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jedisupernova · 3 months ago

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married life with kwon jiyong

notes minors dni contains fem aged up reader (same age as jiyong), reader has a normal job, always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but anyone can read, slice of life, tooth rotting fluff, gentle love, suggestiveness, playful bickering and banter, mentions of drinking and smoking, smut (in the morning, oral f and m receiving, primarily sub!jiyong though it can switch), some angst (mentions of hardships and arguments, allusions to his hiatus and your struggles of being with a public figure,) overall just him being one of the keys to my heart, and inevitable typos.

requested? no because i can't be normal about anything! and i want this man so bad! this is my first time writing for jiyong; please be kind. this one is long. i really liked writing this, i hope you enjoy :)

life outside of your shared apartment is very busy, at times chaotic, and noisy. your husband and you live very different lives, and have done so since you started dating twelve years ago; him being a renowned musician, respected artist and performer, and a highly in demand global celebrity both on stage and at fashion week. you, on the other hand, worked as an executive assistant at a firm in the city for almost as long as you've been with jiyong. it came with its own stresses and discrepancies, as any job does. but when you two are home, all that matters are your wedding bands, feeding the cats, and snuggling so close on the couch that your body temperatures become one.

the love you share is at an atomic level. it doesn't manifest in finishing each other's sentences, per se, but more so jiyong knows whether you want coffee or tea that morning simply from how deep your frown is when waddling out of the bathroom. you can tell when a cold is creeping up on him simply from the sound his nostrils make upon an inhale, leaving him a steaming mug of ginger tea on his bedside table for him to drink before sleeping. if your hands are busy, he'll clip your earrings on for you. jiyong cleans your reading glasses every morning without fail, no matter how late either of you are—in the middle of his morning smoke, whilst you're in the shower, or when the coffee pot is brewing. or when you're running really late, hastily collecting your keys and trying to finish your toast, he squats down, shoe in one hand and your ankle in the other, saying "put your foot in," sliding your shoes on for you. you give him your hand without thinking when his fingers become restless. you pull him into your arms when he's being more quiet than usual. his hand will reach over to your cheek, thumb gently rubbing in a sheer streak of sunscreen that wasn't blended all the way before planting a kiss on the same spot. when he calls you, depending on the time of day, it's either to get lunch together or an attempt to get you to call off work early ("i'll tell my boss the same excuse as you if you do it too, honey." "jiyongie, cut it out. i'm late for a meeting. you're your own boss, anyway." "i married a smart one, hm?"), or how heavy his steps were when walking gave hint to how tired he was that day. you were the other's second nature—a soul meshed; equation solved.

jiyong initially fell for how unapologetic you are. who would've thought on your third date with the utmost famous kpop idol, that you'd be rapping his part in 'we belong together' to him at a random noraebang in gangnam at one in the morning? you remember thinking you couldn't believe you made it this far with him, so you just decided to do whatever—to see what happens, but also alleviate nerves, primarily. albeit you mumbled through a third of it and your hiccups from the soju you shared echoed loudly into the microphone—but you charmed the fuck out of him. he hadn't laughed that hard in a long while, and his flustered state followed him all the way home and into calling you the next day. it trickled into your relationship as it became more serious and into marriage: you were never afraid to tell him an accessory didn't go with an outfit (which has caused some petty arguments), not act like you liked a track when you didn't, or let him think he landed a joke well on a variety show (he always did, though. you just teased him so you could squish his cheeks from how deeply he pouted.) your honesty was refreshing, considering how easy it was to be surrounded by yes-men in the industry he's in.

jiyong showed his love in front of his staff, too. it wasn't only apparent in your holding of his hand in your lap during car rides, or his hand on your lower back as he showed you around sets for his music videos, but just how he visibly brightened at the sight of his wife. even in the midst of a contentious conversation with his team over creative direction, you sucked him out it just by walking into the room. that smile, the glow on his face—it was damning. better yet, you joined in too, unable to ignore the frustrated furrow of his eyebrows. some staffers couldn't help but gossip on their lunch breaks sometimes, saying in those meetings it felt like they were sat with the co-presidents of a company, or giggle over how they overheard you planting rather loud kisses on your husband's face, talking sweetly when you thought you two were alone and out of earshot ("you're my baby—my sweetheart." you kissed his cheek, soon landing on his lips with his makeshift pout from your holding of his face. "i am." he hummed, puckering his lips. "i'm your big baby."—"that's the same man who was growling into the mic the first day i met him?" said one assistant to another over lunch. "no, it makes sense," she countered with the shake of her head after taking a sip of her drink. "he's also the same guy who wrote 'good boy.'"

he does not go to sleep without you. jiyong makes due when he's overseas, albeit begrudgingly and does not let you hang up the facetime call when you both fall asleep. when you're both home, he gets up off the couch and takes your hand, tugging it. "come to bed. it's almost eleven." he said, pulling your arm. "i'm in the middle of my show, my love." you respond, pulling him back towards you. "i'll give you my ipad. now, c'mon." "fine, fine." you give in, pressing the power button on the remote before getting up. his free hand held your jaw, squishing your cheeks together and pouting your lips, placing a playful kiss. "thank you, my baby." he muttered. "yeah, yeah," you said before his lips returned to yours. "it better be charged." and it was, perched in your lap, finishing your episode with his airpods, too, jiyong snoring quietly beside you, having fallen asleep with his hand atop yours over the duvet.

when he comes home after extra exhausting days at work—especially if it was comeback prep, a studio session, a music video or performance filming day that began early that morning—he's very mumbly. upper half of his face hidden under a thick beanie, placing a lazy peck on your cheek as a greeting, shuffling to the shower, and plopping down almost cartoonishly at the dining table with a huff. you bring him a bowl of steaming leftovers from your cooking like clockwork. before you turn around to go get white wine for the both of you, jiyong takes your hand in his, pressing kisses onto your soft skin; a wordless thank you. you brush back his hair with your fingers, kissing his forehead. "i love you too." you say. "eat well, hm?"

you retrieve the previously opened bottle of white wine from one of the kitchen cabinets, carrying two glasses in your other hand. you pour the same amount for him and yourself, cheersing wordlessly before taking a drink. it was then that you saw jiyong still had a colored lens on—his left eye his natural brown, the right an unnatural pale grey, looking at you like an inverted mangekyo sharingan since the pupils weren't completely aligned—and thought to yourself oh! ... must've been a really long day, then.

he plans birthday and anniversary gifts months in advance. early in your relationship, he gifted very often, until he had no choice but to dial it down at your request. you lived in a small studio apartment until you moved in with him a year before he proposed, and there was only so much room for gifts varying from weekly flower bouquets (your personal favorite, even if it meant your kitchen counter and coffee table were virtually unusable with vases filled with daises, roses, and carnations), cartier bracelets ("do i look like someone who has somewhere to wear this to?" "yes, you do. on our trip to jeju next weekend and every single date after that."), or a first edition print of a book you love ("you spend too much money on me." "i would open my own bank just to take care of you.") even so, jiyong still has his ways—a new perfume on your vanity on the anniversary of his asking to be your boyfriend; a weekend getaway for your birthday; restocking your skincare whenever he walks in on you screwing the cap off your moisturizer to get the last bits of it; a mini tin of chocolate truffles paired with a loving handwritten note he always leaves on your bedside table before he travels overseas, even if you see him off to the airport.

wedding anniversaries are mainly spent at home. you've traveled elsewhere for the occasion before, but as you got older, cooking a warm meal together, opening a bottle of champagne, cutting expensive tiramisu cake, and sharing kisses on the couch sufficed more than enough. some anniversaries are tipsier than others, featuring either a comedically inebriated attempt of recreating your wedding dance ("and then i spun you around—" "no, you dipped me, jiyong." "hey! you don't think i know what happened at my own wedding?" "i was there, too! and you dipped me!") whilst the cats meow in protest of the noise, or going down a youtube rabbit hole and him begging you not to put on the bigbang secret garden parody in the recommended ("but it's my favorite thing you've ever done!" "stop lying, i know you like zutter the most!"), or the tradition of him playing 'HoneyBaeGirl,' a short song he wrote—and many since then—about you after becoming official all those years ago ("'girl, you make my pen fly off my paper, but not as fast as the stork that'll carry our baby' ... you really liked me that much?" "you say this every year, and i always tell you that i started looking at rings before our six months.")

however, without fail, every year jiyong is the last to fall asleep on the night of your anniversary. your upper half atop his, legs entangled underneath the fluffy duvet, his arms wrapped around your back, hands holding your head to his chest; two tall glasses once filled with water on his nightside table, downed before bed in an effort to thwart a possible hangover the next day. it's the feeling of his fingers combing your hair back that lulls you to sleep, along with the intermittent flutter of kisses to your forehead, and the vibrations of his chuckles against your ear when you mumbled something tiredly. "i love you so much, honey. thank you for another year." he spoke quietly. "i love you too," you muttered, slumber heavy in your senses. "let's do a millennia." he grinned. "let's do it."

when you fall asleep, his palm rests along your jaw, thumb tracing the supple skin of your cheekbone back and forth. his eyes would watch the rise and fall of your chest against his, or peer down at your face. so blissfully asleep, so easily beautiful. no matter how late at night, or how much liquor he drank, as if on cue, his mind shuffled through memories in a scattered sequence—the first time you spoke on the phone so long that the early morning sun caught him off guard; the coordinated efforts to see you in private; when your relationship leaked anyway during your two year anniversary trip (whilst you were still actively on it); when you were defiant upon his suggesting to break up to protect you ("why should i compromise for people who live in a false reality?"); hundreds of hours spent in the studio when dates felt impossible with his schedule, to you ultimately getting fed up and just meeting him where he was, leading to endless recordings he's kept on his laptop of you haphazardly attempting to rap to a beat he's made or sampling you in songs that stay between the two of you; his proposal, and both of yours blubbering tears ("c-can i—will you—" "—y-yes! oh my god, yes!" "i have to finish the question—oh my god, i can't breath through my own tears—c'mere, i'll wipe yours."); or one night on your four year wedding anniversary trip when you two were at polar opposite ends of the hotel lobby after a particularly rowdy night at the club together following a romantic dinner, both equally drunk if not you rivaling him—jiyong sat in a cushioned chair, on the phone with either an assistant, producer, or his financial advisor. you didn't know, nor the third rum and coke looming in your system hadn't made you care all that much. you were too busy trying to keep your eyes open to not out your deep inebriation to the poor concierge working the overnight shift whilst jiyong spoke quietly albeit with a finger in his other ear as if he was still in the club.

it was his recollection of this next part that always made jiyong grin to himself, the vibrations of his chuckle against your ear resulting in your satisfied yet meek hum amidst your slumber: "could you—would you be able to bring more towels to suite 403?" you asked politely, attempting irrationally to thwart the continued slurring of your words by straightening your posture. "it should be under the name . . . " your eyes went wide. "oh my goodness, what's my name?" you looked around worriedly, catching your shaky balance by gripping the counter, unable to believe that you were so far gone that your surname temporarily slipped from your consciousness. the concierge tried to get your attention saying she knew who you were as she was the person who checked you in a few days ago, but your fingers tapped your lips anxiously, seeing jiyong get up from his seat and walk over. "ji . .. jiyong—" you tried to call him over, but it felt like your voice couldn't go above a certain point. you turned back to the concierge, blurting the first thing that came to mind: "dragon. try dragon." you pointed to the computer, irrational worry knotted between your eyebrows. then your heart dropped for an entirely different reason: "i just compromised our safety." "what?" jiyong giggled beside you, hand finding your hip. "i leave you alone for two minutes and you're talking like you're in a bond film." you quickly leaned towards his ear, making yourself dizzy in the process. "i just told them you're g-dragon." you whispered frantically. he couldn't hold in his laughter, finding the ordeal amusing. the look on your face wasn't any better. he was pocketing this memory forever."that's fine, my love. they know—" "—i told them i'm mrs. dragon!" you whispered. "well, for one: you are." he shrugged his shoulders, hiccuping in the middle of his colorful laughter. "and two: its fine," jiyong assured, taking your hand. its good that we're leaving tomorrow, though. his inner monologue percolated at the back of his head. "let's head to our room. we're gonna feel this in the morning."

speaking of mornings: they're sacred in your household. historically, jiyong's the first to wake. but he doesn't get up until a while later, often silently coexisting with your sleeping form. call it two lost souls finding each other in this life, mere coincidence, or whatever it may be, but you wake up no more than a half hour after him—jiyong's ears perking up at the sound of your all-too-familiar, prolonged hmph. he scoots over, duvet rustling as his body molds against yours, lips finding that spot on your temple. you respond with the gradual wrapping of your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer, warmth doubling. "good morning." he mumbled lowly, satisfied with your barely passing verbal response of another hmph. after a while, you nudge him off, feeling sweat start to build. "m'boiling." "you're s'mean." jiyong protested weakly, but obliged, moving back lazily to his side of the bed. like clockwork, jiyong felt a tug at the collar of his shirt, or hand on his shoulder if he slept without one some moments later, beckoning him when you were more awake, voice coherent. "come back here." "i thought i almost killed you." "stop being dramatic. its barely seven in the morning." "you made me this way." "fine. then i'll take the car myself to work." it took a moment, but jiyong turned back to you, huffing with an air of faux stubbornness upon your lips finding his cheek. "you know i always take to you to work." jiyong muttered into your neck. "its non-negotiable." you adjusted your position, relieving your back and allowing him to lay more comfortably between your legs, warmth of your thighs snuggling against his waist. "anything's on the table if you act stupid enough." "i don't have the brainpower for a witty comeback." "be quiet and let me hold you, then."

