jiyong said, standing up and gesturing dramatically toward the seat he'd just vacated. 

"Your hair’s a mess too. Let her fix it."

Daesung looked like a deer caught in headlights, eyes darting between you, Jiyong, and Taeyang, who was now openly smirking. You simply stared at Daesung with a blank, unreadable expression, one brow raised ever so slightly in silent question.

He swallowed hard, clearly debating whether to run or comply.

“I-I’m fine!" Daesung protested weakly, trying to smooth his own hair down with his hands.

"No, you’re not.” Jiyong snorted. 

"You look like you wrestled a tornado."

Taeyang nodded solemnly. 

"A very sad tornado."

Daesung whimpered under his breath, glancing at you again but you didnt say anything, just tilted your head ever so slightly, almost like you were challenging him.

“Come on now.” Jiyong added, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward. 

"Don't make her wait."

With the weight of a thousand spotlights burning down on him, Daesung shuffled toward the seat you sat by, every step slow and reluctant before plopping down stiffly, shoulders hunched, hands nervously twisting together in his lap.

You set the comb back in your hand and looked down at him.

Cool. Calm. Slightly predatory.

"Sit still.” you said flatly.

Daesung froze like a statue.

You combed your fingers lightly through his hair, finding tangles easily, he really had been a mess but as you worked, you could feel the tension practically vibrating off him, like he might explode at the slightest provocation.

From across the room, Jiyong and Taeyang watched, grinning like proud parents at a school recital.

"Look at him.” Taeyang whispered, snickering. 

"He's going to cry."

"No, no.” Jiyong said, smirking. 

"He's about to fall in love even more."

But unfortunately, you were struggling with Daesung. Every time you ran the comb through his hair, he would twitch. Flinch. Shift. It was like trying to tame a live wire. You exhaled slowly, patience visibly thinning.

"Daesung.” you said, voice edged with warning.

"Sorry!’’ he blurted, squeezing his eyes shut tightly like that would somehow help him stay still.

It didn’t.

You set the comb down with a soft clack beside you. Without a word, you leaned in and placed both hands firmly on either side of Daesung’s head, one steady at the back of his skull, the other lightly bracing his jaw.

"Stay put.” you said, calm and cool, like you were simply stating a fact.

Daesung froze instantly, eyes popping open in wide panic. He looked up at you, at your calm, serious face hovering so close to his and visibly stopped breathing for a second. You simply stared at him for a moment, making sure he understood.

Only when he gave the tiniest, jerky nod did you pick up the comb again.

Holding him steady, you started working carefully through his hair.

The room had gone silent.

Even Taeyang and Jiyong had stopped snickering, watching the scene unfold with barely-contained grins.

You caught a glimpse of Jiyong mouthing something ridiculous to Taeyang out of the corner of your eye but you chose to ignore them.

Meanwhile, Daesung, sat stiffly in the chair, cheeks burning red all the way to his ears, hands gripping his knees to stop from fidgeting, under your touch. He felt like he might actually combust but for once, he stayed still, obedient and trembling, like a nervous puppy under a stern master's hand.

When you finished, you patted his head lightly, as if sealing the deal.

"There.” you said casually, finally letting go of him. 

"Not bad, golden boy."

Daesung scrambled back a few steps, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to gather what little dignity he had left. His cheeks were still burning, ears bright red.

You didn’t even look at him, too busy sipping your iced coffee, one leg lazily swinging over the side of the couch but you felt his gaze hovering awkwardly nearby.

He just stood there, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt again. 

Then, finally, he mustered up what little courage he had.

"Th—thank you... for... uh... fixing me. I mean—my hair. Fixing my hair.” Daesung stammered, voice cracking embarrassingly halfway through.

You raised an eyebrow but still didn’t look up from your drink.

"Mhm.” you hummed, noncommittal, offering him zero relief.

Daesung shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, wringing his hands together.

"Uh—i-if you ever need your hair... fixed, too! I—I could—" Daesung started rambling, voice getting faster and higher with each word.

You finally glanced up at him with a slow, lazy look over the rim of your cup.

Daesung immediately clamped his mouth shut.

You tilted your head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks.” you said coolly, voice dripping with amusement.

It was enough to make Daesung’s brain short-circuit.

He just stood there, staring at you like a kicked puppy, before quickly bowing in flustered apology and rushing off toward the other side of the room, nearly crashing into a wall in the process.

He might have just met you today, but somehow, the way you carried yourself, calm, unreadable and untouchable had him spiraling. The way you looked, the way you barely spared him a glance, it had Daesung absolutely malfunctioning.

It was ridiculous, he knew.

One cool stare from you, and his brain short-circuited like a kid seeing his first crush.

It wasn’t fair.

Not fair at all.

-

When Jiyong said "temporary stylist" you hadn’t realized just how loose his definition of "temporary" was because now he was dragging you around as needed.

And today, here you were, being pulled into Daesung’s concert.

You hadn't thought much of it because for you, it was just another batch of familiar faces, too much caffeine, and too little patience.

But for Daesung, it was different.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, the way you barely spared him a glance, the casual flick of your hand through his hair, the way your voice stayed so cool and even while he was dying inside.

And now, fate or maybe Jiyong’s evil sense of humor, he had thrown you two together again.

You walked into the styling room, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, idly scrolling through your phone. You hadn't even glanced up yet when you heard someone gasp quietly. blinking out of confusion, you lifted your head.

Daesung stood frozen by the mirror, towel around his neck, mid-sip of a water bottle and staring at you like he'd seen a ghost.

"...Hi?" you said dryly, one eyebrow arching just slightly.

Daesung immediately choked on his water, coughing and sputtering. You sighed just from watching his silly antics, stepping fully into the room and letting the door swing shut behind you.

"I didn't know you were here.” you said simply, tossing your bag onto a nearby bench.

Daesung didn’t say a word.

He just turned away quickly, drying the splatter of water that had sprayed down his front in his panic. You ignored the chaos easily, moving on like nothing had happened, setting your bag down with a dull thud and pulling out Jiyong’s nail kit, laying everything neatly across the table.

Then you dropped into a chair, one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand again as you waited for Jiyong, who was taking his sweet time, as usual. You leaned back lazily in the chair, head tilted against the wall, completely unbothered.

But from the corner of your eye, you could see Daesung stealing glances again, but you didn't react to it.  You just scrolled idly through your phone, your expression calm, cool, untouchable, like you had all the time in the world.

It didn’t take long before boredom got the better of you. 

You dropped your phone onto the table with a soft thud and started spinning lazily in your chair, one slow circle after another.

Around and around.

Until you finally dragged your foot against the ground to stop, only to realize the chaos you’d created.

You caught your reflection in the mirror: your hair, usually neat and sharp, was now a mess from all the spinning. Sighing quietly through your nose, you reached up to a comb on the table to try and smooth it down when a voice interrupted you.

"I can fix it!” Daesung blurted out.

You blinked, turning your head slightly to look at him. He was standing a few feet away, towel forgotten, hands awkwardly fidgeting at his sides absolutely regretting the words that left his mouth but it was too late now.

You were staring at him, unreadable.

"...You?" you said flatly.

Daesung’s ears turned pink again, but he nodded determinedly, puffing up like a puppy trying to seem bigger.

"I—I mean, yeah! I can help. I’m good with... hair."

(That was a lie. He was absolutely not good with hair.)

For a long beat, you just looked at him.

Then very slowly, you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, like you were mildly entertained by the idea.

“Go ahead.“ you said coolly.

Daesung lit up like he’d just been handed the biggest mission of his life. He practically sprinted over to you, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement.

He hovered over you, looking determined and panicked all at once but once he grabbed a brush from the table, he immediately froze, realizing he had no idea where to start.

You tilted your head up, arms still crossed lazily.

"Well?" you said, voice calm, almost amused.

"I-I’m just planning my strategy.” he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

You almost smiled, shutting your eyes slowly, letting out a soft, tired sigh like you were already regretting giving him the chance.

He started brushing, gently at first. You could feel how cautious he was, like he was handling something precious and breakable but his hand was shaky, and every few seconds, he would accidentally tug a little too hard.

"Ow...” you muttered under your breath, deadpan.

“S—Sorry!" Daesung squeaked, pulling the brush back like it had burned him.

He shifted awkwardly behind you, muttering apologies as he tried again, even gentler.

You cracked one eye open, catching his reflection in the mirror.

The way he was concentrating so hard, tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth, it was so ridiculously earnest that it made you quietly chuckle to yourself. You hadn’t expected him to be this adorable, especially after all the chaos he’d caused earlier but there was something undeniably endearing about the way he was trying so hard to get your hair right, his brows furrowed in pure determination.

But then again, you didn’t let him see your smile. Instead, you just leaned back a little further, closing your eyes and letting him work and for once, you didn’t mind the quiet, the gentle motions of his hands. In fact, it was almost... calming.

When he finished, you opened your eyes and glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

Your hair was neatly brushed out, a cute side part framing your face but what really caught your attention was the colorful clip holding it in place. It was so bright and cheerful, you almost wondered where in the world Daesung had found it.

You blinked, your gaze shifting from your own reflection to him. He was staring at you, awaiting some kind of verdict, his expression a mix of hope and nervousness.

You gave him nothing. Just a simple, flat “Not bad.” with your tone as cool as ever.

But Daesung’s face lit up like he'd just won the lottery, grinning wide. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes in response, but even as you did, something unexpected flickered in your chest a warmth you couldn’t quite place. It was silly. It shouldn’t have made you feel this way, especially after how he’d been around you before, but there it was.

He had managed to get your hair just right, and somehow, it meant more than you’d expected.

Just as you were taking in the unexpected warmth from Daesung’s overly eager smile, the door swung open, and Jiyong strolled in like he owned the place late, as usual, with his signature confident strut.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, eyes darting from you to Daesung, who was still basking in the afterglow of your minimal praise.

You didn’t answer Jiyong’s teasing, just gave a casual gesture toward the chair, and he immediately slumped into it, stretching out dramatically.

“Since when did you have a thing for unmatched hair accessories?” Jiyong asked, his eyes narrowing at the colorful clip in your hair, clearly amused.

You shrugged nonchalantly, keeping your cool.

“It’s your brother’s work. Don’t judge him so hard.” You patted Jiyong’s shoulder lightly, the motion smooth, almost dismissive, before you returned to your task of fixing his hair.

Jiyong raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted by your unbothered response.

“Brother’s work, huh? Guess I’ll let it slide... this time.”

You focused on Jiyong’s hair with Daesung standing to the side, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet. His gaze flickered back and forth between you and Jiyong. It was clear he was still feeling that mix of nerves and admiration, a little unsure of his place in the room now that Jiyong had so effortlessly shifted the attention back to himself.

He watched as you worked on Jiyong, almost mesmerized by your hands moving through his hair. For a second, Daesung looked like he might say something, but then he swallowed it down. He tugged lightly at the towel around his neck, glancing down and away, the feeling of being out of his element clear on his face.

Jiyong caught Daesung's hesitation, raising an eyebrow before turning to him with a smirk.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to keep holding her hostage.” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

He blinked, caught off guard by the comment. His cheeks flushed again, and he quickly looked away, staring at the floor like it held all the answers to his current predicament. 

He mumbled under his breath, 

“I’m not—I’m fine..really.”

You, meanwhile, didn’t even look up. You were too busy making sure Jiyong’s hair looked perfect, though the corner of your lips tugged into the smallest smile at the sight of Daesung’s continued fluster, However Jiyong, wasn’t letting it slide.

“You know, you can just ask her.” he continued, glancing at you with a playful grin. 

“She doesn’t bite, at least not that hard.”

Daesung’s eyes widened, and he immediately shot a panicked look in your direction, completely unsure how to handle the situation. His face had turned beet red now, and his hands fidgeted nervously at his sides. You sighed, finally looking up, though your expression was as unreadable as ever.

“You’re really something, aren’t you?” you said dryly, your gaze shifting from Jiyong to Daesung.

“Don’t let him get to you.”

Daesung swallowed hard, his nervousness not easing at all but your indifferent tone seemed to put him at ease, and he managed a small, almost embarrassed smile, his fingers tugging at the towel around his neck. 

“Sorry…”

Jiyong, satisfied with the chaos he’d stirred up, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You two are adorable, really. Too bad I’m heading out soon after this concert, i was planning to make you do this again later today.”

You reached out and flicked Jiyong’s ear, gently but firmly.

“Okay, enough talking.” you said coolly, giving him a pointed look. 

“You have to go up there in a while. Don’t mess it up.”

Jiyong yelped dramatically, clutching his ear like you’d just wounded him for life.

“Violence!” he cried out, earning an unimpressed glance from you and a few chuckles from the staff nearby.

“This guy..” you muttered under your breath, already reaching for the hairspray to set his style in place.

Daesung watched the entire interaction with wide eyes, somewhere between awe and disbelief. The way you handled Jiyong so effortlessly, like you weren’t afraid of his antics was honestly impressive and weirdly, it made Daesung’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain.

Jiyong peeked one eye open and grinned, nudging Daesung with his teasing again.

“See? Told you. She’s got claws.”

“Mm.” Daesung made a vague sound in his throat, but he didn’t move, still too focused on how naturally you seemed to command the space around you even in total chaos.

You finished with a satisfied hum, finally stepping back and dusting your hands off.

“There. Presentable. Barely.” you added, just to make sure Jiyong didn’t get too smug.

He gave you a playful wink before standing up and stretching like a cat.

“Thanks, boss.” he teased, ruffling his hair slightly and immediately earning another flick on the forehead from you.

“Hey!” Jiyong cried, laughing, as he moved away toward the stage area.

And just like that, it was quiet again. You were busy wiping down your tools, lost in your own little world, when you noticed Daesung hovering in your peripheral vision. 

Again.

You didn't look up. 

"Spit it out." you said flatly.

He flinched slightly at how you caught him, but to his credit, he didn’t run away this time. Instead, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I, uh..." he started, voice awkward and boyish. 

"I was just wondering... if you maybe... wanted to hang out sometime? Outside of work?"

He finished in a rush, almost like ripping off a band-aid.

You finally glanced up at him. His ears were already bright red, and he wasn’t even looking at you, eyes glued somewhere to the left of your head.

There was a brief pause enough to make him visibly sweat before you leaned back in your chair, arms crossing lazily over your chest.

"Like what?" you asked, expression unreadable.

Daesung panicked for a second.

"Like, uh— food? Coffee? Karaoke?" he rattled off, clearly just listing anything that came to mind. 

"Or—or just walking! Walking is good! I’m really good at walking—"

You stared at him for another agonizingly long beat before a smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth.