you were devastatingly beautiful in the mornings. one peek into your brain and jiyong knew you would think your dry lips, oily t-zone, shorts that rode up your ass comedically and uncomfortably, and sleep lines running across your cheek and arm after a restful night of sleep wasn't exactly the sight—but you were wrong; you were a sight to behold. jiyong's held that sense of awe from the first time you fell asleep beside him on one of your first movie nights as twenty-something-year-olds—never forgetting what it felt like to internalize the sound of your softened breaths, or your head dropping to his shoulder. to have your trust whilst you were in such a vulnerable state tugged at his tear ducts, despite his failed argument of "its because we were watching 'little miss sunshine' that i got so worked up," only to be pulled into your arms upon your catching sight of his increasingly glossy eyes, adorning his face with kisses.

it was the same sensation today as he opened his eyes, thumb tracing the wrinkles of your bottom lip before settling in the temporary divot of your cheek casted by your pillow; waist welcoming the subtle grip of those thick thighs that bestow upon him both heavenly pleasures and a sense of home; fingers fluttering past your rolls for his palm to grip the side of your right thigh, feeling the plushness of your skin nurtured by moisturizer and body oil applied the night before, humming in content at the soft prickle of body hair against his palm; hand sneaking past the bottom hem of your shorts, thumb kneading the powdery plushness of your ass, earning him a shaky breath as his lips peppered kisses onto your neck. jiyong slowly trailed down your chest, propping himself up with his free elbow, pulling your cami down enough to expose your right breast. he relished in your scent, basking in the lingering luxurious vanilla as his lips encircled your areola before taking it entirely in his mouth. he suckled with intent, lapping your hardening peak with his eyes closed. if he didn't think about it, he'd lull himself to sleep. it's happened before.

you brought his free hand to your lips, pressing kisses onto his fingertips until you cut yourself off with a small moan, looking down at your husband completely lost in you. the sun had barely began to rise, but here you two were, clearing either of your senses of slumber with your concurrent libidos—like you weren't a day past twenty-four; going at it in a company car before he walked into the practice room with an unmatched aura and graphic tee on inside out, hair tousled. "make it quick," you whispered, bottom lip caught between your teeth when his hand kneaded your left breast. "have to get up in fifteen minutes." "got it." he murmured. jiyong worked quickly, shoving his pants below his knees whilst you pull your shorts down enough to let him in with ease. it was a picturesque way to start your day: holding onto your husband's shoulders as he worked his hips into yours, listening to his quick pants since he's historically ignored the fact that he's more sensitive in the mornings as to not keep himself from making love to the pussy god herself carved for and bestowed upon him all those years ago—every squeeze a blessing; squirm fruitful bounty; utterance of your name a prayer.

jiyong sounded so frail in your ear, begging for mercy from something he started. "s-shit—f-fuck—slow d-down—" he said to no one but himself, voice falling into a mewl, breathing heavily. "how do you—how do you still feel so g-good after all this time? huh?" he's felt you unabashedly raw for years, but some part of him will always be left in awe—where does he begin? jiyong already sees the pearly gates when the skeleton of his name is whispered meekly through your teeth, let alone how it seems you mutually long for one another in your respective rem cycles, considering you slip so swiftly into one another—literally and metaphorically—mere minutes after you've woken up. its not that odd or rather dubious cliché of "feeling young again" or whatever the fuck—its the familiarity of someone that keeps you sane and drives you crazy all the same. and how your muscle memory serves you right even in a state of slight deliriousness, wrapping your legs as best you can around his waist as his heavy balls plop against the bottom of your ass . . . it was beyond jiyong how he wasn't a father of five yet.

"mmf! fuck! t-taking it s-so well—so e-early in the m-morning, too." "w-wouldn't want it any other—o-oh my god, just like that! just like that!" you grabbed at the back of his shoulders, chest pushing into his, your back arching. "harder, jiyongie. h-harder." the look on your face was his motivation to keep going despite his increasingly blurry vision and mounting pressure on his knees from being in the same position. there it was—the face he strived to make music to encapsulate; etched in his memory so many times, but when he sees it, its like he's never seen it before; if someone showed twenty-year-old him a photo of you and told him you were going to be his wife, he'd need a defibrillator. "f-fuck! h—h-haa!" he whimpered faintly, eyebrows contorted upward, hearing the bed creak as he rammed into you. you were in a state of bliss: hair messy, dried drop of drool in the corner of your mouth, toes curling into the linen, sleepies in the corners of your eyes—stretched out by the love of your life at 7:15 in the morning. you weren't particularly religious, but perhaps this is what being god's favorite feels like.

he's a pussy eater to his core. you spent months stuffing your face into your pillow so your roommates wouldn't overhear at three in the morning; jiyong put a chair to the door when you came by promptly before he was due to work with the company producers that day, making way for you two to become masters at hiding what went down less than an hour before on the same couch his boss was now sitting on; your honeymoon reeked of it—and he's a devout enjoyer to this day. the night you sat on his face for the first time, he booked a studio afterwards whilst you slept peacefully next to him on your full size bed—saying some of the raunchiest shit he's ever thought of into that microphone when no one was around. only to play it for you the next night he was over at your apartment, physically feeling his soul achieve completion when you mounted his face again, disappearing between your thighs; seeing double when you rode his cock like it was your last night alive. it was also a rare night where all of your roommates were out—you didn't take that opportunity lightly. or gently. or timidly, really.

his gaze lingers on you in the kitchen the weekends you have off, stealing glances whilst you tried to make something out of the leftovers from the fridge for lunch; growing sick of ordering in all the time. jiyong's attention had long strayed from whatever was playing on the television, fingers toying with the press-on that was half-on half-off his middle finger, eyes barely diverting from you—relaxed in a cami and shorts, stomach peeking over the top hem, your cellulite and curvature of your body illuminated by the streaks of sunlight pouring in from the balcony window—even when one of the cat's dotingly rubbed against his leg when walking past. he got up from the couch, making his way over. he initially made his presence known with his palm tracing your hips, following the curvature of your ass before his chin settled on your shoulder. it was normal—nothing to be picked up on; a gesture you love so tenderly. in fact, you were the one who turned your head to look at him with a soft grin, leaning in and giving him a sweet kiss. it was the way jiyong reconnected it—slow and with a soft, stuttered hum—that you knew what was up.

"not now." you tutted. as if on cue, your stomach grumbled lowly. "m'hungry." "i am too." jiyong's palm rode up your stomach before nestling on your breast, kneading it slowly—another familiar touch, you just didn't have the patience for it right now. his other hand moved the strap of your cami on your other shoulder, letting it fall down your arm, pressing a kiss onto your skin. "you look s'good. can't help it. wanna taste." he muttered. "here, i'll get on the floor. just stay there." before he made his descent, you turned your head. "you're the one who told me his left knee's been giving him problems these last few days. has that suddenly disappeared?" he pouted. "i wanted to be sexy." you mimicked his pout, jutting your bottom lip. "midday on sunday when i'm trying to make us sandwiches out of more than tuna and leftover kimchi?" you quip. he leaned closer, rivaling your faux pout. "mhm," he closed the gap, kissing your cheek. "should've done it this morning when i had the chance. got too shy." you scoffed. "don't make me laugh," you said. "you're the same person who—what was it, again? the second?" you thought aloud; the memory clear in your head as confirmation. "oh, right. yeah—when you were called into the office the second time dispatch got those photos of us, and you told your boss you'd write a song about our 'tender love' to drive up album sales, since that's what he always talked about." jiyong shrugged his shoulders. "i gave him an in. but i am shy." "you can be. sometimes." "all the time." "sometimes." "all the time."

you adore his facial hair to the point of contemplating hiding his shaving kit. his hiatus, as it riddled him with questions of who he is and where he stands in the world, had its own unexpected pockets of unbridled humanity not tainted by the unforgiving eye of societal pressures. it showed in how jiyong texted you whilst you were at work when it became him being the one waiting for his spouse to come home—photos of the cats, what he made for lunch and planned on either making or ordering for dinner, and that he was going an episode back on the series you two were watching together because he didn't remember how a certain plot point progressed. this was especially prevalent during his military service: Don't worry, I'll remember where we left off

on those days he had his scruff—lining his upper lip and peppering his chin—you were unabashed. sure, in the first year or two when you started dating, it was shy glances and hiding your disappointment when he showed up to your apartment freshly-shaven before a comeback. jiyong may have been young, but he wasn't clueless. it was hard not to put the pieces together whenever it was always "one more kiss" when he left for the night, seeing your eyes flutter to his mouth before leaning in again; your back already arched when he trailed kisses down your inner thighs before eating you out, muffling your own moans behind your palm from how good his scruff felt against your skin. this was certainly the tipping point. you never forgot what his "let me hear you" sounded like—slightly demanding, but all the more knowing. it made you moan louder, unabashedly stuffing his face into your cunt with his tongue's every ministration.

the floodgates had opened with you knowing he knew; fucking him as he tried to fuck you from behind, embattling for power. jiyong tried to keep his composure—it was the hottest thing he's ever fucking seen—keeping his grip on your hips, grunting in the midst of your moans. it was the clapping of skin and watching your globes recoil after hitting his pelvis repeatedly that made him surrender his grip to the headboard to keep his balance. and your breathy fucking "jiyongie—j-jiyongie!" bottom lip caught between your teeth, eyebrows curled upward; elbows and knees set ablaze, stomach rubbing uncomfortably against the duvet, but it felt too good to stop. "f-feel so fucking good!" you cried, eyes rolling back hearing his whimper. "fuck me back. fuck me back—n-need it, baby. need it s'bad." jiyong slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, hearing you wince longingly at the loss of him filling you up. the condom was creamy and visibly wet. he moaned when he saw his cock twitch inside of you. "all—all this—hngh! f-fuck!" he gradually pushed back in, feeling your gummy walls welcome him like never before. "a-all this b-because of some facial hair, baby? yeah?" "y-yes!" you gasped, eyes squeezing shut when his hips showed no mercy. jiyong ate his own words when he came over a different night, telling you he was going to shave tomorrow, thinking he would be able to handle whatever came his way with a smug grin. he looked ghostly an hour later—spread eagle on your bed, hands lifeless on either side of your ass, only mustering enough strength to kiss you back to break it with his own pathetic whimper, begging for more.

now its sweet hums of satisfaction feeling his scruff when he gives you a kiss before work, tracing it with your fingers as he lulls himself to sleep, or admiring how beautiful he looks. don't get it twisted—those desires never went away. jiyong leads you to his lips with his tongue the nights he comes home from traveling abroad, kissing you in just the way you like, but also the way he knows you feel his four-day-old scruff against your skin. it earns him the chill of your engagement ring and wedding band on the back of his neck, reconnecting the kiss sensually but with a hint of hunger, tilting your head to deepen it. you broke the kiss to catch your breath, forehead landing on his as the water sloshed around you in the tub, his fingers fucking you underneath the rose-scented suds. "a little gentler, jiyongie." "m'sorry," he mumbled. "its okay—" "—just missed my love so much, is all." "missed you t-too." his lips cast a kiss on your shoulder before settling his forehead there, hearing your more satisfied breath when he altered his pace.

or a few days later, when he was trying so hard to watch the confession between the two leads of a series he's been waiting eighteen episodes to see with you, but just couldn't stop himself from shoving his dick deeper into your mouth. there you were, back of your head facing the television, laying comfortably on your side with your feet curled up on the bed, listening to the dialogue whilst sucking your husband's dick. you did it with bliss—like second nature, only opening your eyes to catch your breath and pump his hard cock coated with a mixture of his slick and your spit. he watched you with deeply furrowed eyebrows and his bottom lip begging for mercy—contrasting wildly with how casually he propped his head up with his elbow on his pillow. "f-fuck—a-agh!" he mewled, eyes squeezing shut as you did what he loved most, and may or may not have percolated at the back of his mind when he gifted you a lady dior bag for your birthday that year—sucking hard on his tip, then slowly letting go. the sound your cheeks made when un-hollowing was diabolical. twenty-five year old jiyong would want to somehow sneak that into a b-side, distorting the sound enough to pass it as part of the beat drop or something—anything; seamless to the listener, sinful to him. the idea still stood all these years later, but perhaps he would stick to just keeping it in the lyrics . . .

"hngh! oh my fucking—" jiyong's hand slipped into your hair without thinking, at your complete helm as he watched you take more than half of him into your mouth, sucking hard, before bobbing up and down normally. his voice was a noticeable octave higher—"like that, like that—k-keep—keep going!" "shut up," you muttered. you readjusted yourself on your elbow, feeling your neck begin to strain, his hand falling lifeless onto the bed. you let go of his dick, wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, noticing how his cock barely moved from how hard it was. you started pumping him again, hearing him suck a breath through his teeth. "can't hear the tv. turn up the volume." "o-okay, honey—" jiyong gasped when he returned to your mouth. "okay—f-fuck! oh, fuck—okay!" he reached with his non-dominant hand to the nightside table, aimlessly grabbing for the remote, knocking it to the floor in the process. the small crash made you nearly choke on his dick, popping off quickly in attempts to stifle your laughter behind your hand. "s'fine—s'fine. i got it—" he tried to reach down, but to no avail. "get back here," you beckoned, tugging at his shirt. "you've waited long enough."

this goes without saying, but you have everything you could ever need. from the moment he gave you his black card after a year of dating to use on anything you want, spending five minutes after that ensuring you that he was in the right state of mind ("why're you giving this to me? you barely know me." "what? you and i both know i know you enough to trust you.") to calling you that same week to tell you its okay to use it after seeing only two charges for coffee a few days apart ("i want to take care of you. you're the only one for me, you know that?" "you're crazy." "well, for you." "i set myself up for that one, didn't i?") to feeling utmost satisfaction seeing charges for household maintenance or paying for a movie night with your friends ("it felt rebellious to spend twenty dollars per ticket for five people with someone else's money." "i think you're the funniest person i know.")

you weren't exactly a public figure—jiyong made sure of that as much as he possibly could, as it was your wish—but that didn't mean you were completely or utterly unrecognizable. photos of existed out there of the two of you, either floated around by dispatch, or when your thank-you-for-attending cards containing your official wedding portrait leaked to the press—both with years in-between them. you went to concerts when you felt comfortable enough or could. he never pressured you to do something you didn't want to, but if he really wanted you to come (which was more often than not, if not all the time,) he'd find his ways: "there's going to be a fun rendition of crooked, and my hair will be styled the way you like." "jiyong, i already took my pto. i'm coming." "i love you so much."

in the years of his hiatus, there were several months that went by where everything felt fine, so you took public transit. it wasn't much or often, per se, only when jiyong felt too under the weather to drive you ("head down to the lot. i'll get the keys, baby." "you look ghostly. i'll leave ginger tea brewing on the stove before i leave."), wasn't home, or when he woke up feeling a little off, opting to stay in bed for a little while longer after giving you a tender kiss goodbye. if you looked out the window long enough during that fifteen minute commute, you suddenly felt like the twenty-one year old you once were that wasn't able to be on time for anything, let alone for classes. there were some days you would see the knowing glances from other passengers, or double takes a fool wouldn't notice. to your fortune, they either didn't say anything, or you sped to the escalator before they could.

one evening after work, however, you weren't headed home but out to dinner with a friend. several stops before your usual terminal, cutting down the usual fifteen minute ride to four—remember that. you rushed into the crowded train car before the doors closed, holding onto a nearby pole a small group of passengers around you gripped, fixing your hair that was messily tousled by the wind and securing your purse over your shoulder. in the midst of that, you caught sight of a prototype peaceminusone daisy pin, having forgotten you clipped it onto your blazer weeks ago after jiyong showed you the new collaboration he was working on. it was a moment that lasted mere seconds, the pin covered up by your purse strap after adjusting your posture, but it was enough for someone to see and make the connection after recognizing you. you hadn't realized someone was tailing you until you were outside of the restaurant. jiyong didn't let you go on public transit again for over a year, hiring an on-call chauffeur that same week.

private as you were, and as much the universe tested the both of you—you and jiyong had ways of finding humor amidst the turmoil. he's culturally ordained the king of kpop, yes, but also is equally deserving of the title of being-subtle-but-not-silent—exhibit a being the year when he showed up to paris fashion week with a strategically placed dark maroon-hued kiss mark in the divot of his collarbone, purposefully poking out of the collar of the chanel piece he was wearing. you did it in a rush in the bathroom of his hotel suite as he was running late; the idea coming to the both of you when you put the finishing touches on his outfit—a long-standing tradition usually administered through dusting something off his clothing, adjusting an accessory, or in this case, applying one. netizens ate each other alive—some saying it was what it clearly was, despite the angle of the photos and his clothing hiding a lot but not all, and others convincing themselves it was a birthmark not seen before that day, or a new tattoo. exhibit b being when you were spotted on a "rare public outing" (dispatch's words, not yours; you're no stranger to grocery runs) wearing a very obviously bootlegged g-dragon shirt—his face pixelated and off-center in the front, name separated by several spaces as opposed to a hyphen in the back; a gag gift from a friend a few christmases ago. he thought it was hilarious, sending you the photos himself: You look hot. The guy on your shirt not so much :)

it was a lovely surprise to see you in the crowd when bigbang returned to the stage at mama, stood in a closed-off section of the seating with members of his staff. the lip readers of the internet metaphorically rode off into the sunset after revealing to the world that you, indeed, said gleefully to his manager that you've known for years: "he looks so fucking good, oh my god!" and "i'm glad he went with that necklace!" whilst pointing at the stage—all before dancing and shouting the words back to him like it was your last night alive, of course. another staff member took a video and sent it to the group chat for him to watch in bed whilst you did your skincare in the en suite, tucked into his side, burying his face into his pillow as his face grew warmer.

to this day, he becomes so unexpectedly shy. that same night, for example, you had to use both hands to tug his shoulder to get him to look at you. even then, he still hid his face in his pillow, not having the gall to look at you or wipe that stupid smile off his face. your kisses to his warming cheek didn't help him, let alone your usual line: "you've made me see stars. now you don't want to see me?" you said by his ear, hand rubbing up his back tenderly, giggling upon hearing his muffled groan. "don't say that," he elongated the last syllable, arm slinging over your waist, fingers grazing the top of your ass. "you know i can't bear it." "mhm," you hummed, voice sounding akin to honey. "at least give me a goodnight kiss. i worked so hard cheering for you tonight, you know?" you smiled, hand now coming up to brush his hair back, ushering him to you. jiyong lifted his head, bringing his lips to yours. your hand held his cheek, kissing him back, lips separating slowly. "i love you." you whispered. "i love you more."

or when you two make lunch together, him washing and cutting the vegetables whilst you looked for the pan needed to sauté for the quick dish you decided to make that afternoon. you placed the pan on the stove, turning the correlating knob to ignite the fire underneath, drizzling it with olive oil whilst it began to heat up; an anecdote from work commentating everything. "thought i heard something about lay-offs. turns out, it was just that asshole co-worker that got laid over the weekend." jiyong's eyebrows raised, amused. "you heard that on your lunch break?" you gave him a look that deepened his upside down grin, shaking your head. "the shit i hear, my love," you tutted. "i'm surprised i'm not stuck in a state of perpetual grievance." he let out a laugh, his eyes kissing at the end. "you can be so funny, you know?" "can be?" you quipped, unable to hide your grin. "i thought it was the funniest person you knew, hm?" you tugged at this shirt, bringing his cheek to your lips.

your hand found his lower back, rubbing sweetly. "have you finished halving the tomatoes? i think the rice should be done by now." you thought aloud, peering over to the opposite end of the counter, seeing the steam pour out of the cooker. "mhm. almost." he murmured, feeling his neck and face warm. you turned to look at him, seeing the all-too-familiar avoidant gaze and awkwardly readjusting of his posture, topped off with a sharp inhale through his nostrils. you smiled knowingly, wrapping your arms around his waist, looking up at him. "did i blink and suddenly twenty-four year old jiyong showed up?" "stop it." he murmured, prolonging that last syllable. "you were so cute back then—" "—am i not cute now?" "hush. let me say my case." his face scrunched up with his smile, landing his forehead against yours. "we didn't know bullshit about anything. you were so keen to please. in more ways that one." he buried his face in your neck, making you laugh, skin hot against yours as your hands traveled up his back. "you're going to kill me." he muttered. "you know," you said to him. "there's not a boring day with you."

arguments aren't non-existent. when they occurred, you both knew each other well enough to take whatever course of action necessary: talking it out, or if things still felt too hot, taking a breather. you trusted each other to know things would mend, no matter if it was immediate or after some hours of silence. the only exception was if one happened before he had to travel for work—he squashed that shit like a bug. he learned that lesson the hard way in his mid-twenties, thinking he could hold out and carry a grudge to prove a point over some petty argument, only to fly home during the first two-day break on tour, knocking on your door when he knew you were home from work. jiyong couldn't live with it, being hundreds if not thousands of miles away from you, knowing something was pestering your mind, or hurt was ruminating somewhere inside you. no relationship is perfect, but he would be damned if he didn't at least try—especially through the ruckus you've endured from being with someone as famous as him. to jiyong, its the least he could do. he feels fortunate the universe led him to a spouse who wants to handle things with care as much as he does—to move mutually and maturely.

when he misses you, its palpable. whether it be when you leave the passenger's seat after he drops you off at work, or when you can't come with him to new york fashion week, he feels it. as do you. its never nice to wake up to an empty house, or an unfamiliar hotel room, but you make due. texts suffice as much as it can if you can't facetime, making you grin to yourself at your desk: Do you like it? he sent over a mirror selfie and staff-taken photos of him in a chanel ensemble he wore to a runway show in what was his afternoon and your early morning, hearting the one where he looked a little caught off guard. I do! Your hair color clashes with the outfit, though you typed back, stifling your laughter at his response ten minutes later: I'm not coming home. I'm laughing too much at my desk you're going to get me in trouble, you responded, only to have to put your hand over your mouth and muffle yourself. Stop laughing at my misery

jiyong texted you throughout the night for you to read in the morning: photos of his food, Here's the beer I paid way too much for, asking about the cats, and selfies of him in any state: one eye open with the other closed as his makeup artist does his eyeshadow; him pretending to smoke his lighter; one where nothing but his eyes and forehead are visible with the car window down halfway, a glimpse of the empire state building behind him with the accompanying Do you know where I am right now; I think we should have gotten married here; to the most recent I miss you a lot my baby. Call me when you wake up sent an hour ago. it was early morning for you and early evening for jiyong—you swiped right on his last message: Good morning from my side of the world; Are you at your hotel? Make sure you're outside in about 10 min. I'm going to have breakfast on the balcony, we can look at the same sky together

jiyong was out to dinner with his staff, excusing himself from the table when your texts came through. he stepped outside, your phone vibrating after you took your first bite of toast. he felt his sinuses loosen, his eyes misty at the sound of your voice on the other end of the line. it hadn't even been twelve hours since he last heard you, but he got worked up nonetheless: "hello? jiyong, can you hear me?" "yeah, honey. i can hear you," he nodded, blinking hard. "i have—i have the wifi. i'm outside. out to dinner." he swallowed. "what does the sky look like for you? its getting dark here. central park is across the street, and i think i see the moon over one of the trees." "hmm," you thought aloud, leaning to your left. "its early here. the sun hasn't come over the building yet. but the sky is clear. its nice today." "yeah?" he smiled, his vision blurry. "thats—thats good. i'm glad, honey." he nodded, looking down at the sidewalk pavement. "listen, uh . . . you need to stop being randomly poetic over text." "randomly poetic?" "like—like what you said about looking at the same sky, or something." his mind was scrambled. you heard him sniffle. "it hit me—it hit me a little hard."

"oh," your heart melted. "i'm . . . sorry?" you heard him laugh on the other side of the line, hiding your face behind your hand from no one. "its okay, honey. its okay." he assured with a stupidly big smile, despite you not being able to see. "i guess what i'm trying to say is, i don't know how i got so lucky." he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. "and my plane can't come fast enough, you know?" "i know." you nodded, looking down at the floor, corner of your lip caught between your teeth whilst your eyes watered. "you can't make me cry not even an hour after i wake up. you should pay a fine. or something." he let out a colorful laugh, not paying mind to the stares he got from passerbys. "thats fair." he said. "i have to finish breakfast and plate the cats' food. the car'll be coming in ten minutes." "you need to quit that damn job and spend all your time with me. i've been telling you for years now, baby."

you smirked to yourself, taking a bite of your toast. "listen, you keep crying over me like this," you said after taking a sip of water. "then maybe becoming a trophy wife is written in my fate." you joked, hearing him laugh. "i love you!" he exclaimed, smile evident in his voice. "i love you so fucking much, holy shit." "if you're still up by then, i'll call you during my lunch break." "oh, i'll be up. don't worry." he shook his head in reassurance, free hand on his hip. "i'll stay up for you. let me know when you get to work, okay? i love you." "i love you tenderly."