"...You really are something.." you muttered.

Daesung went silent again, trying not to wither under your gaze watching as you pushed up yourself from your chair and slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Ofcourse. Ill go out with you.” you said simply as you passed him by, the faintest brush of your sleeve against his arm.

His head whipped around to look at you, with sparkles and shine in his eyes.

But you didn’t look back, just raised a hand lazily in the air as you walked off, waving two fingers without turning around.

"Text me, when you get time to!" you called over your shoulder, and Daesung just stood there, stunned, before a wide, uncontrollable smile broke out across his face.

[bambambwi]

Can't Get Enough.

❦ pairing ; kwon jiyong x reader.

❦ warnings ; entirely fluff!

Today, jiyong had been spamming your phone with texts and calls since early morning, which was something completely out of the ordinary. Sure, he usually texted you here and there, sweet messages or random updates, but this constant stream of notifications was something else entirely. 

At one point, he even asked if he could come over, which made you wonder if he didn’t have any work scheduled today.

-

By the time you wrapped up work and made it home in the evening, the lights were already on, a clear sign that Jiyong had come over. Strangely though, he was nowhere to be seen so you figured he was just somewhere around the apartment.

So you decided not to think much of it and headed straight for a shower.

The hot water felt amazing against your skin, washing away the long day. You took your time, letting yourself relax completely and by the time you stepped out, toweling your hair. You were already thinking about ordering some dinner, maybe something you and Jiyong could pick to eat together.

But the moment you opened the bathroom door, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

There he was, leaning casually against the wall across from the bathroom, arms crossed, a huge, mischievous grin on his face.

“Took you long enough.” he teased, pushing off the wall to walk over to you.

You barely managed to let out a yelp before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug, ignoring the fact that you were still slightly damp from the shower.

"Jiyong!" you laughed, trying to wriggle away, but he only held on tighter, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I missed you.” he mumbled, his voice low and sincere, completely different from his earlier playful tone.

You softened immediately, your hands instinctively coming up to rest against his back. His warmth, his familiar scent, it made your chest ache a little in the best way.

“I was only gone for a few hours.” you said, half-laughing.

"Waayy too long..” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple and then another to your cheek and another, until you were giggling into his shoulder, scolding him half-heartedly.

"Stop it.” you said, laughing as you lightly pushed at his chest. 

"Let me get changed at least."

"Absolutely not.” Jiyong grinned, mischievously lowering the towel from your head down over your face.

"I swear-“ you started, but before you could get another word out, he had you completely blinded by the towel, smothering your face with kisses.

You squealed, trying to fend him off blindly, but he was relentless, pressing messy, playful kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, wherever he could reach. His laughter mixed with yours, filling the space between you with pure, stupid, overwhelming happiness.

“Stop it!” you protested, though you were giggling too hard for it to sound even a little serious.

"You're too cute.” he said between kisses, voice muffled as he attacked your nose next. 

"I can't help it."

You finally wrestled the towel completely off your face, giving him your best glare, though it was pretty ineffective considering you were still smiling like an idiot.

"Go order food or something.” you said, poking his forehead. 

"Before I kick you out."

Jiyong laughed, hands raised in surrender. 

"Alright, alright."

Still grinning, he stole one last quick kiss, a soft one on your lips this time before backing away dramatically like he was giving you space.

"I'll order your favorite.” he promised, already fishing out his phone as he made his way toward the living room.

You shook your head, watching him go with a fond smile before finally heading into your bedroom to get changed, the sound of him muttering to himself about the menu filling the cozy space around you.

By the time you finished changing into something cozy, the scent of something delicious already filled the apartment or maybe that was just your imagination because you were starving. You wandered back out into the living room to find Jiyong sprawled out on the couch, his phone tossed aside, and a victorious look on his face.

"Food’s ordered.” he announced proudly, patting the empty spot beside him. 

"Now come here."

You didn’t even hesitate. With a little laugh, you crossed the room and flopped down next to him only for him to immediately tug you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. He tucked you against his side, resting his chin on top of your head. For a few minutes, neither of you said anything. You just listened to the steady beat of his heart and the soft hums he made under his breath as he absentmindedly played with your fingers.

"You know.” you said after a while, voice muffled against his chest. 

“You're ridiculously clingy today."

Jiyong just smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Yeah.” he said softly. 

"Get used to it."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt full, too full, in the best, most overwhelming way. You looked up at him, about to say something, but a soft knock at the door pulled you both out of your little bubble.

"The food’s here!" Jiyong said brightly, reluctantly untangling himself from you to go grab it, leaving you stretching out on the couch, feeling way too comfortable and a little lazy.

He returned quickly, carefully balancing the bags in his arms and kicking the door shut behind him. The smell hit you instantly, your favorite dishes, still warm and steaming.

"Come on, get up now." he said, setting the bags down on the coffee table with a grin.

"Give me a second..." you groaned, still stretching out lazily.

But before you could finish, Jiyong reached over and pulled you closer mid-stretch, making you topple into him with a soft laugh.

"You’ve made me wait long enough today." he said, wrapping his arms around you like you might escape otherwise. 

You huffed a laugh against his shoulder, too amused to fight him. He tightened his hold for a second before letting you go just enough to grab a container from the bag.

"Here.” he said, popping it open. 

"Open your mouth."

You gave him a look. 

"That’s not even mine!”

Jiyong just shrugged, the most innocent smile spreading across his face. 

"It’s all for you, I promise."

You eyed the food skeptically, then him, and back at the food. 

"Uh-huh. I see how it is. Stealing my dinner."

"Not stealing!" he protested, holding up the bite as if it were some priceless treasure.

"Just... sharing. You know, for us."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was undeniable. 

"You’re ridiculous."

"Only for you.” he said, leaning in to plant a kiss on your cheek before nudging the bite closer to your lips.

You sighed dramatically, but leaned forward anyway, letting him feed you. His eyes lit up as you took the bite, clearly waiting for your approval.

“Now was that so hard?“ he grinned, far too proud of himself.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart softened anyway. 

"You're so extra.” you said with a little chuckle, taking another bite. 

"This is supposed to be my dinner, but you're acting like it's the last meal on earth."

Jiyong smirked, nudging closer to you, his arms already back around your waist.

"You're welcome." he teased, as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder.

You shook your head in mock exasperation, trying to pull away to grab more food, but Jiyong wasn't having any of it. He pulled you back into him, his hands settling on your sides, fingers gently tracing patterns against your skin. He leaned in again, planting a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

"Are you planning on letting me eat?" you said, trying to take a bite, but Jiyong just tightened his hold around you, his arms like a baby koala, refusing to let go.

You tried to wiggle free, but he wasn’t budging. His arms were wrapped so tightly around your waist, you felt like you were part of a cozy little bundle, completely trapped but not in a bad way, of course.

"I swear, if you keep this up, I’ll end up starving.” you teased, using your free hand to try to sneak another bite.

"No starving allowed.” Jiyong mumbled, voice muffled against your skin as he shifted just enough to sneak another kiss along your collarbone. 

"I’m here to make sure you're fed... and loved."

"Uh-huh, right.” you laughed, trying to pull away to get another bite. 

"You're more interested in hugging me than feeding me."

"I’ll feed you in a minute.” he said dramatically, his hands coming up to gently stroke your hair, his lips brushing against your skin.

You couldn't help but smile at how ridiculously clingy he was being. Even as you tried to grab a forkful of food, he kept following you, leaning in to kiss your cheek, your jaw, anywhere he could reach. You finally gave in, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder as you gave up on trying to eat in peace. 

"You’re ridiculous."

"And you love it.” he said, a smug grin in his voice.

"Maybe I do.” you murmured, leaning into him, surrendering to his cuddles, even if it meant you were no longer getting any food. 

At least, not for now.

After a while and after much negotiation you finally managed to eat a little, with Jiyong still half-draped over you like some oversized, stubborn blanket.

Once you were both full and the food containers were abandoned on the coffee table, a lazy, satisfied silence settled over the room. You shifted slightly, trying to sit up, but Jiyong immediately whined and tugged you right back down onto the couch.

"Stop moving..“ he mumbled sleepily, his voice thick and heavy with drowsiness.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling his arms tighten around your waist again, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he loosened his grip even a little. Giving up, you rested your head against his chest, feeling his slow, steady heartbeat under your ear.

“Again, you’re so unbelievable.” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"You’re comfy, come on." he replied, half-asleep already.

You closed your eyes too, feeling your body relax against his warmth. His fingers lazily traced patterns on your back, slower and slower, until eventually, they stopped altogether.

Somewhere between the warmth of the room, the fullness of your stomach, and the steady comfort of his arms around you, you drifted off, tangled up with him on the couch, completely wrapped up in each other.

And honestly, there was no other place else you’d rather be at right now anyway.

[bambambwi]

That boy is a monster.

❦ pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader.

❦ warnings ; stalking, gore, physical violence (?)..

ACT I: The Beginning

ACT II: Start of a New Obsession.

ACT III : The Gallery of Us.

⇒ An artist and a celebrity find comfort in each other’s worlds, drawn together by the quiet language of paint and silence but as their bond deepens, so do the shadows between them until admiration twists into something far more consuming. In a studio where art and reality blur, love is no longer something gentle it becomes something you can't escape.

Ever since that day you mentioned contacting the man to Seunghyun something in him had shifted. He hadn’t been the same ever since. 

He started asking if you were planning to reach out to anyone, especially for business. It was casual at first, but then it became routine, almost ritual. He wanted to know who you were speaking to, who had commissioned you, and more importantly, who was offering you the most.

It wasn’t concern anymore. It was control.

And no matter how much you tried to brush it off, the weight of his watchful gaze was always there. Like he needed to know down to the names, the intention behind every deal you made between your clients.

"Seunghyun, how do you even keep up with all my client’s names?" you asked, watching him carefully as he scribbled into his worn journal.

“Well..” he replied without lifting his eyes. 

”I don’t want you handing yourself over to some dickhead.”

You let out a breathy laugh, half amused, half uneasy, before reaching over to tug the journal from his hands. 

“Seriously, I can handle that on my own too, you know.”

He didn’t stop you. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, stretching out lazily, a slow, knowing smirk curling at his lips as he watched you flip through the pages.

“You have everyone’s names crossed out.” you said, squinting your eyes to make out his scribbled list.

He didn’t answer right away just leaned forward with that same unreadable smirk, fingers curling slightly as he reached for the book.

“Means nobody’s good enough.” he finally muttered, voice softer now but carrying something heavier beneath it. 

“Not for you.”

You didn’t respond. The words felt like a stone dropping into your stomach.

“You keep letting people in.” he said, sitting back again, eyes unmoving as they scanned your face. 

“Sooner or later, someone’s going to take more than your time.”

His tone wasn’t angry. It wasn’t loud but that made it worse.

You hugged the book to your chest, stepping back instinctively, feeling the air between you stretch thin and sharp.

It was then you noticed faint, but undeniable that the names weren’t just crossed out. Some had deep gouges carved through them, as if scratched out violently, almost tearing the paper. Others had strange notes scribbled beside them.

“Liar.”

“Greedy.”

“Touched her.”

Your throat tightened.

You swallowed the knot in your throat and handed the book back to him, deciding to ignore the strange, violent scribbles you'd seen.

“Well… thanks, I guess.” you mumbled, stepping backward, retreating toward the safety of your canvases.

Your palms itched with the urge to wipe something off, something invisible, something crawling under your skin. You turned your back to him, trying to drown yourself back into work into something normal pretending you hadn’t seen the way his fingers lingered a little too long over the book, as if he was savoring it.

Behind you, you heard the faint, rhythmic sound of pages being flipped, one after another, as you sat down quietly on your stool, brush in hand. The studio, usually your sanctuary, felt suffocating under the weight of his presence.

You dipped the brush into the paint with a trembling hand, trying to focus, trying to pretend he wasn’t still there cataloging, watching and claiming. You pressed the brush against the canvas, but your strokes came out shakier than usual.

Every so often, you could feel his gaze burn into your back like a brand, silent and unwavering.

“You’re too kind, you know.” he said ashis voice slithered through the space between you, gentle but somehow bruising. 

You didn’t answer him, you couldn’t. 

"When are they coming to pick that up?" Seunghyun asked, pointing lazily at the packed piece on the table.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your brush pausing midair.

"This evening.” you said after a brief hesitation.

There was a stretch of silence before he spoke again, voice quieter but heavier.

"I'm busy this evening. Change it."

You blinked, turning fully to face him now.

"I can't just change it, Seunghyun.” you said, trying to keep your tone calm. 

"The client already confirmed it. It’s not that simple."

He scoffed under his breath, standing up from his seat, the journal forgotten on the chair.

"You always have time for them, but never for me."

"This isn’t about that-“ you started, but he cut you off.

"It is.” he snapped. 

"Every time. I come here, and you're too busy, too tired, too occupied with someone else’s name on your list."

Your grip tightened around your brush.

"I have a career, Seunghyun. Clients matter. You can’t expect me to just drop everything whenever you decide to show up."

"I'm the only one who’s ever cared about you.” he said, voice low and dangerous now, stepping closer.

"Caring doesn't mean controlling!” you shot back, stepping away instinctively, heart hammering against your ribs.

For a moment, he just stared at you his expression unreadable, almost blank before he turned away, laughing under his breath but it wasn’t humor. It was something cold and cracked.

"You know what?" he muttered, not looking at you. 

"Maybe I shouldn't come here anymore."

Your chest tightened.

"Seunghyun-“

But he was already pulling on his coat, moving to the door with deliberate slowness. 

"Just don't call me when one of them ends up disappointing you."

The door clicked behind him before you could say another word.

-

After he left that night, something in the air felt… strange. You tried to chalk it up to the argument, the tension still sitting heavy on your chest, but deep down you knew.

You hadn’t heard the last of him.

But then the floorboards upstairs would creak when you were sure you were alone. A flickering light in the hallway, the sound of the studio door clicking gently as if someone had pressed it open then changed their mind.

Then, you noticed your supplies had shifted. A brush left upright in water. A palette you were sure you'd already washed. Paint strokes on the canvas you hadn’t touched yet.

Some nights, you’d feel his presence. The kind of weight that settles on your skin, prickling the back of your neck. You’d look up from your canvas and your heart would drop into your stomach because the window, cracked open just slightly, revealed a shadow vanishing from the alley.

And then one night... you found something on your stool. A note. In your sketchbook.

“This place is mine too, you know. We made it ours.”

The page beneath it was a portrait. You, sleeping which was painted with the brushstrokes only Seunghyun used. 

So that meant that he had always been here, watching.

That didn’t scare you. If it meant he just wanted to stay close, to exist somewhere quietly at the edges of your world, then he had every right to. After all, you had missed him too? Even if he couldn’t say it outright this was his way of showing it. His own, strange kind of loyalty.

You closed the sketchbook carefully, tracing the cover with your fingertips before setting it aside.

You weren’t afraid. You were simply…accepting.

-

The next few days blurred together. Work, paint, silence... and Seunghyun.

At first, it was subtle.

Barely but there would be fingerprints which were clearly not yours on the corners of your sketchbooks.

A jacket, his jacket folded neatly over the back of your chair when you knew you hadn’t touched it.

A coffee cup, still warm, set silently by your elbow during the late nights you forgot to eat.

You told yourself not to mind. You wanted him near, didn’t you?

But then it grew.

Visitors who used to come by the studio began to dwindle. Some called to cancel pickups. Some stopped reaching out entirely. It was as if an unseen hand had brushed them all away leaving you in the thick, heavy quiet of the studio walls.

And strangely when that began happening, Seunghyun started appearing more openly again, sitting in his usual chair, just watching. Sometimes for hours. Saying nothing, doing nothing, just his dark eyes pinned to your every movement like a hunter patiently waiting for the right moment.

And you...

You pretended you didn’t notice because a dangerous, tired, lonely part of you didn't want him to leave again.

-

One night, you stayed later than usual working on a commission. The studio lights buzzed above, casting a sickly yellow glow over your half-finished paintings. Rain rattled against the windows again just like the first night he had visited your studio.

You sat at your desk, back stiff, brush limp between your fingers.

But the feeling had gotten worse.

The feeling of being watched.

And this time, you didn’t pretend not to notice.

Because when you looked up from your canvas, there he was sitting in the chair, legs parted lazily, hands draped over the armrests like a king on his throne.

Seunghyun.

"You look tired.” he said quietly, voice almost too soft to hear over the storm outside.

You swallowed hard, setting down your brush.

"Yeah... ive been busy.”

"You're overworking yourself.” he continued, standing slowly, every movement deliberate and almost too fluid like something pretending to be human.

He started walking toward you as you pushed your stool back instinctively, heart thudding.

"Seunghyun..."

‘’You shouldn’t overwork yourself.’’ he said, voice low and strange.

‘’Don’t do that.’’

You stood up, breath catching in your throat as he cupped your cheek, gently, his touch cold and electric against your skin. You tried to step back, but his grip tightened.

"Stay still.” he whispered.

The kiss was sudden. Hard. You tried to push him off, your fists beating weakly against his chest, but he didn't budge. Instead, he only pressed in closer, deepening the kiss with his hand tangled roughly in your hair, gripping the back of your head, forcing you to stay against him.

You stumbled backward, heart slamming against your ribs, trying to catch your balance but he kept advancing, step by step, until your legs hit the edge of a table making you loose your footing.

Both of you crashed down onto the floor, the air whooshing out of your lungs with a sharp gasp. Still, he didn’t let go of you. His hands were roaming desperately, almost frantically, as if he was trying to mold you into him, to fuse you together.

"Seunghyun-“ you managed to choke out between shallow breaths, but it was useless.

He was past listening.

"Stop!" you yelled, shaking your head frantically from side to side, your voice cracking from panic.

He had you pinned flat against the cold floor, his hand crushing yours above your head, the other smothering your mouth. Your muffled screams broke into nothing but panicked breaths against his palm.

"Those hands..." he growled through clenched teeth, his voice shaking with something wild, something unhinged.

"I gave them life."

His eyes bore into yours, dark and glinting, like he wasn’t looking at you anymore but through you as if you were no longer a person, just something he had created, something he now had the right to destroy. You thrashed weakly beneath him, your body giving out, vision spinning.

It was useless. He wasn’t letting you go.

He took a paintbrush to his hand, snapped it in half without a second thought. 

"This is nothing..” he muttered, throwing the broken pieces aside. 

"You were."

He stabbed you, straight into your heart with the jagged edge of the broken paintbrush.

You barely had time to react.

Your mouth opened in a silent gasp, the world tilting sideways with shock with both your hands flying to the brush, trying desperately to push it away, but it was useless. His grip was relentless and stronger than you ever could've imagined, forcing the splintered wood deeper, deeper into your chest.

You felt it tearing you apart from the inside.

Your legs kicked weakly, your fingers scraping at his wrists, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch.

His face was calm. Almost...satisfied.

Your body convulsed beneath him, every desperate gasp for air weaker than the last, your vision swimming in and out of darkness.

The broken paintbrush, jagged and splintered, had pierced straight into your chest, and with every slight movement, it pushed in deeper, tearing muscle, scraping bone.

Seunghyun hovered over you, his face twisted in something horrifying, not rage, not hatred but something even worse.

Love.

Tears welled up in his eyes, trembling as they slid down his cheeks, carving pale trails through the blood splattered across his skin.

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even joyful.

He was devastated utterly consumed by his emotions.

His fingers dug into the wound, prying it wider with brutal determination. You could only weakly struggle, your hands slipping uselessly against him, slick with your own blood. A raw, gurgled sound tore from your throat, but it wasn’t a scream, it was a surrender.

Seunghyun’s breath hitched as he reached inside you, his hands trembling as they wrapped around your slowing, faltering heart and when he pulled it from your chest, it was with a reverence so grotesque it almost resembled tenderness.

He cradled it between his palms, staring at it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Tears streamed freely now, his lips trembling as he brought your heart closer to his face. His body shook with silent sobs, and for a moment, he simply pressed your heart against his cheek, smearing blood across his skin as though trying to feel you one last time, as though hoping it would somehow keep you alive in his grasp.

"You were mine.” he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking into a ragged sob. 

"Only mine."

And then, with a desperate hunger born of something darker than obsession, he opened his mouth and bit into the still-warm flesh. Blood gushed from the wound, splattering across his jaw, running down his throat, soaking into the collar of his shirt as he devoured you. His eyes fluttered closed in something that could almost be called ecstasy, his entire body trembling as if with every mouthful he was pulling you deeper into himself making sure that you could never leave, never escape, never betray him.

Seunghyun’s entire body trembled as he dropped his blood-soaked hands to the ground, his fingers twitching uselessly against the cold floor. His chest heaved with every ragged breath, but it was the tears, thick, hot streams of them that blurred his vision now. They fell freely, dripping down his cheeks, mixing with the blood that painted his arms, his face, his clothes.

He loved you.

Maybe he loved you far too much.

Slowly, almost brokenly, he lifted his gaze. His bloodshot eyes found you again, your limp, ruined body lying crumpled beneath the soft glow of the studio lights. You looked peaceful somehow, even in death as if some part of you already forgave him.

A whimper cracked from his throat, something small and pathetic. He dragged himself forward on his hands and knees, leaving bloody handprints across the floor. When he reached you, he hovered over you once again, for a second with his hands shaking uncontrollably as he leaned over you.

Delicately, almost reverently he cupped your cooling face in his palms, smearing crimson along your jawline lowering his head, eyes fluttering shut, and pressed a trembling kiss to your lips.

This time it was soft and lingering.

The kiss of a man who wanted to freeze time to pull you back from the edge with nothing but his desperate, broken love.

When he finally pulled away, he stayed close, his forehead resting gently against yours, his body racked with quiet, shuddering sobs.

He had you now.

Forever.

No one else would ever touch you again.

The studio, once filled with the warm smell of oil paints and turpentine, now reeked of iron and something far heavier.

Seunghyun stayed on the floor for what felt like hours, cradling you, rocking slightly as though the motion could somehow bring you back. Your blood had seeped into the floorboards, staining the old wood beneath you in dark, grotesque patterns. The unfinished paintings stared from the walls, silent witnesses to the horror he had crafted with his own two hands.

Eventually, with great care almost like an artist handling a fragile, priceless piece as he lifted your body and set you upright in one of the velvet chairs you often rested in, the one stained now with deep crimson.

Your painting, the portrait you had created of him was now on display, standing proudly at the center of the room. It was almost poetic, in a way that only Seunghyun understood.

He dragged heavy tarps from the storage corner, laying them around the room. Not to clean. No, never to erase but to preserve it exactly as it was. 

A frozen moment. 

An altar to his love.

He wiped at the blood on his hands carelessly, leaving red smudges along the walls, the furniture, even across the glass of a framed painting.

Everywhere he touched, he left a piece of the crime, and he did not care.

The doors were locked. Curtains drawn. No visitors.

It was only the two of you. Just as it always should have been.

Seunghyun sat in the chair opposite yours, folding his hands neatly in his lap, staring at you in complete adoration. In the pale, grey morning light filtering through the rain-streaked windows, the studio had never looked more beautiful to him.

Alive with the mark of you, your love, your soul, your sacrifice.

A broken, whispered promise escaped his lips.

“I’ll take care of you, forever.”

And in the center of it all, that portrait of him you had made, captured by the hand of the only person he had ever truly loved, hung proudly over the scene like a king over his blood-stained kingdom.

-

Months passed. Maybe more.

The building grew quiet. The once-bustling studio, where laughter and paint used to fill every corner, sat abandoned behind heavy locked doors and windows caked with dust. Most assumed you had left, gone somewhere new with your art, chasing a better life.

But one rainy afternoon, much like the one you spent painting him, a landlord came by. Complaints from neighboring tenants about the smell had finally forced someone to take action. The door, long swollen shut from the humidity and the rot inside, creaked open under the pressure of a heavy boot.

It hit them immediately the thick, rancid air, the unbearable metallic stench.

Inside the studio, it looked like as if time had stopped.

The tarps, the dried pools of blood, the cracked brush still lying in the corner.

And there, seated upright in velvet chairs across from one another, were two figures.

Your body, mummified by the stale air, still clothed in the same blood-streaked outfit. Seunghyun, next to you, motionless, his face hollow and sunken.

But the thing that sent the landlord stumbling back in horror was the painting.

Your portrait of Seunghyun, proudly displayed still, seemed... different. It wasn’t just paint anymore, up close, it was textured layered thickly with something organic. Something real.

Underneath the strokes of red and deep brown, the very pigment seemed to breathe as if part of you, your flesh, your heart had been fed into the canvas itself.

The landlord’s breath hitched in his throat, a cold sweat breaking over his skin. He stumbled backward, knocking over a stool with a crash, but neither figure moved. The painting only watched its eyes eerily vibrant, glistening under the dull light seeping through the boarded windows.

Seunghyun had preserved you the only way he knew how.

Not in life.

But in creation.

You were his art now. His masterpiece forever.

[bambambwi]

That boy is a monster.

❦ pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader.

❦ warnings ; none.

ACT I: The Beginning

ACT II: Start of a New Obsession.

⇒ What began as admiration rooted in shared passion has quietly twisted into something deeper something more possessive. Seunghyun’s visits become routine, almost ritualistic, and his presence lingers in every corner of the studio. As your art gains attention, so does his fixation. He’s supportive, attentive… always there.

Ever since you both agreed to be friends through the language of art, there had been an odd, lingering stiffness between you. A strange awareness. It wasn’t surprising, he was Seunghyun after all. A name that stirred headlines and hearts, not the kind of person you ever expected to casually text or paint beside.

You tried to act natural, to forget who he was outside the studio. He’d told you not to be so bothered by it, that it was just him, not the version people chased with cameras but it took time. Time to look him in the eye without the weight of his world sitting on your shoulders.

Still, despite the awkward beginning, Seunghyun kept showing up. Almost every day, like clockwork, slipping into your studio after work, sometimes with food, sometimes with paint on his sleeves from somewhere he wouldn’t talk about. Occasionally, he brought alcohol instead of coffee, claiming it helped him "see the colours better." 

He would come to paint with you, the two of you working in quiet rhythm, your styles completely different, but somehow complimentary. Other times, he just sat back in the old armchair near the windows, drink in hand, his gaze steady on you as you worked. He wouldn’t say much on those nights. Just watch. Like the way you moved fascinated him more than whatever was drying on the canvas.

And slowly, that awkwardness began to unravel. Not with words, but with small things like shared playlists, smeared paint on each other's sleeves, glances that lasted longer than they should have. You stopped counting how many times his jacket had ended up draped over a chair or how often you found his sketches hidden under yours, little portraits of you in the corner of your own workspace.

Today you were sitting on the floor of your studio, legs crossed with a brush in hand, surrounded by unfinished canvases and half-cleaned palettes. Next to you, Seunghyun sat on an old stool, bent over his own canvas with a kind of quiet concentration that made you hesitate to even breathe too loud.

His hair was a mess in the most perfect way, slightly tousled from where he’d run his hand through it too many times, the ends falling over his forehead. His glasses had slid down his nose a little, and he hadn’t bothered to fix them. He looked comfortable. Natural. Not like a celebrity. Just a man lost in his work.

There were a couple of paint smudges on his cheek, probably from when he’d scratched his face without realizing it. You watched him for a beat too long, caught in the shape of his profile, the way his fingers moved with instinct over the canvas.

He glanced up at you briefly, catching your eyes before going back to his work with a slight curve to his lips.

“You’re staring again..” he murmured without looking up.

You scoffed softly, turning back to your own canvas, cheeks warming.

“There’s paint on your face.” you muttered, trying to sound neutral.

“Part of the aesthetic.” he said, lazily dipping his brush in a darker shade.

You smiled quietly to yourself, heart doing something it shouldn’t.

It wasn’t just the way he looked, the way the sunlight softened around him or how the smudges on his face somehow made him even more human. It was the way he made space for you. The way he showed up every day without asking for anything in return. How he listenedeven when you were rambling about things that didn’t matter to anyone else. Despite who he was out there in the world, despite the fame and the flashing cameras and the headlines, you never once felt small beside him.

Because He treated you better than anyone else had. Not like a struggling artist. Not like someone who needed help or saving. Just… you.

“We should… hang out.” Seunghyun said, turning to face you.

You looked up from your canvas, caught off guard by the way he said it, like it had been sitting on his tongue for days, waiting for the right moment.

“Aren’t we?” you asked, resting your hands on your knees. 

The paint on your skin was starting to dry, flaking at the edges.

“Like… out of the studio.” he added, voice quieter now, almost uncertain. 

His gaze dropped for a second, like he was afraid you’d say no too fast.

You let out a slow breath, turning back to your canvas before answering. 

“Seunghyun.” you said softly, more to the space between you than to him directly. 

“You know we can’t.”

“I know, I know…” he said, laughing under his breath, trying to play it off but you heard something behind the laugh, disappointment, maybe.