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf, @infinetlyforgotten, @mesopotamism, @riddlerloveb0t, @pepsicolapussi

#kwon jiyong #gdragon #bigbang #kwon jiyong x reader #kwon jiyong imagine #gdragon imagine #gdragon x reader #bigbang imagine #bigbang smut #kwon jiyong smut #gdragon smut #kpop #g dragon x reader #g dragon #g dragon imagine #bigbang x reader #jiyong imagine #jiyong #jiyong smut

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saidrabbles · 7 months ago

Text

the way you are

pairing: kwon jiyong x idol! reader

summary: amidst crazy stalker threats, you receive an irresistible opportunity to collaborate with the one and only, g-dragon.

warnings: excessive stalking, threatening with weapons.

a/n: i’m always reluctant to write for jiyong, feeling like i won’t give it justice. but i’ve been wanting new jiyong fics heh

not proofread

breathe in, breathe out. that’s what you have been trying to do to regulate the overwhelming fear and stress from the last couple of months. you’ve had plenty of haters, critics and stalkers all up on your business, but not quite like this one. the stalker released personal information that almost cost you your house, as you stare at the plants that you’ve spent incredible attention so that they flourish. not only that, but he started threatening your life, posting photos of the weapons he will use on you.

which is why you’re currently laying on your bed, with countless guards all around your apartment, as well as the entry. what started as a two-week hiatus stretched into three months, as they still can’t pinpoint his location. your thoughts quiet down as the ringing becomes louder. it’s your manager. “hello? have you found him?” it was instinct at this point, asking about updates.

the person on the other side sighed, “no, but i received an interesting collaboration invite. i know that you can’t think about music at the moment, but i thought if i turn this one down without asking you, you’d come for my ass one day.” you were intrigued to say the least. “go on..”

“it’s g-dragon.” you jump up from your bed, your breath caught in your throat. “he’s making his comeback album, and he told us he would love to work with you, he’s a fan.” you feel your heart beat a little faster. you not only know about g-dragon, but you knew him as kwon jiyong too. you’ve met at several events, hitting it off as you found several shared interests. but he never asked for your number, nor did you.

you sat silently thinking about doing a collaboration with him, during this icky time where you don’t know how to go out without feeling hyper-aware of every eyeball pointed your way. but remembering his deep brown eyes got you agreeing. you missed singing, and you missed the presence of another human other than your bodyguards and manager. that’s all that it is, you tried reasoning with yourself.

~~~~

walking down to his studio, you felt nervous. there will be nothing between us, you breathed. you knocked, and almost immediately heard footsteps coming your way. he opened the door, his eyes meeting yours almost instantly. “hey.” he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, “hey” you smiled. he settled for a handshake, wanting to seem cool and casual. you felt vulnerable standing outside, and wanted to be engulfed with the safety of four walls as soon as possible. you couldn’t shake the uneasiness.

for the next few hours, thoughts of said stalker left you as you listened to his demo, discussed the essence of the song, which emotions he wanted the song to evoke. he was truly charming when he spoke with such passion. his eyes sparkled in a way that pulled you right into them, wanting to know the meaning behind some of the deeper sparkles in them. he has a habit of ruffling his hair or biting his thumb when he’s thinking, you thought to yourself.

the moment of admiration and peace came to a stop as your manager entered the studio with worried eyes. you knew. you excused yourself as you left the studio with her, feeling the overwhelming stress take over your senses. “he’s posted again. he was dumb enough to leave a big clue on where he is, but i’m not sure we’ll make it in time.” you felt yourself go numb. he’s on the run, he could be anywhere and you were not in the safety of your home. “hey” the brunette held you in place by the shoulders, “don’t worry. i’m here, you’re here and i will protect you no matter what.” she sighed “the safest place right now is in that studio” she left you frozen in place as your manager went to talk to the police.

after a few minutes, you regained your composure and went back in.

he could sense your change in demeanor, he could see it in the paleness of your once rosy cheeks, the lack of focus in your eyes. you sat in your chair, barely acknowledging the warm presence next to you. he stared at you for a few moments, trying to figure out what went wrong.

he was pulled out of his thoughts as he heard a clap. “okay, let’s do this!” you try to look at him, unable to hold eye contact, feeling like you would cry if you did. “i think i got the gist of what you want in the song, i want to start on the lyrics right away- “(y/n)” you stopped midway, but still refused to fully look at him, the plushies on his sofa look way more interesting than his intuitive eyes. “(y/n), please look at me.” he tried again.

you don’t know if it was the pleading or the softness of his voice that made you give in. you slowly look at him, feeling tears well up in your eyes. his brows knit together in a frown, looking like a worried puppy. you bring your shaking hands to your face, covering the tears threatening to fall. “i’m so tired” your voice was raw and shaky.

all he wanted to do was pull you into his arms, to kiss away your precious tears...but he wanted you to be comfortable in being vulnerable with him and didn't want to scare you off.

"i just.." your voice was betraying your stance of resilience. that's when you felt a hand caressing the top of your head, so softly that you'd almost not notice if you weren't closing your eyes trying to suppress your tears. "i’ve been stalked for a while now, and yes i know, we have stalkers almost everywhere we go but this…he’s different.” you finally gain the courage to take your hands away from your face.

you carefully look at him, only to see his eyes already searching yours. “at first it was ‘normal’ stalking behavior but it progressed aggressively, from posting my whereabouts with possessive words to posting photos of me in the distance and a weapon pointed at my direction.” you heard him sharply inhale, like a dragon preparing to blow a huge fire on something, or someone. only then did you realize the close proximity that you’re in, his knees almost touching your thighs.

his eyes were no longer warm and inviting, you can almost see the protective fiery glistening. he gets up and leaves, leaving you dumbfounded. after what felt like hours, he came back. “i talked to my attorney, he works with some of the best detectives in seoul, and he will get the fucker on his knees in two days max.” he walked towards you, “until then, please allow me to escort you to the safest place i know, a house that not even my family knows about.” he stops in his tracks, his eyes widening at you. that’s when you realize your tears has betrayed you and are flowing freely down your face.

without thinking, he kneels down at where your sitting, and envelops you in the warmest embrace. it was right, protective, and everything you needed. sobs escaped as you held on to him, finally letting go. “i’m scared” you say almost incoherently, and you feel him pulling you closer, if it was even possible, as he drew comforting circles on your back. as he whispered protective promises, you felt your cries becoming hiccups, as you slowly calmed down.

he pulled away, only slightly, with one of his hands holding you while the other cupped you face, gently wiping your tears away. “i’m sorry that i didn’t know sooner” he breathed. “it’s okay” you choked. “no, it’s not. i have been following your updates, looking forward to anything that you do, wanting to approach you, but i never did.” he eyes moved down your lips for a moment then back to your eyes. “i should’ve asked your number the first day that i met you.” he confessed. it was your turn to stare at him wide-eyed.

“what do you…” you were once again aware of your close proximity. “mean?” you whispered, afraid talking any louder would give your feelings away. “i…liked you the first time i saw you, then started wanting more of you when i started talking to you. you amaze me, (y/n), truly.” he let you go, and you didn’t realize that you were holding your breath. “but i didn’t want to come off as weird, because, as weird as it sounds, im serious about you.”

you felt warmness spread from the center of your ribs outwards, enveloping you whole with new intense feelings. “well,” you breathed, “then that makes us two weirdos.” you brought your hand to hold his in place, afraid that he’ll run away with your confession, “i feel the same way about you” he felt his heartbeat speeding. “i like you too, jiyong. and i wanted to get your number way earlier on as well.”

you were almost blinded by his toothy smile, his eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lights. and before you could return a smile, he pressed his lips on the space between your brows, sending an embarrassing blush from your cheeks down to your neck. he pulled back, ghostly brushing his thumb over your lower lip, and before you could prepare your heart, he closed in the distance.

he wanted it to be a gentle kiss, he really did, but he couldn’t get enough of you. he could almost taste the coffee you’ve had a while ago, and he wanted to devour all of you. he put one hand around the back of your neck and his other on your waist and kissed you harder, biting your lower lip for permission. but he didn’t need one, because you were so desperate to let him in. he was rough, his neediness seeping through the kiss.

you both got lost in the kiss, forgetting about the necessity of air. you reluctantly pull back, only enough for the both of you to breathe, as he rested his forehead on yours. “that was…” you were both smiling. you haven’t felt this safe and happy in a really long time, and you didn’t want to let go of him, ever. “so, you said you know of a safe place for me?” you can see the side of his mouth move upwards into a smirk, “eager, are we?” you hit the his elbow, giggling.

“we have plenty of time to get there, i want to take it slow, with you.” you looked away, your cheeks betraying you. you heard him laugh, “me too (y/n), and i’ve never felt this way about someone. i want to protect you, if you allow me to.” you reached for his hand, interlocking them, and adding a reassuring squeeze “you have no choice now, since i don’t think i can feel safe with anyone but you.” you still had one question lingering in your mind.

“hey…uhm, does that mean you didn’t really want to collaborate with me? like…using it as an excuse..?”. “no, i really love your music, and i really want to release music with you.” you searched his eyes, looking for any sign that what he said wasn’t true. “although, i’m not going to lie, i thought if you saw me doing what i do best, music, you would…like me.” you placed your hand on the top of his head, ruffling it.

“but i liked you for the way you talk, the way you try to involve everyone in the conversation, the way your eyes shine when you talk about your passions.” you were now stroking his cheek, “i liked the way you carried yourself, and i like you even more for the way that you can be vulnerable with me. i love your music, of course, but kwon jiyong is so much more than music.” you smiled.

he brought your palm to his lips, and kissed it. he was in trouble now. you were in trouble. because he believes that he won’t be able to let you go, ever.

#gdragon #kwon jiyong #bigbang #jiyongie #drabbles #scenarios #imagines #writing #oneshots #fanfic #gdragon power #g dragon #taeyang #daesung #mama 2024

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emmiesoverthemoon · 3 months ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he’s so boyfriend: two

Pairings: choi seunghyun x reader / kwon jiyong x reader / kang daesung x reader

Word Count: 7,899

Summary: just cute little scenarios between u and each guy, the second edition! i got a little carried away this time,,, enjoy!!!

part one part three

pov: you get stuck in the rain without an umbrella

jiyong: cheesy cliché

The first cold droplets splatter against your skin, a slow drizzle turning into a full-on downpour as Jiyong tugs you by the wrist, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Come on," he grins, "what kind of lovers would we be if we didn’t have a dramatic rain moment?"

"You’re ridiculous," you laugh, half-heartedly resisting, but he's already dragging you into the open, past the overhang of the café where you’d been taking shelter. The rain hits instantly, cool and shocking, drenching through your clothes in seconds.

Jiyong doesn’t care. His arms spread out like he’s drinking in the sky itself, hair slicked to his forehead, his white shirt clinging to his frame, becoming slightly see through—which did not go unnoticed by you. He looks like he belongs in a movie—some reckless, lovestruck fool dancing in the middle of a storm, eyes twinkling as he turns to you.

You shake your head, exasperated but grinning. "You're actually crazy."

"And yet," he steps closer, looping his arms around your waist, "you love me."

You roll your eyes, but it’s true.

The world fades into soft, grey static, the rain a gentle rhythm on pavement, against your skin, the chill soaking through to your bones. Jiyong sways you, humming some old love song you don’t recognize, his laughter mixing with the music of the storm. He spins you once, then twice, and you go along with it, both of you slipping and sliding on wet pavement, giggling like idiots.

Then, he stops. Looks at you like you're the only thing worth seeing. His hands cup your face, fingers damp and chilled, but his lips—when he finally presses them against yours—are warm, sweet, lingering like he wants to stay in this moment forever.

It’s perfect.

At least, until reality smacks you both in the face.

Jiyong pulls back, blinking through the rain. “Wait—how are we getting home?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, your car—”

The two of you whip around to stare at his sleek, very dry sports vehicle parked under the streetlamp. As if on cue, a fat droplet slides off the tip of your nose.

Jiyong curses. “We’re gonna soak the seats.”

You groan. “We should’ve thought this through.”

But then he’s laughing—loud, carefree, absolutely unapologetic—and you can’t help but join in. The two of you bolt for the car, jumping into the seats with a wet splat. Jiyong winces as he grips the wheel, his soaked clothes sticking to the leather.

You glance at him, half-scolding, half-amused. "You and your movie moments."

He flashes you a cheeky grin. “Worth it.”

And as the car fills with the scent of rain and the sound of your shared, breathless laughter, you think—yeah. Maybe it was.

daesung: the noble sacrifice

The afternoon rain had started softly, a gentle pitter-patter against the windows of the café. But the moment you and Daesung stepped outside, it was like the sky couldn’t hold back anymore. The downpour began, soaking everything in an instant, and you squealed, pulling your jacket closer around yourself.

Daesung, ever the charmer, paused and dramatically looked at you, his eyes widening. “You’re cold,” he stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, no kidding, Daesung. It's raining cats and dogs out here,” you quipped, pulling your collar higher to shield yourself from the storm.

Without a second thought, Daesung grinned, took off his hoodie, and threw it over your head. "Here, wear this. It'll keep you warm!"

You blinked in surprise. "You’re giving me your hoodie?"

“Yes!” he said with such conviction, as if he had just solved all your problems. “It’s the most romantic thing I could do for you right now.” He puffed his chest out proudly, clearly thinking he had pulled off something dramatic and sweet.

You looked at him, blinking in confusion. “Daesung, it’s a little too big for me. I’m literally drowning in this thing…”

“Exactly! It’s cozy!” He smiled, oblivious to the fact that you were now swimming in fabric, practically a human tent.

“I can barely see through this thing,” you chuckled, your arms struggling to keep the oversized hoodie from dragging you down. But Daesung was so proud of his “romantic gesture” that you didn’t want to crush his excitement.

The rain continued to pour harder, soaking your hair, your shoes, and his hoodie, which was now weighed down with water. "Okay, Daesung, let’s be honest here," you said, laughing as you started to walk, “I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the most practical choice…”

He looked down at the way the hoodie dripped water and then back up at you with the most earnest expression on his face. “No… no it wasn’t.”

And then, like a lightbulb moment, he grinned widely. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not fun!”

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Daesung skipped into a nearby puddle, splashing water up to your knees. You gasped, stepping back. “Daesung!”

He threw his hands up in victory. “Splash fight, right now!”

You didn’t need another invitation. With a laugh, you jumped into the next puddle you saw, sending water flying in all directions. Daesung mirrored your moves, and soon, the two of you were splashing around like children, laughing at how ridiculous everything was.

“Who’s winning, huh?!” Daesung shouted between fits of laughter, his hoodie now thoroughly soaked and stuck to his body.

“You’re about to get drenched even more, Daesung!” you warned, trying to dodge his next splash.

“Not if I beat you to it!” He lunged, catching you by surprise with a gentle splash straight to your face.

You gasped dramatically, wiping your face, and then, grinning like a mischievous child, threw a full splash back at him. “Take that!”

By the time you both had thoroughly soaked each other, you could hardly keep up with the laughter, dripping wet and barely able to stand up straight from all the giggling.

“I swear,” you said between laughs, “this has to be the most ridiculous thing we’ve done.”

Daesung wiped water from his eyes, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the fun. “We’re pretty amazing, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, amazing,” you chuckled, now fully drenched but not caring one bit. “Just a bit impractical, though.”

“Well,” Daesung grinned, “the hoodie still looks cute on you. Even if it’s a bit too big.”

You nodded, still laughing. “That’s because I’m wearing your impractical hoodie, genius.”

He just smiled and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close despite the water soaking into both of you. “Worth it.”

seunghyun: nice and 'prepared'

The rain had caught you both off guard. You had barely made it out of the café before the skies opened up, and now you were both caught in a downpour with no umbrella in sight. You pulled your jacket closer to your body, shivering from the sudden chill.

Seunghyun, with his usual cool demeanor, looked over at you, eyes scanning the weather. Then, with a small sigh, he glanced at you with a sheepish smile. "I... may have left the umbrella in the car," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But hey, we’re here now."

You shot him a playful look. "Did you think this rain was going to hold off until we got back?" you teased, your voice full of amusement despite the situation.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Hey, I was the one who checked the forecast this morning, okay? You can't blame me for forgetting one small detail."

The two of you stood there for a moment, both laughing at the irony of it all. Without missing a beat, Seunghyun grabbed your hand and started to jog in the direction of the car. "Alright, let's just make a run for it. We'll beat the rain."

You both ran, your feet splashing through puddles as the water soaked you from head to toe. Seunghyun stayed close, but in that classic Seunghyun way, he was still trying to stay cool about it—one hand casually holding yours, the other wiping his wet hair out of his face.

Halfway to the car, you started to laugh, the situation completely ridiculous but somehow perfect. “I can't believe we’re doing this," you said, breathless from both the running and the laughter.

“I can’t believe I forgot the umbrella,” Seunghyun responded, his voice tinged with mock annoyance, but the playful glint in his eye told you everything. "But hey, look on the bright side. It’ll be a great story to tell later."

As you both reached the car, laughing and dripping wet, Seunghyun opened the door for you, then paused to look at your soaked state. “Well,” he said, running his fingers through his hair and smirking, “at least we’re in this together.”

You couldn't help but smile, the day’s misadventures only making him more endearing. "Next time," you said with a grin, "you better bring the umbrella."

“Deal,” he said with a wink, pulling you into the car. "Next time, we’ll be dry. Hopefully."

pov: locked in a small space

jiyong: seven minutes

You and Jiyong had somehow ended up stuck in a small, cramped pantry together. It wasn’t intentional, of course. Just a random series of events that had led to both of you being trapped in the tiny space, the door somehow locking behind you.

You leaned back against the only wall without shelving units, arms crossed, trying to make the best of the situation. "Well, this is... great," you said, laughing a little despite the light awkwardness. "Guess we’re stuck here for a bit."

Jiyong, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, the small, confined space seemed to only amuse him. He flashed that playful smirk of his, leaning in closer, and with a teasing glint in his eye, he gave you a seductive once-over.

"You know," he started, voice low and smooth, taking a step toward you, "this is like a movie 7 minutes in heaven situation, isn’t it?"

You couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden change in attitude. “Jiyong, really?”

He took a step closer, his body pressed against yours now, and he leaned in even more. "I mean," he said, his voice practically a whisper, "you know what I can do in 7 minutes?" His eyes glinted with mischief as his hands brushed lightly against the edge of your sleeve.