His fingers tapped idly on the edge of the stool, and for a moment, the familiar silence that usually felt so safe between you suddenly felt tense. Not awkward. Just…full. Like something was pressing at the walls of it, trying to spill out.

He didn’t push again and you didn’t bring it up.

“What do you think about this?” you asked, voice just a touch too casual trying to steer the moment back to safer ground.

Seunghyun blinked, like he’d just been pulled from a thought, and shifted his stool closer to yours. The legs scraped gently against the floor, and suddenly he was right beside you, leaning in to get a better look at your painting. His shoulder brushed against yours just lightly but it was enough to make your stomach twist with nerves. You held your breath without meaning to, caught off guard by how close he was, how familiar he smelled, that mix of paint and something warmer, softer.

He studied your canvas in silence for a second, his gaze moving slowly, thoughtfully.

“I like the way you did the shading here.” he finally said, his voice low, his head tilted as he pointed toward the center of the piece. 

“It’s… quiet but heavy, too. Like it’s holding something back.”

You looked at him, really looked and for a second, it wasn’t about the painting anymore. It was about the way he understood you without having to ask. The way his words always seemed to echo something you didn’t even realize you needed to hear.

“Thanks.” you murmured, eyes flicking back to the canvas.

You could still feel the heat of his shoulder against yours.

"You should try selling this.” Seunghyun said, still looking at the canvas like it meant something more than just brushstrokes.

You turned slightly toward him, studying his face. He wasn’t just saying it to be nice, his expression was serious, almost proud, like he could already see it hanging in some gallery window with your name on the wall next to it.

"Nobody likes them.” you said, laughing under your breath, the words meant to be light, but the edge of embarrassment gave you away.

Seunghyun didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he glanced at you, eyes soft, expression steady. The kind of look that made you forget the noise in your head for a second.

“I’ll help you.” he said, his voice gentle, no grand gesture, no pity, just quiet certainty. He placed a hand over your shoulder, grounding, warm. 

“You deserve it.”

You swallowed hard, looking down at your paint-smeared hands, then back at him. There was something about the way he said it that made you believe it, even if just for a moment.

You’d spent so long trying to prove your art was worth something but here he was offering to stand beside you, no questions asked and maybe that’s what you needed most. Someone who believed in you… before the rest of the world ever did.

Later that day, Seunghyun stayed longer than he usually did.

The two of you sat side by side, your laptops open, half-finished cups of coffee pushed to the corner of the desk. He helped you take cleaner photos of your work, adjusting lighting, tweaking captions, even suggesting hashtags like he knew what he was doing. Every now and then he’d lean over your shoulder, eyes narrowing as he read through your descriptions, sometimes teasing, sometimes offering small edits and you let him. You let him be a part of something you’d always done alone.

When the notification finally came through [Offer accepted] you both went still for a second, reading it over a few times just to make sure it was real. Then, almost at the same time, you both turned to each other and quietly celebrated, nothing over the top, just a shared grin, a soft high-five, his hand lingering in yours a moment longer than necessary.

“They’re coming by to pick it up?” he asked, eyes still on the screen.

You nodded, the disbelief still settling in your chest. 

“Tomorrow, afternoon.”

He leaned back in the chair with a satisfied sigh. 

“Told you.”

And you smiled, watching him like you were seeing the moment in slow motion, his messy hair, paint still clinging to his sleeves, glasses slightly askew.

“I’ll come by in the afternoon.’’ he said, slipping into his jacket, brushing back the stray strands of hair that had fallen over his eyes during the day. 

“Gotta see it myself too, you know.” he added with a chuckle as he made his way to the door.

You stood in the middle of the studio, arms full of papers, some drawings, some flyers you still hadn’t figured out what to do with. There was something so effortlessly warm about the way he said things. Affectionate, casual, humble.

Your heart fluttered.

How could anybody hate him?

He was the sweetest person you’d ever met. The kind who stayed late to help you, who celebrated your tiny wins like they were monumental.

“See you!” you called out just as he stepped through the doorway, your eyes closing in a smile as you hugged the stack of papers to your chest, your body bouncing ever so slightly from the rush of it all.

The door clicked shut behind him, but the warmth lingered.

And for a while, it felt like the world wasn’t such a cold place after all.

-

That afternoon, the sun had already begun its slow descent, casting long golden shadows through the studio windows. You had everything ready, painting packaged, papers organized, the little corner where you'd hung the piece now left bare, like something important had been gently taken away.

You kept glancing at the clock.

He said he’d come by.

But time ticked on.

When the door creaked open, your heart jumped, only it wasn’t him. It was the buyer. A well-dressed man with polite eyes and a practiced smile. You forced your own, even as anxiety twisted itself into knots inside your chest.

“Hi.” you greeted him, voice just a little too soft.

You picked up the painting with careful hands, holding it like it was more fragile now that it was leaving you. The walk across the studio felt longer than it should’ve. Your fingers trembled slightly as you extended it toward him.

“Here it is.” you said, breath catching in your throat.

He nodded, inspecting the packaging and thanking you. You nodded back, but your eyes flicked once more to the door behind him.

Still no Seunghyun.

And though you smiled, something in you quietly deflated. Not because the buyer didn’t appreciate your work but because you wanted him to be there.

The man in front of you held the painting like it was something sacred. He looked at it with a kind of reverence you hadn’t expected, his words flowing in an enthusiastic stream of praise. You stood there, nervous and flushed, hands tucked behind your back as you rocked gently on your heels. The compliments wrapped around you like a warm coat, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. You weren’t used to this kind of attention. It felt… surreal.

You nodded, smiled, thanked him softly but your voice kept catching in your throat. All the feelings mixed inside you: happiness, disbelief, nervous pride.

So much so that you didn’t even notice the studio door had creaked open behind him.

Seunghyun stood just inside, his hand still on the doorknob, eyes fixed on you.

He didn’t speak.

He just watched.

He saw the way your smile curled shyly at the edges, how your cheeks flushed under the weight of praise. The man in front of you was charming, maybe a little too comfortable. He leaned in a bit when he spoke, gestured widely, laughed with a familiarity that made Seunghyun’s jaw tighten just slightly.

His fingers twitched at his side, the other still resting on the doorknob. His eyes flicked down to the painting in the man’s arms, the one he’d seen you labor over for days. The one he watched come to life under your careful brush. He’d stayed late helping you set up the listing for it. He’d celebrated when it sold. He had been there.

But now, someone else was here. Holding your work. Complimenting your art like they’d known you forever. Standing close. Too close.

Seunghyun’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brows knitting together for a moment before he forced his expression neutral. He took a quiet breath, like steadying himself.

Still, he didn’t interrupt.

But jealousy had a way of creeping in, not loud, not dramatic, but quiet, patient and simmering.

Eventually, the man handed you his card, still smiling as he tucked the painting carefully under his arm.

“I’ll be in touch.” he said warmly. 

“If you ever think about doing a personal series, i’d be honored.”

You nodded, offering a polite smile, still a little stunned by how well the interaction had gone. 

“Thank you… really.”

He lingered for a second longer, then gave a slight bow before heading out the door.

And that’s when you saw him.

Seunghyun stood just beyond the frame, half-shadowed by the doorway, hands now tucked in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable. Your smile faltered, replaced by a small gasp of surprise.

“You-” you started, stepping toward him.

He raised a hand slightly, not stopping you, but pausing the moment. 

“Sorry.” he said, voice low and calm, but with something tightly wound beneath it. 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.” you said quickly. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I said I would.” His voice had a faint edge, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. He gave a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite feel like the ones you were used to from him.

There was a silence then. Heavy and lingering.

“He gave you a card?” Seunghyun asked, voice calm but with a chill tucked into the edges of it, like a breeze that made the hairs on your arm stand.

“Oh, yeah.” you said, still caught up in the afterglow of the sale, oblivious to the sharpness in his tone. You reached into your pocket and pulled it out. 

“Here, look.”

You held it out casually, expecting maybe a nod or a curious glance. Instead, he snatched it from your hand without hesitation.

Your breath was caught slightly, not in fear, but in surprise.

Seunghyun stared at the card, his eyes tracing over every letter like they were written in code. His jaw was clenched, lips pressed into a line so thin it almost vanished. There was an intensity to the way he held it like the simple weight of that small rectangle was suddenly too much to bear.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even hand it back.

Just stared at it, as if trying to read between the lines as if the man’s name alone told him everything he needed to know.

And whatever it told him, he clearly didn’t like it.

He crumpled the card with a quiet finality, the paper folding and creasing under the pressure of his fingers until it was nothing but a tight little ball. Then, without meeting your eyes, he tossed it into the nearby bin.

“I-” you began, startled, eyes flicking between him and the discarded card.

“He isn’t the best one out there anyway.” Seunghyun said, voice steadier now but laced with something more bitter than before. 

He reached into the folds of his coat and held out a bag toward you, casually, like nothing had happened.

You stared at it, confused. 

“What’s this?”

“You looked like you were running out of paint.” he said, eyes finally meeting yours. 

“Figured I’d bring you some.”

You slowly took the bag from him, peeking inside to find neatly arranged tubes of acrylics, your favorite brands, your usual palette, even the exact brushes you used. He’d remembered everything.

Your fingers curled slightly around the edge of the paper bag.

“Seunghyun…”

He gave a small shrug, turning away slightly as if the gesture meant nothing. 

“You’ll need it. You’re selling now.”

But the weight in the room told a different story. One you couldn’t quite name yet. One that was beginning to speak louder than either of you had realized.

The days that followed felt like something out of a dream. Your inbox buzzing, your phone ringing more than usual, your little studio no longer a forgotten corner of the city. People wanted your work. People wanted you and every time someone walked through that studio door to pick up a piece, Seunghyun was there.

Always there.

Sometimes, he arrived before you even opened up, leaning against the brick wall outside with two coffees in hand, like it was just a regular morning. Other times, he’d wander in halfway through your day, slipping past the crowd with that quiet, familiar presence and settling into his usual spot by the window.

He never said much during the handoffs. Just stood nearby, arms crossed, watching carefully as you spoke to buyers, carefully packaging your paintings, beaming with pride that never quite reached your lips but shone in your eyes.

You tried to believe it was nothing. That he was just being supportive. A good friend.

But the way he hovered... the way his jaw would tighten when a buyer lingered too long, or asked too many questions about you, or smiled a little too warmly it didn’t feel like just friendship.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you were cleaning up the studio. You noticed how he was still there, leaning back in a chair, swirling the last sip of wine in his glass. The hum of the city floated through the windows, but it was quiet inside. Peaceful. Almost too peaceful.

“You don’t have to stay for every pickup..” you said softly, folding some wrapping paper on your desk.

He looked over at you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. 

“I know.”

“You’re here a lot lately though.” you muttered, glancing over to him.

“I just like being here.” he said without hesitation.

And you believed him.

Because in every lingering glance, every bag of paint, every quiet moment standing beside you like a shadow of your own, you could feel it.

Seunghyun wasn’t just there to support your art.

He was watching it. Guarding it and maybe just maybe trying to keep it all to himself.

“I was thinking of contacting the first guy.” you said casually, leaning back against your work desk, arms crossed, your tone light, testing the waters.

“I told you, he’s a dick.” Seunghyun replied, his voice tighter than usual, his hand clutching a half-full glass a little too firmly.

You chuckled softly, turning to face him. 

“I’m pretty sure you don’t even know him, Seunghyun.”

Before the smile could even fade from your lips, the sharp crack of glass shattering broke through the air.

Your heart jumped. 

“Seunghyun!”

You rushed over. His hand was dripping with blood, shards of glass embedded deep into his palm, crimson trailing down his wrist like ink bleeding across canvas. He stood there, strangely calm, breathing heavy but composed, too composed.

“Oh my god, why would you do that?” you said, panic rising in your chest as you gently grabbed his wrist, trying not to aggravate the injury.

“I didn’t mean to.” he said simply, avoiding your gaze.

But you knew better. The way his jaw was set, the way his grip had tightened at just the mention of that man it wasn’t an accident. It was something darker, something raw.

“Come here, we need to get this cleaned.” you said, guiding him quickly to the sink.

Under the cold water, the blood ran pink down the drain. Your hands trembled as you carefully picked at the glass, hating how deep it had gone with hating how quiet he was.

“Why did you do that?” you asked again, softer this time.

His eyes finally met yours, something intense and unspoken flickering there. 

“Because I do know his type.” he said quietly. 

“And I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You froze.

“I didn’t like the idea of you going to him.” he added, voice rough. 

“He didn’t see you. Not the way you deserve to be seen.”

You looked down at your hands, his blood still on them, warm and staining. There was a pause that stretched between you, filled with everything that hadn’t been said yet.

“I saw you..” he murmured, more to himself than you. 

“From the beginning. Before anyone else.”

And you didn’t know what scared you more, the way he said it… or the way a part of you liked hearing it.

"Sorry..” you whispered, barely audible, as you gently cupped his injured hand with both of yours. 

Your fingers moved tenderly, almost instinctively, rubbing slow, comforting circles over the unhurt areas of his skin. He didn’t flinch, not at your touch, not at the sting of water washing over the wounds. Instead, he stared at your hands, small and careful, holding his like something precious.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, guilt swimming in your expression. 

"I didn’t mean to upset you."

He blinked slowly, jaw still tense, but something in his gaze softened. 

“You didn’t.”

The air between you felt heavier now, warmer too, like the studio itself was holding its breath. Seunghyun’s thumb moved slightly beneath your palm, just a small motion, but it sent a quiet ripple through your chest. His hand, despite the blood and glass and tension, relaxed a little under your touch. Like he didn’t want to let go.

"You’re always this gentle?" he asked, voice low and almost amused, trying to ease the tension with the slightest smirk.

You smiled faintly, brushing a streak of paint off the back of his hand with your thumb. 

"Only with people I care about."

His smirk faltered. That glow in his eyes returned, this time more subdued like a storm settling under calm water.

“Then I guess I’m lucky.” he said, quieter now.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“You’re not allowed to break anything else.“ you muttered softly, trying to keep your tone light, though your hands still cradled his like porcelain.

Seunghyun let out a dry laugh, not pulling away. 

“Noted.”

For a while, neither of you moved. The studio was silent, save for the dripping of water and the soft hum of your shared breaths. You stayed there like that, your fingers still laced with red, your touch still warm and caught somewhere between friendship and something else, something more fragile and real than either of you were ready to admit.

Seunghyun had stayed longer that night.

After you wrapped his hands and reminded him not to grip glass like that ever again, you both sat together for hours talking, laughing quietly, sometimes painting side by side. He watched you the entire time. Not like before, not the shy, admiring glances but with a different look now.

Possessive.