You froze for a second, a little caught off guard by how close he suddenly was. The small space made everything feel just a bit more intimate, and Jiyong’s teasing, flirtatious energy only amplified the tension.

“Stop it,” you said, trying to sound serious, though you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Jiyong chuckled softly, his hands now flush to your waist, holding you against him. “What?” he asked innocently, though there was nothing innocent about the way his eyes were locked onto yours. “I’m just making the most of the situation.”

You shook your head, but an embarrassed smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "You really know how to make the best of being in a tight spot, huh?"

Jiyong grinned mischeviously, his lips just inches from yours now, his teasing energy completely undeniable. “Tight spots are my specialty.”

seunghyun: closeness is most comfortable

You and Seunghyun had been in a rush earlier that day, trying to get everything done before the storm hit. But now, here you were—stuck in an elevator, and it didn’t seem like it was going anywhere anytime soon. The storm raged outside, the rain hammering against the metal walls, but inside the elevator, it was just the two of you.

Seunghyun, as usual, didn’t seem phased by the situation. He gave you a smile that was part mischievous, part carefree, as if this was just another little hiccup in your day. And, to be fair, it was.

“Well, since we’re stuck, might as well get comfortable,” he said, his tone entirely too casual, and before you could even respond, he lowered himself to sit against the back wall of the elevator with a sigh of contentment. Without missing a beat, he pulled you into his lap, settling you there like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked in surprise, but as always with Seunghyun, it didn’t take long to adjust. You were already used to his easy, affectionate nature, and the small space didn’t even faze him. He simply wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close with a lazy grin on his face.

“Seunghyun,” you started, trying to keep your voice serious, but it was hard when you could feel the warmth of his body, and he looked so comfortable already. “Is this really necessary?”

He shrugged as if it were the most logical thing. “Of course. We’re stuck in here. No point in standing around being all stiff and uncomfortable.” His hands casually rested on your waist, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against the fabric of your shirt. “I like being close to you anyway. Plus, I’m not going anywhere. Might as well make the best of it.”

You tried not to laugh, but the way he was acting so nonchalant about it made it impossible. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Seunghyun only chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face before letting his hand rest there. “I’m just making the most of our time together. No point in being grumpy when I get to hang out with my favorite person, right?”

You smiled, shaking your head at his antics. Of course, he would make something so normal feel like an adventure. But that was Seunghyun for you—easygoing and always making the best of everything, even a stuck elevator.

And before you knew it, the moment had become comfortable. You let yourself settle into his embrace, leaning your head on his shoulder as the sounds of the storm outside became a distant hum. “You’re right,” you said, your voice soft, “I guess this isn’t so bad after all.”

“See?” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, still holding you close. “Stuck in a small space with you, just the two of us? Could be worse. Plus, this is the best kind of company.”

And just like that, the storm outside seemed far away, and all that mattered was being there, in that small, quiet space with Seunghyun. It was something that had long since become normal for the two of you—the comfort of being close, no matter where you were.

daesung: an attempt of an icebreaker

You and Daesung had found yourselves trapped in the cramped supply closet after a series of unfortunate events. The door had somehow swung shut behind you, and now you were both stuck in the small space, with barely enough room to breathe, let alone move.

As you shifted, trying to make yourself a little more comfortable, you suddenly became acutely aware of how close Daesung was. His shoulder brushed against yours, and the proximity between you both seemed to magnify everything. The air felt heavier, and even the tiniest movements felt like they were echoing in the tiny room.

Daesung, usually so confident and easygoing, froze. His body went completely still, as though he was suddenly aware of every inch of space between you two, or rather, the lack of it. His eyes darted to the side, then quickly down, and then up again—clearly avoiding your gaze. A nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he scratched the back of his neck.

“So...” Daesung mumbled, his voice suddenly much quieter than usual, a touch of awkwardness in his tone. “You come here often?”

You blinked, unsure if he was joking or genuinely trying to break the tension. His face was slightly flushed, and the nervous energy radiating from him was almost tangible. You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at how awkward his attempt to break the silence sounded.

Daesung immediately went redder, his eyes widening as he realized what he'd just said. “Wait, no! That—ugh, forget I said that.” He quickly flailed a hand in the air, clearly embarrassed by his choice of words.

You smirked, enjoying the rare moment of seeing him flustered. “Oh my god, Daesung. Really? 'You come here often'?" You teased, trying to keep your voice light. “That’s your icebreaker?”

He fidgeted, clearly not knowing how to recover from his awkwardness. "I—I mean, I don’t really have a backup line, okay? I was just trying to say something to—y'know—ease the tension." He chuckled nervously, his fingers still anxiously twitching as he tried to regain some composure.

You were absolutely charmed by how flustered he was. There was something so endearing about seeing Daesung, the confident and carefree guy everyone knew, suddenly so unsure of himself. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” you said, teasing him gently.

Daesung looked at you, eyes wide, as his face turned even redder. “Stop, I can’t take this,” he muttered, trying to hide his face in his hands, but the small space made it impossible for him to escape from the situation. His fingers rubbed the back of his neck in nervous habit, as if he could distract himself from how awkward it was. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

"Well," you said, leaning a little closer, still amused by the situation, "you’re stuck with me now. You might as well make the best of it."

Daesung exhaled sharply, trying to seem nonchalant, but the way his eyes flicked down at your hand brushing against his arm gave him away. "Right... I guess I could get used to the whole... 'stuck in a closet' thing," he said with a sheepish grin, though he still couldn't seem to make eye contact.

You chuckled, the tension slowly fading as you both stood there, practically shoulder to shoulder, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours. The awkwardness was still lingering, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... sweet. Daesung wasn’t perfect, and it was moments like this—vulnerable and unsure—that made him even more endearing.

"You know," you said with a playful grin, "you could have at least said, 'Nice weather we're having' if you really wanted to be awkward."

Daesung gave you a mock glare, but his smile was already returning. "You’re just full of great ideas, huh? I’ll keep that one in my back pocket next time."

You laughed softly. "Well, it’s always a good one for the next awkward situation."

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and the silence was comfortable now. You were close enough to feel the warmth from Daesung’s body, but the situation didn’t feel quite as claustrophobic anymore. The rain outside had picked up a little, and all you could hear was the soft pitter-patter on the windows.

“You still think we’re gonna get out of here soon?” Daesung asked, his voice quieter now, the playful edge replaced with a bit of genuine curiosity.

You smiled, brushing your hand against his arm gently. “Honestly, I have no idea. But if we’re stuck here longer... at least we’ve got each other, right?”

Daesung’s eyes softened at that, and for a moment, his usual carefree energy returned, the shy awkwardness melting away. “Yeah,” he said with a quiet smile, "at least we’ve got that."

And somehow, in that tiny, awkward space, everything felt just right.

pov: absentmindedly playing with hands or hair

seunghyun: perfect balance of collected and confident

Publicly, Seunghyun doesn’t even give the slightest indication that your touch is having any effect on him. On the outside, he’s the same calm, collected presence he always is—quiet, reserved, and effortlessly cool. But the moment your fingers slip into his hair, gently running through the strands, there’s a subtle shift. His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second, and his eyes soften, though he doesn’t dare to look at you fully. The corners of his mouth twitch just enough to show his enjoyment, but it’s so fleeting, most wouldn’t notice. He’s melting inside, completely at ease, as if the world around him has slowed to a halt. Your touch has this uncanny way of unwinding every bit of tension from his body. He feels a warmth spread through him that’s more soothing than anything else. He’s swooning, mentally, but there’s not a word spoken, no public display—just a quiet relaxation that only you can bring. In fact, he makes sure to keep his composure outwardly, so no one can ever guess just how much your simple touch is affecting him. His hand might twitch, ready to grab yours and pull you a little closer, but in the end, he just lets the moment pass, silently appreciating it.

But as soon as you're in private, everything changes. The calm and collected Seunghyun you know in public is nowhere to be found. Instead, he becomes a little more smug, a little more self-assured. He knows exactly what effect you have on him, and now it’s your turn to feel that same effect. He watches you with a teasing grin, leaning in just close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin. His eyes flicker down to where your hands are—already making their way to him, unable to resist touching him, even just for a moment. “Can’t keep your hands off me, hm, princess?” he says, his voice low and smooth, dripping with playful confidence. The words are casual, but the glint in his eyes tells a different story—one that says he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Before you can even answer, he grabs your hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles with a flourish, like he’s making some grand gesture. “Are my hands that interesting?” he teases, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes growing.

You nod far too eagerly, your excitement spilling over, and Seunghyun’s grin only widens, enjoying the fact that he has this power over you. “A bit too excited, aren’t we?” he comments, amusement dancing on his features as he brings your hand back down. Then, with a soft but unmistakable shift, he pulls you closer by the waist, his arms settling around you possessively. “You’re so easy to read, you know that?” he adds, the teasing in his tone laced with something a little deeper—something soft, though wrapped in all the cocky confidence that makes him him.

His lips hover near your ear for just a moment, his breath warm against your skin. “But I don’t mind it,” he whispers, his smile turning a little softer. “I like knowing you’re mine.”

You can't help the way your heart flutters at his words, the warmth of his hands, and the complete shift from teasing to affection. He’s playful, but in moments like this, you can feel how completely he’s wrapped around you—and you around him, just as much.

daesung: return to sender

Publicly or privately, Daesung simply does not care—he is absolutely devoted to making sure you feel loved and appreciated at all times. It’s like a natural instinct for him, no matter where you are or who’s around. When it comes to you, there’s no such thing as too much affection, too many thoughtful gestures, or too many ways to show you how much he cherishes you. If you softly touch his hand, his first reaction is to kiss it. Not just a quick peck, but a tender, lingering kiss, as if he’s holding your hand for the first time all over again. He makes sure it’s clear that your touch is the most precious thing in the world to him. Then, after pulling away, he will massage your hand, gently rubbing each knuckle and the palm as if he’s trying to give you all the warmth and love he has to offer, a soft, soothing rhythm that mirrors the way his heart beats when you’re near.

If you fix his hair, Daesung is positively glowing with happiness. Instead of just saying thank you and leaving it at that, he wants to return the favor, and he does so in his own, playful, and sweet way. "Well, if you're fixing my hair, I guess it’s only fair that I try doing yours," he’ll say, his grin making his eyes sparkle. He’ll carefully take your hair between his fingers, running them through the strands with such tenderness it feels almost reverent. His fingers move gently, as though he’s trying to memorize the feeling of caring for you in this way. It’s a simple act, yet there’s so much love behind it, and you can feel the warmth of his affection in every delicate stroke. The moment is intimate, calming, and grounding—one where you can feel how much he treasures being this close to you.

And if you touch his arm, well, that’s when Daesung completely takes over. He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Without hesitation, he’s right behind you, his hands moving to your shoulders in an instant. His touch is light but strong, as his fingers knead the tension out of your muscles. He massages slowly, with so much care, making sure every inch of stress is melted away. You might have touched his arm, but now he’s the one caring for you, taking that moment to pamper you instead of being pampered. The way his hands move is almost instinctual—he’s so gentle, so considerate, it feels as if he’s giving you the world with just a simple massage. What was meant to be a brief act of tenderness towards him turns into a quiet, loving act of service from him to you.

Daesung isn’t just about the grand gestures; he knows that love is often shown through the small, everyday moments—these tiny, thoughtful acts that say everything without needing a word. And he makes sure you know, every single day, just how much you mean to him, through all the little things he does to make you feel cherished, adored, and completely cared for. To him, it’s the small moments that truly matter, the ones that prove just how deeply he loves you, because he knows that love is in the details.

jiyong: inked stories

Jiyong, always effortlessly calm and composed, never questions when you begin tracing over his hands or arms, just allowing you to do whatever you wish. It’s as if there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, a quiet rhythm that feels so natural. He finds solace in it, as if your touch grounds him in a way words never could. Every movement you make is met with patience and a soft smile, and he’s absolutely enchanted by the way you seem to get lost in these moments—tracing the lines of his palms, following the curves of his arms. It’s intimate in its simplicity, and it’s something he looks forward to without even realizing it.

What truly makes his heart swell, though, is when your fingers trace over his tattoos. He knows you adore them. He’s aware of how your eyes light up when your fingers skim the ink, the designs he’s carried with him through his journey. They’re more than just tattoos to him; they’re pieces of his past, each one telling a story. But seeing you trace them so reverently, with such love and appreciation, makes him feel something deeper—like those tattoos are even more meaningful because you’re the one noticing them, the one paying attention to these parts of him that aren’t immediately obvious. He treasures that you take the time to appreciate the things that define him, to make him feel seen in such a personal way.

“You always make my tattoos look so much better,” he says with a teasing grin, though there’s an underlying sincerity in his words. He catches your gaze as your fingers hover over one of the designs on his arm, a smile tugging at his lips. “I think you’re the only one who sees them the way I do.”

You glance up at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you continue tracing the intricate patterns. “I just think they’re beautiful. You’ve got stories etched on your skin, and I love hearing them without words.”

His heart skips a beat at that, and he watches you for a moment, his eyes softening. “I’ve got all these tattoos, but none of them mean as much as the way you look at them,” he admits quietly, his thumb brushing over your wrist.

When you’re satisfied, when you finally pull your hands away, Jiyong doesn’t rush. His fingers gently close around yours, his thumb softly running over the back of your hand, his touch warm and steady. He intertwines your fingers together without a second thought, his hand enveloping yours like it was always meant to be. There’s something tender, something almost reverent about the way he holds you, like he’s holding onto something precious. His eyes meet yours, soft and full of affection, the quiet intimacy between you both speaking volumes. He doesn’t need to say anything—he already knows. The connection is there, woven into the smallest gestures, the ones that speak the loudest, and he treasures every second of it.

pov: he walks in on you singing (you're amazing)

daesung: harmonies and vocal training

You’re mid-song, completely lost in the melody, when a second voice slips in seamlessly with yours. At first, you don’t think much of it—just an echo in your head, maybe a trick of the music. But then it grows stronger, harmonizing perfectly, the warmth of familiarity making your stomach flip.

You freeze.

Daesung.

Before you can react, he’s no longer just harmonizing—he’s belting at full power like he’s center stage at the biggest concert of his career. The walls practically vibrate with his voice, and you let out an involuntary yelp, startled out of your skin.

He yells back, louder, eyes wide, like he’s the one who’s been caught.

There’s a split second of stunned silence where you just stare at each other, and then, as if on cue, you both burst into laughter.

“I—Why did you scream?!” he wheezes, clutching his stomach, barely able to get the words out between giggles.

“Why did YOU scream?!” you shoot back, still trying to process the sheer volume of what just happened.

He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes a step closer. “Okay, but seriously,” he says, nudging you. “You’ve been hiding that voice from me? From me? I literally sing for a living, and you didn’t think to mention this?”

You groan, face heating. “It’s not like I was hiding it—”

Daesung cuts you off with a dramatic gasp. “So you mean you just forgot to tell me you’re secretly amazing? Wow. Betrayal.”

You shove him lightly, rolling your eyes, but he’s already launching into another playful over-the-top vocal run, still grinning ear to ear. Then, before you can protest, he throws an arm around you and sways dramatically, humming the melody you were just singing.

“You know,” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief, “I think I should become your vocal coach. We’ll train every day—warm-ups in the morning, practice in the afternoon. We can do duets! Matching stage outfits! A unit name! Oh, this is happening.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” he whines, giving you a gentle shake. “I’m Daesung! It’s literally my job to make people sing. And now that I know you have this secret talent, I have to help you unleash your full potential.”

“I don’t need to unleash anything—”

“Too late. You’ve been discovered.” He gasps again, eyes gleaming with fake betrayal. “Unless… unless you hate my singing! Oh no. That’s why you didn’t tell me, isn’t it? You’re tired of hearing my voice.”

You snort. “You are so dramatic.”

“I have to be. For the industry.” He puffs out his chest, then nudges you again. “So? When’s our first rehearsal?”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

"Tomorrow morning? Great! I'll see you in the morning baby!" He excitedly ran out of the room, causing you to laugh aloud—you live together you will see him as soon as you exit the room as well. Oh, Daesung.

seunghyun: totally starstruck

You don’t notice him at first.

You’re too lost in the song, letting the melody spill effortlessly from your lips, the way it wraps around the air like something tangible, something alive. It’s just you, your voice, and the quiet room—until the weight of a gaze suddenly makes you falter.

You glance up, startled, and there he is.

Seunghyun stands frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, lips parted slightly as if he had something to say but forgot how to speak. His entire posture—still, rigid, like he’s afraid to move—tells you everything before he even opens his mouth.

“…Do that again.”

His voice is hushed, reverent, but there’s an intensity beneath it, like this moment is something sacred.

You blink, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”

“Sing again.” He steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. “Please.”

You let out a flustered laugh, trying to shake off the weight of his stare. “Seunghyun, it’s really not—”

“It is,” he interrupts, shaking his head, still looking at you like he’s seeing something unreal. “Why aren’t you doing this as a career?”

You scoff, shifting awkwardly under his unwavering gaze. “Because I couldn't get up on stage in front of people! I got anxious when I found out only you were listening—”

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “That’s ridiculous.” He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s trying to process something huge. “You sound better than—” he hesitates, eyes flickering over your face as if searching for the right words. When he finds them, his voice is almost breathless. “Better than anyone I’ve ever heard. Ever.”

Your face warms under the intensity of his words, but he isn’t done.

Suddenly, he’s closer—so close that you barely register the moment his hands find yours, his grip firm but gentle, grounding. “Let me record you,” he says, almost pleading. “Sample your voice. Something. Anything.”

You laugh, flustered, shaking your head. “Seunghyun, no—”

He ignores your protest, his thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles, his gaze still holding that same quiet, devastating awe. “I need to hear you like that again.” A pause. “Do you know what you just did to me?”

You swallow hard, unsure how to respond, because you’re the one who feels undone under the weight of his devotion.

To him, it’s like he’s falling in love all over again. And he has no intention of getting back up.

jiyong: your first fanboy

You’re lost in the music again, wrapped in your own little world, when you suddenly feel a presence behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and instinctively, you turn—only to find Jiyong standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smug grin plastered across his face. His eyes gleam with mischief, and you can already tell that he's about to make this moment so much more than it needs to be.

“You really didn’t think to tell me about this?” he teases, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “I mean, I knew you were talented, but this?” He shakes his head as if he’s genuinely offended. “I’m hurt, baby.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling nervously. “It’s not a big deal, Jiyong.”

“Not a big deal?” he scoffs, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. “You’re basically a superstar and you never even mentioned it? Unbelievable. Well, if you won’t tell me, I guess I’ll just have to do it for you.”

Before you can protest, he taps his phone screen and a playlist of your favorite songs starts playing. He uses his phone as a makeshift lightstick, dramatically waving it in the air as he steps forward, his smirk never leaving his face. “Alright, let’s do this properly,” he announces, as though he’s about to manage a full-scale performance.

You laugh, feeling completely exposed now, but Jiyong’s energy is infectious. He steps into the middle of the room, sets his phone down on a nearby table, and hits play on the next song. He starts dancing around you, pretending to be the most enthusiastic fan, fully immersing himself in the “show.” Every so often, he pulls exaggerated, overly dramatic dance moves—his “fanboy” act is too much, and you can’t help but giggle.

“You’re so cheesy,” you say, trying to hide your embarrassment, but also thoroughly entertained.

“You love it,” he grins, spinning you around like you're both part of some spontaneous duet. “You’re welcome. This is the kind of spotlight you deserve.”

As the song comes to a close, he steps back, using his phone to “judge” your performance like a panelist on some reality show. “And a perfect ten! Unbelievable! You’re incredible, but I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me all this time,” he teases, dramatically wiping away a fake tear.

You roll your eyes, but your heart is full of affection. “I wasn’t hiding it, Jiyong. I just—”

“Nope!” he interrupts, cutting you off with a hand up. “You’re a star. And I knew it.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “I think you were just trying to keep all the attention for yourself, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jiyong just winks, sweeping you into his arms. “I’m just the best manager ever. Now, go on, show me the next song, superstar.”

pov: returning home after a tour and finding out you missed him

seunghyun: human charger

The second you opened the door, Seunghyun was standing there, looking composed as ever—hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly, that unreadable expression on his face. But his eyes. His eyes gave him away.

“You’re back,” you breathed, a little stunned even though you knew he was coming home today. It still felt surreal after all those weeks apart. “I missed you so much Seunghyun.”

For a fraction of a second, his lips twitched—like he was fighting back the urge to actually react. Then, with the smoothest, most indifferent tone, he said, “Oh? You missed me?” He let out a soft scoff, looking off to the side. “That’s funny. I didn’t even notice you weren't with me.”

Before you could even pretend to be offended, he had already closed the space between you, wrapping his arms around you tight. No hesitation, no delay. Like he had been holding himself back for far too long, and now that you were in front of him, he wasn’t wasting another second.

You melted into him, letting yourself be enveloped in his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the weight of his chin resting on your shoulder. “Liar,” you murmured, smiling against the fabric of his jacket.

His arms only tightened around you in response.

It wasn’t until later that you noticed the real extent of how much he had actually missed you.

The next morning, when you asked about his schedule, he just shrugged, sitting comfortably on the couch with you wrapped up in his hold. “Cleared it,” he said simply, scrolling through his phone.

“…Cleared it?” You blinked. “Like—what do you mean, cleared it?”

“I mean exactly that.” He didn’t even look up. “No meetings. No interviews. No rehearsals. Nothing. I’m busy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Busy doing what?”

At that, he finally glanced at you, expression unreadable for just a moment before he spoke, voice completely steady—like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Being here. Need to recharge. You're my charger,” His words were so matter-of-factly that you had no case if you were to deny what he said—you would be crazy to do that.

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and endeared. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.” He smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he tugged you closer.

You sighed, defeated, and let yourself melt into him. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I really do.”

He hummed, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “Good. Because I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while.”

And sure enough, for the next few days, he refused to let you go anywhere without him. If you had errands? He was coming with you. If you had plans? He adjusted them so you could stay in instead. If you so much as moved from the couch, his arm would subtly tighten around you, an unbreakable vise grip that you welcomed warmly.

daesung: everything is a reminder of you

The moment Daesung stepped through the front door, his suitcase rolling behind him, his face lit up the second he saw you. He barely had a chance to say anything before you blurted it out.

“I missed you.”

For a brief second, he just stared at you, his eyes widening as if those words had flipped some switch inside him. Then, suddenly, his whole expression softened into the warmest, most radiant smile.

“You missed me?” His voice was filled with so much genuine happiness, like he couldn’t believe it even though he had been hoping to hear it. Then, before you could even answer, he closed the space between you in a heartbeat, wrapping you up in his arms. “Oh my god, I missed you too! You know that, I told you every day by text, but it wasn’t the same.”

You laughed against his shoulder, feeling how tightly he was holding you, like he had been waiting for this moment the entire tour. He smelled like airport air and faded cologne, but underneath it was something distinctly him, something that made you want to stay right there forever.

Then, just as suddenly as he had hugged you, he pulled back, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Oh! Wait! I got you something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Something?”

Daesung grinned. “Okay... maybe a few things.”

And then he grabbed his suitcase, unzipped it with so much enthusiasm that you swore he almost broke the zipper, and started pulling out item after item after item.

“This reminded me of you.” He placed a small trinket in your hands—a keychain shaped like a little cartoon animal, one of your favorites.

“And this one too. Oh, and this! I saw this and immediately thought of you.” A little stuffed animal, then a handmade bracelet, then a snack from one of the local markets.

You watched in awe as the pile kept growing. “Daesung, how much stuff did you buy?”

He looked sheepish but only for a second before laughing. “A lot… but I couldn’t not get them! Everywhere I went, something reminded me of you, and I kept thinking, ‘Oh, she would love this!’ And I couldn’t just choose one thing, so I got everything.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of souvenirs but also by the sentiment behind them. He had spent all that time away, traveling from city to city, but he had still been thinking of you the entire time.

Your chest felt warm, overflowing with affection. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, shaking your head, but you were smiling, and he knew you weren’t mad in the slightest.

Daesung beamed. “Ridiculously in love with you.” Then he held up one more thing—his arms, wide open. “Now come here and let me make up for all that lost time.”

And, of course, you didn’t hesitate to fall right back into his embrace.

jiyong: planning and eavesdropping

The moment you sighed out the words—“I missed you.”—Jiyong stilled. His lips parted slightly, eyes glinting with something smug. Then, his expression shifted into full dramatic mode.

“Oh?” he said, tilting his head. “Say it again.”

You blinked. “What?”

He leaned in, grinning now. “One more time. Just for me.”

You narrowed your eyes, about to protest, but then he was already pulling you forward, locking you in his arms with a delighted sigh. “Actually, forget that. You’re not going anywhere, little lady. You belong right here for at least the next hour.”

A huff of laughter escaped you, but you didn’t try to pull away. There was no point—Jiyong had latched onto you like a koala, his arms wound tight around your waist, legs tangled with yours as if to physically make up for all the lost time.

The two cats, clearly attuned to the energy in the room, jumped up onto the couch beside you both. One curled into the space between you, the other settled by your legs, their purring blending seamlessly with the warmth of Jiyong’s body against yours.

“You’re acting like I was gone for a year,” you teased, running a hand through his hair.

“Felt like it,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your shoulder. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes scanning every inch of your face like he was committing it to memory again. “Next time, I’m bringing you with me.”

“You always say that,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, and one day it’s actually gonna happen.” He pulled you even closer, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I already planned, like… seven different dates for us in different cities, by the way.”

You let out a short laugh. “Seven?”

“Obviously. Do you know how much time I spent thinking about you?” He pulled back slightly, just enough to kiss your temple. “A lot, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.”

Before you could retort, he suddenly gasped, his entire body tensing with excitement. “Oh my god, I almost forgot. You will not believe the gossip I heard.”

You blinked at the abrupt shift. “What?”

Jiyong leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to tell you the biggest secret in the world. “So, you know how the hairstylists and makeup artists talk to each other while they’re working?”

“Yeah?”

“Well.” His lips curled into a devilish grin. “They think I’m not listening. But I am.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” He practically vibrated with excitement. “Okay, listen to this—so apparently, one of the stylists is secretly dating this one idol but no one is supposed to know, but—”

And just like that, the next hour disappeared into a flurry of hushed whispers, gasped reactions, and Jiyong acting out dramatic reenactments of everything he overheard. The cats dozed beside you, entirely unbothered, as he spilled every single secret he had collected like a gremlin hoarding forbidden knowledge.

It wasn’t until much later, when you had both completely melted into each other, his voice softer now as he murmured about places he wanted to take you, that you realized just how much he had missed you.

And how much, without even realizing it, you had missed this.

thanks for reading!

i love making these so like if u want part 3 do lmk!

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aizshallnotbefound · 3 months ago

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𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1

Liked by daraxxi , __youngbae__ , ttt & 1,211,809 others

𝒀/𝒏 ✓ - after party dinner ! 🫶 🍱

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ttt - she and daesung ate all my food btw

/@ttt - not my fault you have the best taste in food 😞

User - i love how they all are such close friends :]

Usersksksk - daesung looks so cuteeee

User78 - love their dynamic 💗

User_lovestabi - love your outfit queen 🤩

User_Cl_enthusiast - absolutely love how Cl and y/n are such close besties

GD_TOP_loverrr - choi seunghyun looks like a diva in all of these pics lol-

SGS_012 - jiyong looks so cute and hot at the same time 🫣

Liked by , gossip_loverVIP , YG_familyupdates & 1,211,899 others

Kpop_gossip - y/n and G-dragon spotted together at Yang Good restaurant with their band members by a fan. It appears they are getting way too cozy and close with eachother 👀

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user_dararara - YESSSS MY SHIP HAS SAILED OR IT BETTER SAIL-

User_cLqueen - OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING EVERYBODY STAY CALM—

User89o - SHE settled for HIM??

/@ user89o - wdym y/n settled for him??? the two are perfectly hot for eachother

User_135 - do i want to be her or do i want to be him-

User_is4everhigh - i need them to be together- literally the mother and father of the Kpop industry

user000 - never been so jealous of a girl in my freaking life

User_lovesthe_queenY/N - THEY ARE HUGGING LIKE A COUPLE , I REPEAT THEY ARE HUGGING LIKE A COUPLEEEEE 🚨 AND IS THAT A KISS???

(Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist ^^ )

Taglist:

@sherrayyyyy , @idydeath , @eru-vande , @tulentiy , @infinetlyforgotten , @loveesiren

(Comments , likes & reposts are appreciated!)

#bigbang x reader #g dragon #g dragon x reader #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #big bang x reader #choi seunghyun #g dragon imagines #bigbang #idol reader

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sturnsstars · 3 months ago

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a little longer - gdragon

authors note: first time writing for gd, i hope its okay. ngl this thought randomly popped into my head yesterday so i have to write it… also i feel like jiyong is super whimpery in bed when he’s being topped?

tags: smut no plot, men whimpering, blowjob, head pushing, slight throat fucking, cum eating

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

your cheeks were starting to get sore from sucking them in, your lower jaw having a sting to it. you kept your hands steady on ji-yongs thighs that were spread to let you sit in between them, fingertips gently pressing into the skin that had ink under the layers, making slight indents into the plush muscle.

“jagiya- oh god…” ji-yong whispered through an exhale, his chest jerking up every so often whenever he inhaled with a stutter, unable to help himself from the subtle twitches and squirms his body made.

your mouth left a quarter of room to fit your hand around the base of his cock, occasionally tightening your hand around him, just to hear him squeal out a noise that could be considered pathetic.

“slow down- slow…” ji-yong was practically begging you, but you couldnt help it. he just looked so good in that recent photoshoot, you needed to show him how it made you feel. the way his tattoos were peaking out through the mesh shirt, the leather pants, his hair messy. all of it.

while he was begging you to slow down, his hips were rutting upward into your mouth and casing the feeling, making you squeeze your eyes shut tighter when you felt his hot and aching tip kissing the back of your throat, focusing on your breathing while ji-yong was focusing on trying not to come too early from the way your tongue felt on the underside of his dick.

you just barely calmed your actions, loosening your grip around his girthy base, easing the suction in your cheeks, a small and shaky sigh of relief leaving ji-yong. ji-yongs hand gently rested on the back of your head that was raising and lowering in a medium and rhythmic pace, his thumb caressing it for a second before his body tensed up slightly.

“dont stop… m’so- oh…” you casually glanced up at ji-yong when he informed you that he was close to coming, his head leaned back against the almost comically large and expensive bed frame he had, his adam’s apple raising every time he managed to squeeze out a mewl of some sort; high pitched, low pitched, breathy.

you took in a deep breath through your nose, almost like you were preparing yourself for his release, the ticklish feeling of his cum shooting down the warm and gummy walls of your throat, when he pushed down on the back of your head, your lips bumping into your fingers that were still enclosing his cock. what you got in return, was his tip stretching the space, making you choke and hum in shock, the feeling of it making ji-yong teeter on the edge of his orgasm.