That night, after you fell asleep on the couch, curled up with a blanket still flecked with paint, he lingered.

He stood over you for a long time. Studying the rise and fall of your breathing. The quiet twitch of your fingers in your sleep. He knelt beside you, careful not to wake you. One of his bandaged hands reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face.

"You're mine." he whispered, more to himself than you.

"You just don’t know it yet."

He slowly got up, moving around your studio like it belonged to him now. Touching a brush here, adjusting a canvas there, eyes scanning the familiar space like he was memorizing every detail all over again. He seemed too comfortable, too at home as if this wasn’t your space anymore, but something shared… or worse, claimed.

[bambambwi]

this was so cute eughhhgh

MBTI is sexy type, so be my sweetheart?

❦ pairing ; kwon jiyong x reader 

❦ warnings ; just fluff

It all started with coffee.

You were working as a barista at a quaint little café that had just recently opened its doors. It wasn’t exactly famous, but its cozy aesthetic and quiet charm had begun to attract a steady flow of curious customers.

And among them, happened to be the G-Dragon.

It was early. So early that he was the only customer in the café.

“Must be a good time for him..” you murmured under your breath, half to yourself, half to the empty room as he walked over to the counter, calm and unhurried, the soft echo of his footsteps the only sound in the quiet café. 

“I’ll have an Americano, please.” he said smoothly, his voice low but clear, with that effortless charm that seemed to come naturally.

You nodded, getting to work on his drink, trying to keep your focus on the task at hand but as the sound of the espresso machine hummed in the background, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze lingering on you since he was staying by the counter, leaning casually against it with his arms crossed.

“Are you always this serious when you’re working?” His said with a playful voice, but there was a hint of curiosity in it, like he was genuinely interested.

You glanced up at him, arching an eyebrow. “What, you want me to crack a smile while I steam milk?”

He chuckled, a soft, teasing sound. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt.”

So you did. You flashed him a cheeky smile, just for a second, before slipping back into your usual deadpan expression which made him laugh. His laugh was easy, a bit louder now, and he shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You shrugged, sliding the finished Americano across the counter to him.

“I’m a woman of mystery. Can’t give it all away at once.”

He took the cup, still chuckling, and his gaze lingered on you for a second longer.

“I can’t tell if you’re just really good at keeping a straight face… or if you’re secretly enjoying this.”

“Depends on who.” you said not missing a beat.

That caught him off guard, just for a second. His smirk faltered, then curved into something softer, more intrigued. 

“Is that so?” he said, placing one hand on the counter as he took a slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving yours.

There was something lazy in the way he moved, like he had all the time in the world and all of it was currently dedicated to you.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you busied yourself, wiping down the counter, refilling the sugar jars, pretending like you hadn’t just heard him flirt but you felt his eyes still on you, like he was waiting to see if you’d crack again.

“Seriously though, are you?” he asked, tone casual but eyes sharp. “Or are you just trying to avoid looking at me?”

You didn’t even glance up. “Maybe I just take my job seriously.”

He laughed, low and warm. “Mm..or maybe you’re just shy.”

Now that made you look up.

“Shy?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You really don’t know me.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Not yet.”

And with that, he grabbed his Americano and finally stepped away from the counter, but not before casting one last glance over his shoulder.

“See you around” he said, like a promise more than a maybe.

You rolled your eyes and went back to cleaning, but you couldn’t ignore the way the corners of your mouth tugged upward just a little.

The next morning, at the exact same time, he came back. Americano, same smile, same lean on the counter like he belonged there.

And just like that, it became a thing.

-

“Rough morning?” he’d ask, leaning over the counter like he wasn’t a whole celebrity.

You barely looked at him. “No.”

Some days he’d bring sunglasses. Other days, a hat pulled low but the smirk? That never changed.

“You know, most people smile when they see me” he teased one morning, tapping his fingers against the counter.

You didn’t look up from restocking the cups. “Most people don’t have a shift to finish.”

That odd remark of yours made him laugh. He liked it alot. He liked that you didn’t treat him like anything special.

You’d hear him settle into his usual seat near the window, sipping his coffee, maybe scrolling through his phone or scribbling something in a notebook but every so often, your eyes would flick over without meaning just to check on what he's doing.

And without fail, he’d catch you and he’d smile but you’d look away every single time.

-

The routine settled in like clockwork. He came in. You ignored him. He flirted. You deflected.

“You’re really committed to this Americano..” you said one morning, finally acknowledging him first.

He looked up, a little too pleased. “No. I’m committed to the barista who makes it.”

You snorted, grabbing the milk jug like it owed you money. “You say that to all the caffeine dealers?”

He grinned. “Only the ones who pretend they don’t know who I am.”

You didn’t respond, just turned away to prep another order but he could see the corner of your mouth twitch like you were fighting a smile.

He leaned forward, voice lower now. “You ever take breaks? Or are you too busy pretending I’m not charming?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “I am busy and you just happen to be persistent.”

He raised his cup in salute again, that same lazy smirk playing on his lips.

“And yet... here we are.”

-

The next morning, you were wiping down the espresso machine when he spoke again, casually, like it was no big deal.

“What time do you get off?”

You didn’t even flinch. “Why?”

“Just wondering if you’re as interesting outside of this café as you are behind the counter.”

You let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “You’re real confident for someone who gets ignored every morning.”

He grinned, unfazed. “If I’m getting ignored, why do you keep answering me?”

You froze for just half a second. A flicker. Barely noticeable but he caught it.

You turned back to the counter, reaching for the next stack of lids.

“Because you’re annoying and you talk too much.”

He leaned back in his chair, looking way too smug. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

It wasn’t and that was the problem.

That night, as you closed up the café, you found a napkin folded neatly next to the register. You hadn’t seen him leave. Hadn’t even noticed him writing.

In messy handwriting: If you ever decide I’m not that annoying, call me.

A phone number underneath. No name. Just a little doodle of a coffee cup and a smiley face.

You stared at it for a moment… then slid it into your apron pocket without a word.

Strangely, The next morning, he didn’t show up. No smug smile, no dumb Americano, no playful questions. The bell over the door stayed quiet. The table by the window? Empty.

You told yourself not to care. Twice.

But by the third time you glanced at the door without meaning to, you sighed, untied your apron, and pulled your phone from your back pocket.

You stared at the napkin for a second. The one you’d kept tucked behind the register this whole time and typed the number in.

You forgot your coffee today. 

You hovered over send for a beat hesitating for a moment before hitting it

He immediately saw the text and started typing away.

Wait, are you actually texting me? Did I die? Is this heaven?

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

If this is how you flirt, you’re losing points fast. Come get your coffee tomorrow. I’m not saving your seat.

A moment passed before he responded again.

So you do care. See you at 8, mystery barista. Don’t pretend you weren’t looking for me.

You didn’t answer but you did check the mirror before your shift the next morning. Just once or maybe twice.

And just like that at 7:59 the next morning, the bell above the door chimed. Of course it did, he did say he was coming.

You didn’t even have to look up. You could already feel his presence, casual footsteps, the scrape of the chair at his usual table, that quiet confidence he wore like cologne.

But he didn’t go straight to the counter. He sat by the table he usually sits in, waiting for you.

You held out for as long as you could. Cleaned the steam wand, straightened the lid stack, fixed a display that didn’t actually need fixing. Finally, you glanced over to him, having enough of his strange attitude today.

You sighed and walked over, arms crossed. “You’re not gonna order?”

He leaned back in his chair, all slow and lazy. “I don’t know. Thought maybe my favorite barista might’ve saved one for me. Since she texted me and all.”

You blinked at him, deadpan. “You mean the text pointing out your absence?”

He shrugged. “Still counts.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to head back behind the counter. “You’re lucky I made one by the time you came anyway.”

His voice followed you, low and smug: “Well aren't i just unforgettable?”

You fought the smile threatening to creep up your face as you gave his usual ''hot americano'' drink without a word. He took a sip almost immediately, eyes on you over the rim.

“See? No one else makes it like you.”

You leaned on the counter slightly, meeting his gaze. “It’s just hot bean water, Jiyong.”

He smirked. “Yeah, but it tastes better when you’re the one handing it to me.”

You didn’t say anything. Just turned away with a quiet, “You’re impossible.”

You continued to tidy up, focusing on the espresso machine, pretending his attention didn’t bother you as much as it did.

“So, you’re still not gonna tell me your type?” he asked casually, sipping his Americano with that too-pleased expression of someone who thought they were winning.

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “My type?”

He grinned. “Yeah, your MBTI. I bet I can guess it.”

You gave him a skeptical look, folding your arms. “You’re really going to guess my personality type now?”

He leaned forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I’m good at this. I’ve got a hunch.”

You shrugged, humor edging your voice. “Alright, Mr. Kwon. Go ahead.”

He studied you for a moment, the way you moved, the way you stayed calm even when he tried to ruffle you as he tapped his chin like he was in deep thought.

“I’m thinking…” He paused dramatically closing his eyes.

“INTP..!” he said pointing his finger right at you satisfied with his answer.

You snorted, unable to stop yourself. “You’re kidding, right?”

He held his hands up in mock defense. “What? I was thinking analytical, independent, always looking at things from a different angle…”

“And a little cold, definitely not an easy one to crack.” He said winking.

You shook your head, trying to hold back a smile. “If you say so, but no. You’ve got it all wrong.”

“I totally knew it!” he said, leaning back smugly in his chair, eyes never leaving you. “You're just too complicated for me to figure out in one go.”

“I’m an ISTJ” you said, crossing your arms with a slight smirk. “What’s yours?”

Jiyong blinked, clearly caught off guard for a second. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table thoughtfully, as if weighing whether or not he should actually answer.

Just as you turned to grab the next cup, Jiyong’s phone rang sharp and unexpected, the sound cutting through the casual buzz of the café.

He glanced at the screen, and you could see the shift in his expression to something serious, maybe even urgent. He muttered a quiet sorry before standing up, his chair scraping against the floor.

“I’ve got to take this..” he said quickly, already stepping back toward the door. “But don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

You nodded, not looking up as you continued your work. You didn’t need him hovering around while you finished prepping drinks but just as he was about to leave, he paused by the counter, turning back with that same teasing smirk.

“Hey.” he called out, “You’re still my favorite barista, so don’t forget that, okay?”

You looked up, nonchalantly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He winked once again, pulling a napkin from the dispenser and quickly scribbling something on it. Then, with one last smile, he set it down on the counter and turned to leave.

You watched him walk out, phone still pressed to his ear, but something about his confidence lingered in the air.

You glanced down at the napkin.

“Mbti is sexy type.. so be my sweetheart?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the boldness of it. The words were scrawled in his familiar, messy handwriting, but they still managed to pull something inside you. A flicker of intrigue, maybe even a little amusement.

You crumpled the napkin, but instead of tossing it in the bin, you slipped it into your pocket.

-

The next morning, just like the usual you were wiping down the counter. You heard the doorbell chime. You glanced up without a second thought and there he was, walking in like he owned the place, his usual confident swagger, but with a little extra charm today. He didn’t even hesitate as he made a beeline for the counter, catching your eye with a teasing grin.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” he said, the words practically dripping with confidence as he leaned on the counter.

You froze for a moment, blinking up at him. “Sweetheart?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s bold of you to say.”

His smile only widened. “Well, you did get my napkin yesterday, didn’t you?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “I think you know what I mean.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your cool, but the little flutter in your chest betrayed you. “You really don’t hold back anything, do you?”

He shrugged, unbothered, and gave you a charming grin.

“No. Why should I? You’ve been keeping me intrigued since the first day. Besides, it’s way more fun this way.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small, amused sigh as you started preparing his coffee. “So, what’s it gonna be today, Mr. Kwon?”

“I’ll take the usual, sweetheart” he said, his eyes still locked on yours, as if he wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

“Usual, huh? You’ve been here enough times to make it ‘your’ usual.” You shot him a glance while you worked, giving him that playfully skeptical look.

“I know what I like” he said, leaning forward a bit more, clearly enjoying the back and forth. “And what I like is you, making me my coffee.” 

He paused almost hesitating to speak again.

“But..I’m thinking about wanting something else now”

You raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything. You kept your focus on the coffee machine, the routine easing your nerves.

He grinned, noticing how tense you had suddenly gotten just from his words.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take whatever you give me but I’d rather take your time, maybe outside this café, when you're not all business.”

“Is that your way of asking me out on a date?” you asked, chuckling quietly as you leaned on the counter after giving his drink, arms crossed again.

Jiyong paused mid-sip, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup. A slow, smug smile tugged at his lips. 

“Depends..” he said, voice smooth. “Would you say yes if it was?”

You tilted your head slightly, pretending to think. “Hmm. Maybe. If you asked properly.”

He set his cup down gently, stepping just a little closer to the counter. His voice dropped low, gentle and playful.

“Okay then. How about this?”

He cleared his throat dramatically, then said, “Would the most beautiful barista in this entire city do me the honor of joining me for a night where she’s not stuck behind a counter dodging my charm?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That was so extra.”

“But did it work?” he asked, leaning in just enough to blur the line between playful and sincere.

You gave him a look, one corner of your mouth tugging upward. “I’ll think about it.”

“7 pm!” he said, smacking his hand softly on the counter, like he was laying down a challenge.

You hesitated, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Mmm…”

He leaned in a little, not missing a beat.

“8 pm?” he countered, smirking like he already knew he was about to win.

You held your ground for a second, just to make him sweat then sighed.

“Fine.”

His grin spread slowly, like he’d just secured the best deal of his life. 

“I’ll pick you up, just text me the address.” he said, voice a little lower now. “Don’t make me wait.”

You shook your head, but your lips curved despite yourself. “You’re really not used to being told no, are you?”

He backed away, already heading for the door. 

“Nope!” he called over his shoulder. “But I’d take it from you... maybe.”

this has been sitting in my drafts for sometime now waa, im working on requests! ˙ᵕ˙

[bambambwi]

Screams, Thrills, and You

❦ pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader 

❦ warnings ; none! entirely fluff! c:

You had one rule. One personal boundary that, until today, had gone unchallenged: Absolutely no amusement park rides.

But then again, no one said dating Seunghyun would be easy on your comfort zone.

He had begged you. Like, actually dropped to his knees in the middle of your apartment, hands clasped dramatically like he was praying to the gods of thrill-seeking.

“Jagi..” he whined, dragging out the syllable like a lovesick teenager. “Do you want me to die without ever experiencing joy with the love of my life on a rollercoaster?

You stared at him from the couch, arms crossed.

He shuffled closer on his knees, still in full performance mode. “Please, Pleaase..? Just once. Just one date. I’ll do anything!’’

You tried to hold firm. You really did but then he pouted, that ridiculous, unfairly adorable pout  and rested his head against your thigh like a wounded puppy and that was it. 

You sighed dramatically.

“Fine. One day. One park but I’m not going on anything that looks like it was designed by a mad scientist.’’

He shot up so fast he nearly headbutted you. “I love you.”

“I better not die..” you muttered, already regretting everything.

In fact, you did regret your decision.

Because as soon as you stepped through the gates of the amusement park, hand-in-hand with Seunghyun, reality hit you like a freight train on fire. Your smile twitched, faltered because the rides? They looked insane.

There were loops on top of loops, rides that swung like wrecking balls, and one that literally shot people straight up into the sky before dropping them back down like the world’s worst elevator.

“What the hell is that?!” you gasped, pointing at a ride that looked like it had been built in defiance of gravity and common sense.

Seunghyun turned to look and beamed. “That? That’s Sky Plunge! It spins while it drops while it drops!”

“Why?” you whispered, eyes wide. “Who hurt the person who designed that?”

But Seunghyun didn’t hear you or maybe he did and just chose to ignore it because he was already tugging you forward, eyes darting from one attraction to the next like he couldn’t decide which death machine to get on first.

“Come!” Seunghyun said, practically dragging you by the hand towards the ride, his excitement radiating off of him like a blast of energy.

You stumbled slightly, your legs moving but your heart was still firmly planted in ‘nope’ territory.

“Wait—WAIT!” you gasped, trying to plant your feet, but Seunghyun was relentless, already pulling you toward the massive contraption in front of you.

It looked like a twisted version of a Ferris wheel except this one was vertical, and there were people in it, upside down. You tried to imagine how that would feel. 

You couldn’t. 

Your stomach twisted into a tight knot. You should have known, but you weren’t prepared for this level of evil.

“What even is this?” you asked weakly, though you were pretty sure you already knew the answer. “This doesn’t look like a ride. It looks like something you’d see on a horror movie set.”

“It’ll turn you upside down and sideways. It’s legendary.” he said with far too much excitement, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I don’t want to be legendary! I want to stay alive!” You almost pleaded, your hand tightening in his, pulling back slightly.

But Seunghyun was persistent, his grip firm, his face shining with a joy that was honestly hard to deny. You glanced at the towering contraption again and your brain just about shut down. 

“How do you enjoy this?” you muttered, half to yourself, but Seunghyun leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

“Because I get to be with you” he whispered, his voice low and playful.

Your heart skipped a beat. He always knew how to say just the right thing, didn’t he? You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes that soft, genuine affection made it so much harder to back out.

“Okay..” you said finally, exhaling like you were signing your own death warrant. “One ride but if I pass out, I’m blaming you.”

Seunghyun smiled and pulled you toward the ride, that cheeky grin lighting up his face. “Deal. I’ve got you and if you pass out, I’ll carry you the whole way home.”

You let out a nervous laugh, but despite the terror knotting in your stomach, you couldn’t help but smile a little as you both got strapped into the ride.

The harness clicked into place, but it didn’t provide nearly enough comfort for your rapidly pounding heart. You swallowed hard, feeling the adrenaline rush through you, not in a fun way, but in a please, make this stop kind of way.

Seunghyun, on the other hand, was practically buzzing with excitement, his eyes wide, a grin stretching across his face. He leaned over, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Jagi you’re gonna love this. It’s all about the thrill”

You forced a smile, but it was shaky at best and then, before you could even process, the ride lurched forward. The ground beneath your feet vanished, and your stomach made a sudden, violent lurch as the ride shot up like a rocket.

You immediately squeezed your eyes shut, one hand gripping down to the safety bar and the other on Seunghyun’s arm like your life depended on it. (It probably did.)

“Oh my God!” you screamed, but the wind was so loud you barely heard your own voice. 

You were launched straight up, feeling the blood rush to your head, and before you could even process it, the ride twisted and flipped upside down, sideways, every direction at once.

Seunghyun was beside you, laughing uncontrollably, his voice swallowed by the wind. 

“This is amazing!” He shouted, looking over at you, but you were in no condition to look back.

“I’m going to die!” you shouted, unable to stop yourself.

“No, you’re not!” Seunghyun yelled back, eyes sparkling even as you both swung upside down. “This is the best part!”

The ride flipped once more, and you held your breath, your hand clenching tighter around the bar as your body was thrown this way and that. You were so sure you were about to fly off the track, but just as quickly, the ride began to slow down, and the ground began to come back into view.

Once the ride came to a complete stop, you were left blinking, trying to catch your breath, eyes wide as you tried to ground yourself in reality.

You stepped off the ride like a newborn deer. Your legs wobbled beneath you, moving in completely different directions, and your vision spun like the ride was still going.

“I’m never doing that again..” you mumbled, arms flailing slightly as you tried to walk in a straight line and failed miserably.

You stumbled left. Then right. Then kind of… diagonally? Your limbs didn’t feel like they belonged to you anymore.

Seunghyun, of course, was thriving. Practically glowing. His hair was wind-tossed, cheeks flushed, smile wide. He looked like he’d just had the time of his life instead of being nearly flung into the stratosphere.

“Jagi” he said, trying not to laugh as you zig-zagged like a malfunctioning Roomba. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because you were busy spinning in a slow, disoriented circle, trying to figure out where the ground went.

“Oh no” Seunghyun muttered through a chuckle.

You took another shaky step, accidentally veering off to the side and straight into danger of walking into a trash can and that’s when Seunghyun stepped in, hands reaching out quickly to steady you. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back into his chest, grounding you instantly.

You froze, still swaying slightly, your face buried against his hoodie.

“You’re walking like a drunken toddler” he whispered, clearly trying not to laugh. “A cute one, though.”

“I’m dizzy..” you mumbled into his chest, holding onto his hoodie like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

“I noticed” he said with a smirk, his hands not leaving your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. “You spun yourself more after the ride than the ride itself.”

You sighed dramatically the kind of sigh that carried the weight of love, regret, and a faint prayer to survive the rest of the day.

“We aren’t done though!”

You blinked. “...What?”

Before you could even take another step in the direction of sanity, he had dragged you in his arms  towards a rollercoaster that looked like it was designed by someone with a personal vendetta against gravity. The track had at least three full loops, a corkscrew, and one drop that looked illegal.

You stared at it in horror. “That’s not a ride. That’s a cry for help.”

Seunghyun laughed, not even slowing down. “It’s called The Inferno Loop. Sounds fun, right?”

“No! It sounds like a warning!”

“Too late!” he said, kissing the side of your head as if that would somehow erase the dread bubbling in your chest. “You're already in line. Technically.”

You looked around. He was right. Somehow, probably thanks to your state of stunned shock you were already at the entrance, ride signs flashing red and orange like a portal to hell.

“I hate you..” you mumbled again, gripping him tighter.

He looked down at you with that boyish grin. “You say that, but you’re still in my arms. Doesn’t seem very hateful.”

You groaned. He’s lucky he is cute. 

He kissed your forehead gently, a quick press of warmth and affection before pulling you with him into the next circle of hell otherwise known as the rollercoaster loading area. The seats looked sleek and deadly. Like futuristic torture devices. You eyed them with deep suspicion as Seunghyun practically skipped toward the front row like he was boarding a first-class flight.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again..” you muttered as you slowly, reluctantly took your seat beside him.

The staff moved quickly, lowering the thick safety bars over your shoulders. It locked in with a solid click, a sound that sealed your fate.

You stared at the bar, then at Seunghyun, who was already beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. 

“This is gonna be insane!” he said, gripping his own harness with excitement.

You didn’t respond. You just blinked at him.

Seunghyun looked over at you, his grin practically stretching ear to ear, the wind already rushing past as the ride climbed higher.

“Ready?”

“Absolutely n—!” you started to scream, but the words barely made it out before the ride launched forward with a jolt that ripped the breath right from your lungs.

Your scream got swallowed by the wind, your whole body yanked back into the seat as the rollercoaster plummeted down the first insane drop. The track curved into a massive loop and your brain short-circuited. Gravity didn’t exist anymore. Neither did your sense of self-preservation.

Meanwhile, Seunghyun?

He was Laughing.

Not just laughing, full-on cackling, hands thrown in the air like this was a casual joyride and not a near-death experience. His eyes flicked to you between the loops, your hair flying in every direction, face frozen in terror.

“You’re doing great!” he shouted over the wind.

You could only scream in response, your voice cracking as the coaster twisted through a sideways corkscrew, your stomach left behind somewhere three loops ago.

By the time the ride finally came to a screeching halt, you felt like you had just been through a tornado, a war, and an exorcism all at once.

Your voice was hoarse from screaming your lungs out, your hands were still clamped tightly around the safety bar like it owed you rent, and your heart was thundering like you’d just run a full marathon. 

Twice.

You tried to stand, really, you did but the second you unbuckled the harness and attempted to step out, your legs wobbled beneath you like they were made of overcooked noodles. Then you clutched the side of the ride’s seat, trying to stay upright with your entire body shaking like you’d just been through a natural disaster. 

Seunghyun stepped off the ride effortlessly, already bouncing on the balls of his feet, still riding the high of adrenaline. He turned around to help you and paused.

“Oh jagi…” he said, eyes wide with poorly hidden amusement as he saw you swaying in place, arms stretched like a baby deer trying to walk on an ice rink.

“I don’t think I can walk” you mumbled, trying to shift your weight and immediately regretting it.

Without another word, Seunghyun stepped forward, slid his arms under your legs and behind your back, and just lifted you. You gasped, flailing slightly as he cradled you like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“Shhh” he said dramatically.

“You’ve been through enough. Let me carry my brave little warrior princess.”

You buried your face in his hoodie in sheer exhaustion and embarrassment.

“..Stop calling me that”

“You faced death for me. Screamed like a banshee. Almost passed out.” he grinned, starting to walk away from the ride platform with you in his arms.

People were definitely looking, but Seunghyun didn’t care. In fact, he looked proud of the whole situation.

“Don’t worry” he added, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’ll recover. I’ll feed you snacks, get you a plushie, and tell you how hot you looked screaming.”

“Seunghyun.”

“Yes, jagi?”

“…Put me down.”

“Absolutely not. You’re mine now. Carrying you forever.”

[bambambwi]

LIKE A CAROUSEL

with nothing left to lose, you decide to confront your illicit past with ji-yong. old habits die hard (or maybe not at all).

⋆˙⟡ ibelongiiu part three 𓂃 c/w: fem!reader x sub!jiyong. angst | smut | fluff. age gap. cheating. conflict. breakup. confessions. endgame. nsfw content minors dni

like promised, you and ji-yong hadn’t spoken since that night. there was no “we should talk” text. no explanation of what it meant. just clean-cut silence. and that was for the better.

you went your separate ways once again— him, working on the new album. and you, going back home to your boyfriend.

you clung to the safe, mundane life you had with him. you pretended that you hadn’t just thrown it all away for a hit-and-run with your ex.

it was little more than just a singular, impulsive, meaningless night. you tell yourself ji-yong probably felt the same. and for a while, it works.

until the photos surface.

blurry, grainy; obviously shot from a phone camera with shaky hands. you could laugh at how low quality they were, if you weren’t sick to your stomach.

there’s one of you and ji-yong standing in a dimly lit corner of the chanel show. another of him leaning in closer while you’re speaking. and then one that makes your insides flare: ji-yong mid-conversation with someone else, craning his neck to stare at you from across the room.

thankfully, the articles don’t name you— just “a mystery woman spotted with g-dragon”. but, it still found its way to your boyfriend’s algorithm. he sent you the link to one with a question mark. then came another.

it wasn’t long before he finally approached you, holding out his phone.

“this was him?”

you barely glanced at the photo. the way ji-yong’s looking at you in it has been burned into your memory.

“yeah,” you answer, keeping your tone light. “it was just a surprise catch-up. i didn’t even know he’d be there.”

that part, at the least, is true.

what you neglect to mention: the locked hotel door. the drink you shared. the way ji-yong looked at you after you shoved him, like he’d let you do anything you wanted.

but for now, it’s enough to reassure your boyfriend. you just hoped that’d be the last you’d hear of it.

come february, and übermensch drops like a bomb.

his comeback dominates the media. you only skimmed a few headlines before muting all mentions of his name. they’re saying it’s dark, sexy— raw in a way that feels like the carrion of a secret dragged into the spotlight.

you can’t help but recall the lyrics he used to hum against your skin, the verses he’d draft while writing late at night. you wonder if any of the ‘just between us’ songs made it to the final cut.

of course, fate’s got a sick sense of humour.

your boyfriend walked to you in the kitchen, phone in his hand and a strange look on his face.

“have you heard this?”

your throat tightens. you know he must’ve listened to the album. it can’t be anything good.

your boyfriend presses play on a song. it’s got a sensual tone to it. ji-yong’s voice is deep, the words raw.

you realise it must be bonamana— the one that fans have been whispering about online. track seven. the confessional. the one he sounds like he’s bleeding in.

you bite the inside of your cheek, keeping your gaze ahead as you listen. your boyfriend’s studying you.

ji-yong’s quite literally rapping about a girl with someone else waiting at home, but you’re tossing up the explanations in your head— this could all just be fiction, it’s a misunderstanding..

until the song reaches a particular verse. you’re floored. ji-yong’s practically retelling your encounter that night in the hotel: how you pushed him, got on top of him.

and he put it into a song for the whole world to hear. because of course he did.

your reaction’s louder than words. your boyfriend stares at you with his jaw clenched. he pauses the song— he’s got his answer.

“it’s about you, isn’t it?” his eyes search your face. “tell me i’m wrong.”

you swallow. “it is.”

he takes a step towards you. “when.”

“it was just the one time—”

“don’t do that.” he groaned, shaking his head. “don’t act like it was meaningless when the whole fucking world knows what it meant to him.”

there’s no use fixing it. you had this coming.

you gathered your things in silence while he paced the apartment like he was still waiting for something to change. for this to somehow be just another fight, not the end.

but it was. he wanted to hash it out, find some compromise and recover from this. but you refused to stay and ruin him any more than you already have. you would at least do him that grace.

and yet, in retrospect, it almost feels like there was nothing solid to end. like you’d been in limbo the entire time— pretending something steady existed between you, when really, your heart was never his to begin with.

you zipped up your overnight bag. he stood in the doorway, watching you with a hollow look.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly. it’s all you had left to offer him. pitiful, too little too late— especially after ji-yong had bared the truth of it all to the world, immortalising your betrayal in his music.

your now-ex didn’t yell. didn’t cry. you shared a knowing nod as you turned the door knob— the kind of look that said all the things his mouth couldn’t.

before you walked out, his voice comes softly: “you chose him. maybe not out loud, but you did.”

he’s not wrong. and what’s worse— you’ve started to think that this was always how it was going to end. you, finding your way back to ji-yong. it just shouldn’t of taken someone else’s heart as a stepping stone for you to get there.

you were two bottles of wine into your wallowing. alone in your apartment, a cigarette burning idly between your fingers that really hadn’t done much to take the edge off.

a coworker from your new firm, who’d become a good friend, was just checking in on you— and you, in your boozy woe is me state, bluntly mentioned the breakup. it was half a joke, half a cry for help. if you had sent that sober, you would’ve contemplated suicide for being so embarrassing.

she must’ve passed the word on, because hours later, your phone buzzed with a call from a familiar number. someone from your former styling team.

“we’re all going to the album listening party tonight. you could come out.” her voice is hesitant, like she’s unsure if she should be asking.

you weighed the options: a third bottle of wine, or going to your ex’s celebratory party (who was also the reason your last relationship just ended).

you couldn't decide which option would cost more of the last shred of dignity you had left.

“ah, fuck it. where do i meet you?”

guess that number’s below zero now.

the venue was all flashing lights and booming bass, full of industry faces and overlapping chatter. your back stayed glued to a wall, nursing a drink while you chatted with your old team. 

your name hadn’t even been on the guest list— but someone from his team ushered you in without a second glance. you didn’t know how to feel about it. inside, you tried to ignore the way people’s gaze lingered on you, like they had a faint idea of who you were. 

you watched the crowd sway to the music. personally, you weren’t paying it much mind; ji-yong had already played some of the demos for you. 

but then you hear the start of one you don’t recognise. it’s groovy and upbeat— his voice doesn’t have that usual grit to it.

then the chorus comes, and your breath catches. 

take me, i’m yours. 

you recall hearing that before, except it was said in private— ji-yong had once cooed those words to you, gazing at you with heart-eyes while his head laid on your chest. 

he must’ve wrote this while you were still together. you wonder just how much the rest of the album had your memory etched into it. is that why they called you here? how many people knew?

a lump formed in your throat. it’s all too much. 

you scanned the room— searching, needing— when your eyes land on him, already looking at you. ji-yong, drink in hand, with youngbae’s arm slung over his shoulder. he looked untouchable under the pulsing red lights. 

everything else around him fell away. his eyes are burning, flickering with something you can’t quite place. and when you don’t avert your eyes— he puts down his drink, and he’s moving. so you excuse yourself from the table and wade through the crowd.

you trail ji-yong to a quiet corner of the room.

as you approach, you stop in front of him, close enough to hear his breath tremble. you don’t speak first.

“didn’t think i’d see you here.” he says, quiet under the music.

“me neither.” you admit.

take me’s chorus booms in the background— ji-yong’s own voice begging to be taken by you. he huffs a shy laugh, lifting his straw hat to ruffle his hair.

how he can act so flustered, when he’s the one who put it out there for everyone (or perhaps just you) to hear. speaking of which;

”i heard bonamana,” you start. ji-yong’s head raises at that, his eyes anticipating your reaction. a smirk tugs at your lips. you scoff. “you’re a mess.”

ji-yong fidgets with his sleeves. there’s a small smile on his face. it’s cute, how shy he is. seems like he really wasn’t expecting this.

“wanna talk?”

his reply is instant, soft but certain. “not here. come with me?”

and you do. because of course you do.

ji-yong leads you into a quieter lounge room tucked away from the rest of the venue, the bass of the party muffled by the door as it clicks shut behind him.

there’s low lighting, and a velvet sofa against the wall that you perch on. ji-yong’s standing there with his hands in his pocket, his stance more relaxed.

“you really listened to it?” he asks, soft.

you met his eyes, cocking a brow. “you’ve got nerve, releasing that while i had a boyfriend.”

his mouth pulls into something between a grimace and a smile. “had?”

you sit up straighter. “well i’m here, aren’t i?”

he nods slowly. his eyes drift, avoiding yours, like he’s scared he’ll say too much if he keeps looking. your hands curl to fists in your lap.

“couldn’t this have been a phone call, ji? did you have to… sing it all?”

his head tilts back, face cracking with a smile. there’s no humour in it though— he’s trying to hold himself back.

“i thought you were done with me.” his jaw clenches. he shifts in his spot. “i got to keep you close to me when i wrote about you. even if i didn’t get to be yours.”

you’re quiet. ji-yong goes to step towards you, but restrains himself. he settles on playing with his ring instead.

“i didn’t plan this. i swear, i didn’t approach you in hong kong intending to drag you back into my life. but when i saw you..” he exhales a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, like he’s replaying the memory of that night. “i hoped.”

he pauses, staring at you intently— like he’s daring you to look away. you hold his gaze, and he’s sure of himself enough to slowly step towards you.

“i hoped you’d still remember us the way i do.”

your throat tightens as you watch him hover above you in the chair. you stand, and your faces are dangerously close once you’re on your feet. you can hear the faintest noise from his throat.

“i can’t forget.” you murmur. “and that’s the fucking problem.”

“then let’s stop pretending.” his eyes soften. “please.”

you look at him. really look at him. and for the first time in a long time, you feel the mask slipping from your face.

and then you hear it— the intro to gyro-drop bleeding through the walls. you blink at him, registering the lyrics. ji-yong watches your reaction, face a cross between amusement and dread. your face splits in a laugh.

“you’re really letting everyone know you bottom, huh?”

he winces with a boyish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “it wouldn’t be right otherwise.”

you hum in response, pinching the brim of his hat teasingly. he watches with bated breath as you lift it from his head. tossing it to a side table, ji-yong snatches your waist into his hands with a newfound impatience.

“i missed you so much,” he says breathlessly. “been waiting for you.”

“mm, i heard.” you drawl, cupping his jaw in your palms.

and then the tension boils over. ji-yong’s yanking you into a kiss, mouths meeting with months worth of pent-up hunger. by the lapel of his jacket, you pull him down onto the couch with you, wasting no time straddling his lap.

you’re both hurried with the rocks of your hips, trading messy kisses that left your chin stained with saliva. it wasn’t long before hands were being shoved down pants, and clothes swiftly pushed to the side.

you fucked ji-yong right there on that couch. his hands on your hips, looking up at you with heart-eyes as you rutted down on his dick. he was a whining mess— sloppy thrusts trying to match your pace.

you had to muffled his mouth with a kiss as he came— you worried he’d be louder than the music.

as you both winded down from your highs, ji-yong pressed his forehead to yours, strands of hair drenched with sweat.

“i’m yours.”

and in that moment, with your heart thudding against his and your lips brushing softly, you kiss him— sweeter this time. it’s not just want, it’s a promise. and it didn’t need to be said out loud. you’re his.

the dressing room buzzes with a life that could only be described as an organised chaos— stylists flitting around with last-minute touch-ups, his team checking monitors and cue sheets, the distant roar of the crowd beyond the stage.

in the eye of the storm, ji-yong’s calm. he’s seated in a chair at the vanity, head tipped back and eyes closed while you adjust his chains.

“these will wilt if you keep sweating,” you tease, poking the fabric of his rose jacket.

he cracks one eye open with a smile. “promise to dry me off?”

you roll your eyes and flick his ear, earning a low chuckle from him.

you check your watch— showtime’s in just a few minutes. ji-yong’s hand finds your waist with ease, tugging you closer so you’re standing between his legs.

instinctively, you go smooth over the fabric of his shirt, fix up the neckline. despite being well-established at your job, you still find yourself reverting back to your habits from being ji-yong’s stylist.

you brush a stray strand of hair from his face. “you nervous?”

he shrugs. “night can’t get much better than this.”

you arch a brow. he cracks open an eye to scrunch his nose at you, pulling you down for a kiss.

it’s brief, a soft press of lips, but it grounds you both. a reminder of what it took to get here. of the time you spent apart, the quiet hope buried under all the words unsaid.

how now, you can kiss in front of his staff without anyone staring sideways. how you can support him before the first concert of the tour, by his side and in the public eye.

how he’ll go out on that stage, and the crowd will sing along to the words he wrote in reminiscence of you. hoping you’d come back to him. waiting.

a crew member distantly yells the two-minute call.

ji-yong exhales, taking your hand in his. you give him a reassuring squeeze.

“i’ll be watching from the side.”

“well, now i have to do my best, don’t i?”

you watched him as he positioned himself on the platform, giving you one last smile as ji-yong, before he emerged on the stage as g-dragon.

ji-yong to you, g-dragon to the audience. and all of him, belonging to you.

a/n: and it’s done! hope you enjoyed reading this lil series as much as i did writing it, thank you all for readin ♡

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[bambambwi]

Disciplinary Action.

❦ pairing ; prof!choi seunghyun x reader 

❦ warnings ; minors dni. smut written down below.

You were sitting in the front row, turned around in your seat, casually chatting with a couple of your friends. Class had already started a few minutes ago but your professor, Seunghyun still hadn’t shown up. It was strange. He was usually the type to be early.

Maybe he was caught up with something.

You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. Still nothing. A few more students had started whispering, half-joking about him ditching the class. You leaned back in your chair, spinning your pen between your fingers, only half paying attention to the conversation around you.

Just as you were about to pull out your phone, the door creaked open. The room fell quiet almost instantly.

There he was.

He stepped in, setting his leather bag on the desk with a soft thud. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run a hand through it on the way in. The tie around his neck was loosened, hanging just enough to look intentional. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, veins and tendons subtly shifting as he moved.

He scanned the room, eyes sweeping over the rows of students before landing on you. His stare lingered for a few seconds, cold, unreadable, and sharp enough to make you sit up a little straighter. Then he scoffed under his breath and reached into his bag, pulling out a thick stack of papers.

"These papers are quite disappointing.” he said, shifting the bundle to one hand as he started walking down the aisle between the rows of seats.

He moved slowly, heels clicking against the floor with each step, the silence in the room heavy enough to press on your chest. The stack of papers rustled as he flipped through them, eyes skimming over names, lips tugging into something between a smirk and a grimace.

Then he stopped. Right beside your desk.

He didn’t look at you at first, just held out the marked-up paper and let it drop onto your desk with a soft slap. Red ink bled across the margins like bruises.

“You.” he said, finally glancing down at you. “You can do better.”

You glanced over the paper. It was entirely crossed out with red ink every other sentence slashed through, entire paragraphs marked with harsh corrections. The edges were dotted with his scrawl, the ink almost bleeding through the thin paper. 

“Disappointing, huh?” you muttered under your breath but just loud enough for him to hear.

He scoffed, the sound low and almost dismissive, before turning to continue passing out papers. His footsteps echoed across the room as he made his way down the aisle.

You glanced down at your paper once again, your fingers brushing the harsh red ink, and your eyes landed on the words scrawled at the bottom. 

Meet me after class.

After passing out everyone’s papers, he went straight into the lesson, barely acknowledging the noise in the room as students settled back into their seats. You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about what he was saying. You sat back, letting your feet dangle from the edge of your chair, eyes lazily tracking his movements.

Every now and then, you’d toss out little comments just to get a rise out of him, enough to be annoying but not enough to make it too obvious. A casual ‘’Yeah, we get it” when he went off on a tangent or a dramatic sigh whenever he asked a question, as if it was the last thing you wanted to answer.

Seunghyun didn’t respond right away, but you could see the irritation building. His movements became more precise, less fluid, like he was working harder to hold himself together.

The rest of the class felt like a game, one where you kept pushing his buttons just to see how far you could go before he cracked. But eventually, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students started to pack up, eager to escape, including you aswell.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, already half out of your seat when you started to make your way toward the door, ready to leave the tension of the class behind.

“Not so fast.”

You paused mid-step, your heart skipping for a beat, before turning slowly to face him. Seunghyun was now standing near the door, blocking your way. His eyes locked onto yours.

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone casual, even though you could feel the tension crawling up your spine. “What’s the matter, Professor? You need something?”

He didn’t move, his gaze never leaving yours. The rest of the room was clearing out, but the space between you felt impossibly still.

You felt a flicker of defiance spark inside you, and without thinking, you tried to push him away, stepping back toward the door but before you could make it two steps, his hand was on your shoulder again, firmer this time, guiding you back to his desk.

You tried to move his hand away, but his grip only tightened, firm and unyielding. The pressure made your breath hitch, and before you could react, your back hit the wooden surface of the desk with a soft thud. He stepped closer, his body almost pressing against yours, and suddenly there was nowhere to go. You felt trapped, not just by the desk but by the weight of his presence.

You stared up at him, a mix of frustration and something else swirling inside you. You tried to push at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His gaze flicked to your hands for a moment before returning to your face, his grip on your shoulder firm and unmoving.

“Trying to run away again?” His lips curved into a slight, almost knowing smirk.

"No..." you muttered under your breath, the word barely audible, as the frustration and adrenaline faded into a reluctant surrender.

"Where did all the attitude go?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he leaned in closer, his face hovering inches from yours. His gaze searched yours, dark eyes unreadable, waiting for your response, but you were too caught in the tension to form words.

“Vulnerable now, are we?” he said, his voice tinged with amusement, almost snickering as he leaned in just a little closer.

“You acted like a complete brat in my class.”

His words hit with the weight of truth, but they were almost playful, like he was enjoying this moment far too much.

"Is that my fault you cant handle it?’’ you responded back, bringing back your cocky attitude.

he softly laughed at your response as he moved his hands down slow and deliberate, tracing the length of your arms with a gentle pressure.

Each movement sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but flinch slightly as his fingers brushed against your skin.

As his hands reached over to your waist, his grip firm, yet the touch was almost tender in contrast to the intensity of his eyes. You could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric of your clothes, and the way he held you there felt strangely possessive, like he was marking his territory without saying a word.

You reached up, fingers grazing the fabric of his loosened tie, twirling it between your fingertips before giving it a gentle tug.

His eyes darkened, and you felt a subtle shift in the air around you. His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as if fighting to maintain control.

"Careful..” he murmured, his voice lower now, each word coated with warning and something else, something dangerous.

“You might not like where this is going.”

“And what if I do like it?” you said, your voice low, laced with challenge as you gave his tie another tug, this time firmer, pulling him even closer.

His breath hitched just slightly, barely noticeable, but enough to let you know you’d struck something. His eyes flicked to your lips for the briefest second before settling back to your eyes.

he leaned in, his free hand sliding up your side again, slow and deliberate, until his fingers were just brushing the edge of your jaw. 

“Then…” he murmured, voice deep and calm like it was meant to undo you, “Can you handle the consequences?”

You smirked, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze without flinching. The corner of your mouth tugged up as you gave his tie another slow, deliberate tug, your voice soft but dripping with mock-sweetness.

“Oh, I can handle a lot more than you think, professor.”

Your eyes didn’t waver, matching his intensity with a defiant spark of your own. You could feel the way his jaw tensed at your words, like he was trying hard not to let that cocky response get under his skin but it did. You saw it in the way his hand flexed against your waist.

You leaned in a little, voice barely a breath now. “Question is… can you?”

“Can I?” he repeated, his voice lower now taunting, like he already knew the answer.

His hand slid slowly down from your waist, deliberately brushing the hem of your skirt. He kept his gaze locked on yours as he nudged the fabric up, just enough to expose your panties.

"You're so cocky, you know that right?" he said through gritted teeth, his other hand resting on your jaw, holding your face in place.

"Well too bad" you said with a playful glint in your eyes.

"You're dangerous..” he said, his fingers trailing along your folds against the fabric of your panties, feeling you grow wet under his touch. His caresses were sure yet teasing, sending shivers through you.

You moaned softly, caught between playful defiance and the thrill of his touch. 

"You're such a brat.” he said, slowing down as he slid your panties to the side, creating the perfect opening to slide his finger in.

You groaned, louder than earlier, his touch was making you go crazy. 

"Quiet now... we don't want anybody walking in, do we?" he said, shoving his finger in and out with a fast, insistent pace.

The air was thick with urgency as his words faded into the background. Every quick movement sent electric pulses of pleasure along your skin. You gasped softly, your body reacting instinctively to his bold rhythm. The small space around you seemed to shrink as the sounds of your quickened breaths and the subtle echo of his movements filled the room.

You turned your face away, trying to break free from his grip, eyes squeezed shut in rebellion but he wasn't about to let that slide.

"Oh no, no..." he murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone as his hand snapped back to your jaw with unwavering precision. Sliding in another finger into your throbbing clit as he gently, yet firmly, guided your face back towards him.

"Look at me.” he commanded sharply, leaving no room for argument.

You were an absolute mess, your cocky attitude from earlier completely gone. Groans and whimpers escaping your lips as his godly pace overwhelmed your senses.

You pushed his hand away again before leaning your head against his chest, both your hands gripping the desk to keep yourself stable on shaky legs.

"God, you hate following orders, don't you?" he said, deliberately slowing his pace to a torturous crawl.

The sudden change in rhythm made you gasp, your body trembling with need. His free hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you look up at him again.

"Maybe next time you'll listen.” he whispered against your ear, his fingers suddenly picking up speed again, pushing you right to the edge.

“Fucking brat.”

Your body tensed as waves of pleasure rolled through you, leaving you breathless and clinging to him. A warmth pooled between your thighs, your legs trembling from the aftershocks.

He held you close, one hand steady on your waist while the other moved gently along your thighs, massaging slow, soothing circles into your skin in an attempt to calm the trembling. His touch was softer now, grounding, almost tender so unlike the way he’d been moments before.

You rested your forehead against his shoulder, letting your breath steady, wrapped in the quiet that followed.

But the moment didn’t last.

His phone buzzed sharply on the desk behind him, cutting through the stillness like a blade. He sighed, jaw tightening as he reached back to check the screen.

A call.

You watched his expression shift as he read the name, and then he cursed under his breath. 

“I have to take this..” he muttered, reluctantly pulling away.

His hand lingered on your thigh for a second longer before he stepped back, adjusting his shirt and grabbing his phone with a frustrated swipe.

You adjusted yourself quietly, still catching your breath as he straightened his tie, finally tightening the knot you’d been tugging on earlier. His eyes flicked back to you, that same sharpness returning, but this time laced with something softer… restrained.

“We’re not finished.” he said, voice low but sure, like a promise more than a threat.

You just smirked, fixing your skirt and brushing past him on your way to the door, your legs still unsteady but your pride intact.

“Looking forward to office hours, professor” you called over your shoulder, not even bothering to hide the grin in your voice.

He exhaled through a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he brought the phone to his ear.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that, you were dismissed.

[bambambwi]

Wrapped in His Care

pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader  warnings ; entirely fluff authors note ; seunghyun boyfriend prompt yayay

Only a few weeks had passed since that goofy, love-filled birthday your boyfriend threw for you at home, and now you were curled up in bed with a fever so bad it made your stomach turn and your head spin.

You had zero appetite, barely enough energy to lift your phone, and your body was burning up and honestly? it felt like you could cook a whole meal on yourself with how high your temperature was.

Seunghyun, on the other hand, had noticed the shift right away. The dry texts, the unusually slow replies, the silence where your daily calls used to be. Something was off, and he knew it. He didn’t want to wait around and wonder, so he made up his mind to come over, whether you liked it or not. He was worried and he needed to see for himself that you were okay.

On the way to your place, he’d stopped to put together a small box, nothing too flashy, but thoughtful in that way only Seunghyun could be. He filled it with your favorite snacks, the ones he knew by heart, the ones you always reached for without thinking.

By the time he got to your door, he didn’t even bother texting. A few firm knocks, and he waited, fidgeting with the edge of the box, trying not to overthink. When the door finally creaked open, you looked like a mess. Hair everywhere, face flushed, a blanket half-draped over your shoulders.

“God,” he muttered under his breath, not even trying to hide how worried he was. “You look like a microwaved ghost.”

You tried to roll your eyes, but even that felt like too much effort.

"Hey, hey," he said, his voice low but urgent as he slipped an arm around your shoulders to steady you. With the box still balanced in his other hand, he gently steered you toward your room like it was second nature. "Come on, let’s get you back to bed, yeah?"

He let you settle into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chest before placing the box down near your night light. Then, with both hands on his hips like he was about to give you a lecture.

“So this is why you’ve been ignoring me all day, huh? Being sick isn’t a free pass to ghost your boyfriend.” 

You let out a low groan in response, too drained to argue.

“I’m kidding, yeobo,” he murmured, his voice a bit softer this time. He reached out and gently pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, frowning at the heat. “Stay put. I’ll go grab a wet cloth, alright?”

He was quick to disappear into the bathroom, and you could hear the sound of water running for a few moments before he returned, a cool cloth in hand. His eyes were filled with soft concern as he approached your bed again, the box of snacks forgotten for now.

Carefully, he reached out, lifting your hair away from your forehead before pressing the damp cloth gently against your skin. His touch was tender, the coolness of the cloth a welcome relief against the feverish heat you were radiating.

“How’s that feel?” he asked quietly, his gaze never leaving your face. “Let me know if it’s too cold, okay? I’ll switch it out if you need me to.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” you managed to croak out between a cough, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Seunghyun didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you for a few seconds, like he was trying to read between the lines of your words, searching your face for anything you weren’t saying out loud.

“I’ll go get you some tea,” he said finally, standing up with a quiet resolve. His movements were calm but quick, like he wanted to help without making a fuss about it.

You could hear him moving around in the kitchen, opening cabinets, boiling water — doing his best to be quiet, even though he really wasn’t that great at it. The clink of a spoon, the hum of the kettle, the low sound of him humming some tune under his breath. It was oddly comforting, knowing he was there.

A few minutes later, Seunghyun returned with a mug cradled carefully in both hands, steam curling up from the top.

“I found some herbal tea,” he said, kneeling down beside your bed so he was eye-level with you. “Chamomile. Google said it helps with fevers… and I added a little honey too. For the sore throat.”

He set the mug on your nightstand, then gently helped you sit up just enough to take a sip. His hand stayed steady behind your back, supporting you like you were made of glass.

“Slowly,” he murmured, watching you like a hawk. “It’s hot.”

You took a small sip. It was warm, floral, and just the right amount of sweet. It wasn’t perfect, but the fact that he made it for you? That made it better than anything else could’ve.

“See? Not bad, right?” he asked, a little proud of himself despite trying to play it cool.

“Mm,” you hummed softly, taking the last sip and leaning your head back against the pillows.

“So it’s bad, got it,” he said, giving you a playful stink-eye as he peeled the now-warm cloth off your forehead. “Should’ve known when you made that sad little ‘mm’ sound like you were dying in slow motion.”

He stood up to go re-wet the cloth, muttering something under his breath but he came right back a moment later, gently placing the refreshed cloth back on your forehead like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re sick,” he added, settling back into his seat beside your bed with a little huff.

He picked up the mug again, bringing it close to your lips for another sip, but you turned your head away with a small shake.

“Yeobo,” he said, his voice dropping into that gently warning tone.

“I don’t like it,” you mumbled, still shaking your head, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

He let out a soft sigh and stood up, clearly trying to be patient. “Would you at least try some soup?”

You didn’t answer, just stared at him, tired, uncomfortable, and completely uninterested in anything that wasn’t sleep.

“You need to eat something,” he said firmly, already heading out of the room, clearly not waiting for your approval this time. 

You could hear him clattering around in the kitchen again, probably overthinking the soup choice like it was a life-or-death situation.

A few minutes later, he came back with a bowl of soup, steam curling up into the dim light of your room. He didn’t say much, just set the bowl down on the nightstand and pulled a chair in closer, his movements careful, calm.

He helped you sit up again, one arm slipping behind your back to guide you upright with the same tenderness he always handled you with. Then, without a word, he took the spoon, blew on it until the steam faded, and gently held it out toward you.

“Open,” he said quietly, like he was talking to someone fragile, not because he thought you were helpless, but because he hated seeing you like this.

You hesitated for a second, but the look in his eyes was steady, unwavering. So you gave in. Opened your mouth. Let him feed you a spoonful of warm broth.

He didn’t tease. Didn’t smirk. Just waited patiently and did it again, careful not to spill, checking your face with each bite.

“This is good for you,” he murmured after a few spoonfuls, voice softer now, as if speaking louder might wear you out.

And though you didn’t say anything, didn’t even nod, he could tell by the way you stopped resisting, the way you leaned just a little into his hand, that you were letting him take care of you.

By the time he was halfway through the bowl, your eyes had started to flutter shut between spoonfuls. You were barely holding yourself up, your head growing heavier, your body sinking further into the blankets.

Seunghyun paused, watching you closely. “You falling asleep on me already?” he whispered, not expecting an answer.

He set the bowl down quietly, then adjusted the blanket around you with practiced hands tucking it gently under your chin, brushing your hair away from your face again like it was second nature.

He sat back in the chair beside you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, just watching you breathe for a moment. You looked a little less pale now. A little more at peace.

His fingers found yours beneath the blanket, giving them the lightest squeeze.

The light creeping in through the curtains was soft and golden, the kind of morning light that didn’t feel rushed. You blinked slowly, disoriented at first, your head heavy but not as foggy as the night before. Your throat still ached, your body still weak but you could breathe easier, and your fever had cooled to something more bearable.

Then you noticed the weight against the edge of your bed.

Seunghyun had fallen asleep in the chair beside you, his upper body slumped awkwardly onto the mattress, one arm still loosely tangled with yours beneath the blanket. His head was resting near your hand, lips slightly parted, hair a little messy from the way he'd clearly tried to stay up all night.

He must’ve stayed there the whole time.

The box of snacks still sat on your nightstand, untouched. The half-eaten soup had cooled. And yet… everything felt a little warmer now. Safer.

You squeezed his fingers gently.

His brow twitched just a little, and his eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice still scratchy.

He blinked up at you, bleary and confused, then sat up slowly, rubbing at his neck with a wince. “Hey,” he echoed, voice low. “You’re awake.”

You nodded faintly.

“You feeling any better?”

You gave the tiniest shrug, then mouthed, “A little.”

He smiled, small, tired, but real. “Good. Scared me a little yesterday.”

He reached for your forehead again, like it was instinct.

“Still warm,” he mumbled, “but not boiling anymore. That’s a win.”

“Your back must hurt, Seunghyun,” you said, frowning as you glanced at him. You patted the empty space beside you on the bed, a quiet invitation.

He let out a soft chuckle, the kind that was more breath than sound, then nodded like you’d caught him red-handed. “A little,” he admitted, stretching his arms overhead before lazily plopping down next to you, careful not to jostle the blanket too much.

His body sank into the mattress beside yours, warm and close, and for the first time in hours, maybe longer, you felt your shoulders drop. Like your body could finally relax now that he was right next to you.

He turned his head to face you, eyes half-lidded with sleep and softness.

“Better spot anyway,” he murmured.

You shifted slightly to face him, your eyes meeting his in the soft morning light. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable enough.

“Thanks for staying.” you said quietly.

Seunghyun smiled at that, soft and a little sleepy, like he’d been waiting to hear those words but didn’t want to ask for them. “Of course. Where else would I be?”

He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. Then he leaned in slow and deliberate,his eyes dropping to your lips.

You tensed slightly, pulling back just enough. 

“No,” you whispered, voice still scratchy. “I’m sick.”

“I know,” he said, already closing the gap, a sly smile playing at his lips. “I don’t care.”

“Seunghyun—” you tried again, but it was too late.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, warm, light, and annoyingly sweet.

When he pulled back, he just looked at you, amused and unbothered. “Worth it,” he murmured.

You stared at him, half annoyed, half melting.

“Now if I get sick,” he added, settling deeper into the bed, “You’ll have to take care of me. Fair’s fair.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as your hand weakly smacked against his chest. “You’re unbelievable,” you mumbled, but the tiny smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“What?” he laughed out, feigning innocence, eyes crinkling as he looked at you. “You think I was gonna miss my chance just cause you’re a little feverish?”

“You’re definitely getting sick now,” you muttered, pulling the blanket up to your chin as if it could shield him from your germs or maybe shield you from his shameless grin.

He shifted closer under the covers, slipping an arm around your waist like he belonged there. “Good,” he said, voice dropping just a little, full of that warm, teasing fondness. “Then we’ll be sick together.”

His touch caught you off guard, gentle but sure, warmer than anything the tea or blankets could offer. It was the first time he had pulled you in that close, his arm wrapped fully around you, like he didn’t want to leave even an inch between you.

But instead of shying away, you let yourself relax into it. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you leaned forward, resting your forehead lightly against his collarbone. He smelled like the subtle, expensive cologne he always wore, warm and familiar, its rich notes wrapping around you like a quiet embrace as his fingers began to move slow, absent-minded circles along your back, steady and comforting. 

His touch was the kind of touch that said, you’re safe here.

[bambambwi]

As much as we live in delulu land with BB this anon lives in delulu land thinking anyone gives 2 flying pigs what they think 🙄

Now if you'll excuse me anon my husband Kwon JiYong and side piece Dae are waiting for me 😉

rs like can they go bother someone else im busy thinking about my babygirls