“oh fuck- hm-mm… m’sorry aegiya-ah.. a-a little longer…” ji-yong’s head fell forward, his face scrunched up, just as much as his body tensed, keeping your head down on his cock as you sucked, his abdomen flexing as you felt the almost unnoticeable twitch of his dick, your throat feeling sticky as his cum shot into your mouth, a long string of pants and whines and moans in your ears, sounds you would never get tired of.

when ji-yongs body finally relaxed and he was stuck on a panting spree, you slowly lifted your head, making sure to keep your lips around him until you reached the end of his tip, pulling off with a loud and wet ‘pop’ that broke the heavy and thick atmosphere in the bedroom.

you took a deep swallow, his cum coating your throat as it went down, your hand gently releasing its grip on his cock to gently stroke it up and down, your fingertips coated with the saliva-cum mixture that veiled over him. you sat upright on your knees, your eyes stuck on his face; how relieved he looked. little did he know, you were sliding your panties to the side to get ready to ride him until your legs gave out.

#like #follow #bigbang #gdragon #gdragon x reader #jiyong #kwon jiyong #jiyong x reader #jiyongie #kwon jiyong x reader #smut #blurb #drabble #imagine #blowjov

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spacequokka · 5 months ago

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Who You?

Pairing: Ex!Jiyong x Reader Genre: Angst Rating: G Summary: It's harder to pretend he doesn't miss you than he thought. Word Count: 0.8k Warnings: slighty mean Ji

Jiyong never understood why he turned up to these things. Hanging out with friends when you were among them wasn’t the same anymore. He knew he said he could do it, he could go back to being just friends, but it was a lie. His fingers ached to touch you, to hold your hands like you used to do. His lips tingled thinking of the many kisses you shared.

But now you were a crowd of people away and barely looked at him.

He hated it.

“Hey, we should all pile up on the ferris wheel!” Someone called out and the group immediately agreed. Assholes. Jiyong hoped like hell he’d get paired with anyone but you.

The line wasn’t too long, but somehow you’d drifted closer to him. Close enough to reach out and touch. He huffed and looked away. He wouldn’t give in now, not after a month of toughing it out and swallowing the pain. Another thirty minutes was nothing.

“Hey, Ji.”

His traitorous heart lurched at the sound of your voice and his head whipped around fast enough to make his neck hurt. Sure enough, there you were looking up at him with shy, unsure eyes. He said he’d never fall in love again yet there he was falling for you once more.

“Hey.” The word was stilted and rough around the edges.

You didn’t care. “Everyone’s pairing up. Do you have someone yet?”

He hated how the words seemed to carry a hidden meaning, as if you were asking if he’d moved on. A silly question given his history. He always took his time warming up to someone enough to hold them close the way he’d done with you. He had at least another year ahead of him and he didn’t even have someone new in mind.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

You nodded, more to yourself than in response to him, and pursed your lips. “Me either. We can buddy up then.”

“You assume I’d want to.” The second the words were out he cringed. He couldn’t help but be a little bitter, a little petty.

Your smile faltered. “We can’t go up alone.”

He wanted to argue, wanted to throw a tantrum and say mean things he didn’t mean just so you’d feel the same as he did. Yet, as always when it came to you, he couldn’t bring himself to keep up the act. And he was sure as rain that you knew how weak he was for you. The breakup had been a shitty attempt to get away from the vulnerability you brought out of him.

“Right.” He muttered. “Well, I’m not holding your hand if you get scared.”

He hated how everyone gave you both knowing eyes and sly smiles. This meant nothing. It was a simple ride that be just like your failed relationship—slow but over as soon as it started. He hated how the car was small and forced you sit close together. He needed much more than an arm’s length of space between you. Being so close to you made his skin tingle in ways he’d rather not feel. This was a stupid idea. Suddenly he couldn’t stay. still, fidgeting in his seat while pointedly looking away from you. There was no telling what dumb idea his body would get looking at you this close.

“Do you regret it at all?” Your voice cut through his unease, slamming him back down to earth with the tenderness in your voice. “Do you…do you ever miss me?”

What possessed him to look your way, he’ll never know. Yet still, his eyes found yours in the dimly lit car just as it reached the top of the ride. For the first time of the night, you looked hurt, wrecked and falling apart.

“What does it matter?” He ground the words out, determined to keep up the appearance of indifference. “The past is in the past.”

He hated the way tears lined your beautiful eyes but didn’t fall. The way your bottom lip trembled as if it was just that hard to keep it together. The way he wanted to pull you close and hold you and tell you it’d be okay—that you’d be okay, you just needed more time to get used to life without him. That he honestly still loved you more than words could express but the fear of being left wanting was stronger.

A fear you were living in that moment.

His body moved on its own, an arm curling around your shoulders and bringing your face to his chest. You shuddered with a quiet sob and he broke too, turning in his seat to hold you properly. As his eyes started to burn, he found himself whispering into your hair:

“I miss you every day and night.”

#kvanity #bigbang scenarios #bigbang imagines #gdragon scenarios #gdragon imagines #bigbang angst #gdragon angst #gdragon x reader #jiyong x reader #gdragon x you #jiyong x you #rating: g

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katarinawwwland · 3 months ago

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A really good try

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong x f.reader

Warnings: Established relationship, marriage au, discussion of pregnancy, sexual content.

Words count: 1,2

Summary: You and your husband want to have a baby

Author’s note: English is not my first language. So I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. I hope you enjoyed it.

After Jiyong's comeback, he decided to leave the media for a long period. During this time, you have already gone on vacation to Jeju Island. And one hot evening, you were walking along the beach after dinner.

"Baby, do you remember Do Hyun's daughter?" Jiyong suddenly asked, breaking the calm silence.

"Are you talking about Seo Yeon? Of course, she's so sweet. Why do you ask?" - looking at your husband, you immediately remembered the daughter of your mutual friends, colleagues of Jiyong.

"Yes, she's really very sweet, she looks so much like you, I notice it all the time … You know, I've been thinking about it more and more lately," your man replied thoughtfully.

"That I look like little Seo Yeon?" you asked, laughing.

"No, I mean about the kids. About the possibility of having a little copy of you, the same beautiful little angel that we will take care of."- the smile did not leave his face. Your heart has melted at your husband's words. Of course, you've already talked a lot about children, but only as plans for the future. You two had very busy jobs and you were often on the move, but now you had a break and the two of you decided to isolate yourself from all the hype for an indefinite time so that Jiyong's words sounded like a suggestion.

"Or a little copy of you if it's a boy…Or it could be twins, you and me, but small," with a wide smile, you continued to reason.

"THE TWINS? Baby, it's fantastic, I'm going to be the happiest dad." Every word gave you goosebumps, and you were the happiest at that moment.

"Honestly, I mean, we could have started trying. We don't have a job right now and won't be in the near future, we're left to ourselves."

"Trying? I always thought it was an unspoken synonym for people fucking a lot," you said with a laugh.

"Oh my God. You're actually right," Jiyong replied, giggling.

"Well, you know, I like this prospect."

"Don't talk like we don't have sex several times a day."

"Jiyong, remember when you had a comeback, we barely had ten minutes in the morning before you left for filming."

"Hey, and when you were on the move, we only had face time at all," Jiyong continued defensively.

"We're really arguing about this," you laughed.

"There's no time to waste, princess." With these words, Jiyong squeezed his hand on your waist and you walked towards your villa.

It's been two weeks since your conversation and since you've been diligently trying to make a baby. It was crazy, you didn't have any problems with your sex life before, but now you could have sex several times in the morning, then again in the shower, and always before going to bed. Despite your husband's frenzied enthusiasm, you felt better than ever, the most beautiful, the most desirable, and the happiest.

You have already arrived from Jeju and were going to visit your friends Young-bae and Hyo-rin. today. You were making up in front of the mirror while your husband came up from behind and put his hands under your blouse, wrapping them around your waist and slowly leaving kisses on your neck.

"Baby, if you're ready, then you'd better just wait for me and not distract me, so I'll get ready even longer." To which you received only a satisfied mumble, the man didn’t listen to you at all, but on the contrary continued to pull his hands to your chest and gently squeeze it.

"Ji... we've already done this three times, and it's not even evening yet. And the guys are expecting us by six," you said almost pleadingly.

"Princess, we'll do it quickly." That's the only person you couldn't refuse.

Of course you're late.

At about 7 p.m., you arrived at your friends' house, making excuses for the frantic traffic jams. You had a wonderful dinner, you sat discussing everything from work to vacation. Baby Dong has been sitting on your lap all this time. You and Jiyong were crazy about that kid, just like he was crazy about you. Whenever you were visiting Young-bae and Hyo-rin, you couldn't tear yourself away from this baby.

"Kitten, what is it?" - you felt that the boy started twisting and fidgeting.

"Jiyong." - the boy started pointing at your husband.

"Do you want uppy?» - with emotion on his face, Jiyong took the baby in his arms. "Do you want to play? Let's go to your toys."- with these words, the men went to the children's room. You and Hyo-rin are left alone.

"Sometimes it seems that you come to us only because of the child," the girl remarked with a smile.

"Yes, it is," you said sarcastically.

"Y/N, can I ask you a question?" You unconsciously tensed up from such a question.

"Of course."

"Are you pregnant?"

"Haha, no. Why?" - you let out a nervous laugh, how could she know that you were diligently trying to make a baby.

"It's just that something has changed in you and in Jiyong, too, I know it sounds strange, I just assumed that you could be in a position." Her words sent warmth through your body.

"You're going to be great parents."

"Thank you, Hyo-rin.". There was silence after that. There was no discomfort or awkwardness, on the contrary, it was the most comfortable silence.

Towards nightfall, you realized that you had stayed up too late and it was time to return home. All the way home, you discussed your cozy evening.

"Y/N, when we were playing with Baby Dong, it was as if I realized that this was exactly what I had been working for all my life. I'm so looking forward to our future baby," your husband said, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Oh Jiyongie, you will be the most wonderful father." - your hand gently touched his cheek.

Later that night, your husband was already lying in bed and waiting for you from the shower. For some reason, you have an irresistible desire to do the test, despite the fact that you did it yesterday. The minutes seemed to drag on forever.

"Baby, are you coming soon? You've been there for an hour." - your husband's indignation could be heard even in the bathtub. And before he could finish the last sentence, you were flying out of the tub holding a test in your hands.

"Baby!"

"What? What is it?" - he was puzzled by your enthusiastic cry. It was already clear from your face, from your voice, and even from the test in your hands, but Jiyong can't quite believe it.

"Baby, I'm pregnant." - tears of happiness appeared in the corners of your eyes.

"Y/N, baby, I love you, I love you so much." You couldn't believe your luck.

The two of you were almost asleep, but something was bothering you: "You know, when you left, Hyo-rin asked if I was pregnant?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes, that's what prompted me to take the test, it's so strange. She also said that we would be great parents."

"Well, if she wasn't wrong with the first one, then the second one is also true."

And tonight, falling asleep in the arms of your beloved man, carrying your baby under your heart, you felt like the happiest woman in the world.

#bigbang #kwon jiyong #gdragon #gdragon imagines #kwon jiyong x reader #g dragon #g dragon x reader #jiyong x you #jiyongie #bigbang x reader #g dragon fic #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong imagines #gdragon smut #kwon jiyong smut

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squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame · 1 month ago

Note

Hey, hey, hey! Could you write something about how G-Dragon, T.O.P, and Daesung would react to seeing the Reader wearing one sexy lingerie for the first time? 🤧

Lingerie

Characters: Gdragon, T.o.p, Daesung

summary: Above

Warnings: Content Warnings: NSFW / Smut (18+), shy demeanor, teasing, consensual power exchange, lingerie kink, oral (f. receiving),

Gdragon

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, the soft lamplight painting a golden sheen over your skin. The lingerie felt unfamiliar against your body—delicate lace hugging your curves, satin ribbons tracing your thighs. It was cute, yes. Baby-pink. With tiny bows and sheer panels. But it was also sexy. The kind of sexy that made your heart beat like it was trying to escape your chest.

You weren’t used to this. Not the boldness. Not the way it made you feel exposed, vulnerable… yet powerful. Like you were holding a secret in lace.

The front door clicked.

You froze.

Ji-Yong was home.

He was earlier than you expected.

You could hear the soft thud of his boots being kicked off, followed by his deep voice calling your name. His voice—low and smooth, like velvet dipped in honey—sent a thrill down your spine every time. Tonight was no different.

Except this time, you had a plan.

You stepped out from the bedroom slowly, your bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. Ji-Yong was halfway to the kitchen when he turned—and stopped dead in his tracks.

Time stilled.

His eyes raked over you, pupils dilating almost immediately. “...Baby,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

Your cheeks burned. You looked down shyly, gripping the edge of the doorway for support. “I… I thought I’d surprise you.”

He approached like a panther—slow, controlled, predatory.

When he was in front of you, he didn’t touch. He just looked. “You did more than surprise me,” he murmured. His fingers reached up, brushing along the strap of your bra. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“I wasn’t sure if… if I could pull it off,” you said quietly.

He tilted your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re fucking breathtaking.”

The air shifted.

You barely had time to gasp before he scooped you into his arms, carrying you back toward the bedroom like you weighed nothing.

“I want to take my time,” he murmured as he laid you down on the sheets. “Wanna memorize how you look in this…”

You trembled under his gaze, his fingers tracing slowly—torturously—down your stomach, stopping at the delicate waistband of your panties. He kissed down your thighs, your knees parting instinctively for him. When he looked up, his eyes darkened with lust. “All of this for me?”

You nodded shyly.

“That’s my girl.”

His mouth was warm and sinful as he pressed kisses just above the lace, purposefully avoiding the ache at your core. You whined, hips shifting, and he smirked. “So sensitive already…”

He peeled your panties down slowly, dragging the lace along your thighs. Then, his mouth replaced his hands.

Tongue hot and insistent, Ji-Yong devoured you with a hunger that made your toes curl. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping as he flicked and swirled, lips wrapping around your clit until your moans filled the room.

When you finally came—shaking, panting, nearly crying—he kissed his way back up your body, whispering praises against your skin.

“You taste like heaven, baby.”

You reached for him, pulling at his shirt, needy and breathless. He let you undress him slowly, watching you with eyes full of heat and something deeper—something tender.

When he finally entered you, the stretch was perfect, slow and steady. He moved with purpose, grounding you with kisses and whispered words: So pretty. So good for me. Let go, baby—I’ve got you.

He didn’t rush.

He made love to you.

Every thrust sent sparks up your spine, your name on his lips like a prayer. By the time you came again, he was holding you tightly, body trembling with his own release.

Afterward, he pulled you close, running his fingers gently over the straps of your lingerie.

“You should wear this more often,” he whispered into your hair.

“I don’t know if I can survive that,” you mumbled into his chest.

He chuckled softly, kissing your temple. “Then I guess we’ll just have to practice…”

Daesung

The soft rustle of fabric was barely audible over the hum of Daesung’s voice as he played something gentle on the speaker in his room—warm, low music that brushed the walls like a whisper.

You stood just behind the door, heart beating wildly. The lingerie set—pastel pink with delicate lace trims—felt foreign and thrilling against your skin. You’d never worn anything like this before. It wasn’t just sexy. It was vulnerable. Cute, playful, but the way it hugged your body made it clear: this wasn’t just for you.

It was for him.

You shifted nervously, trying to tug the hem down, though there wasn’t much to tug. The little bow at the center of the bra felt like it pulsed in time with your heartbeat.

"Y/N?" Daesung's voice drifted through the half-open door. "You okay?"

You took a shaky breath. "Y-Yeah. Just... give me a second."

“Take your time,” he said, that ever-gentle patience in his tone. You could almost hear him smile. “No rush.”

Finally, you stepped out.

Daesung had just set down a glass of wine. The moment he looked up, everything in him seemed to still.

His mouth parted slightly. His eyes, warm as ever, widened in quiet awe—and then softened. Slowly, reverently, he stood.

“You look...” His voice dropped. “Wow.”

You shyly crossed your arms over your chest. “I feel silly...”

“No. No, don’t do that.” He stepped toward you, fingers lifting gently to tug your hands away. “You look so beautiful. You always do—but this... this is something else.”

Your eyes fluttered down as you whispered, “You like it?”

“I love it.” His voice was low, reverent. “But more than anything, I love you in it.”

He touched your waist, slow and warm. His fingers traced the lace edging your hips like it was art, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Can I touch you?” he murmured.

You nodded, flushed and trembling. “Please.”

What followed was gentle and slow. He kissed your shoulders first, then your collarbone, careful not to rush. Every touch was an affirmation. Every kiss a promise. His hands glided along your curves, memorizing the texture of lace and skin, and when he laid you down on the bed, it was like unwrapping a gift he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to receive.

He took his time, easing you out of the lingerie piece by piece, praising every inch of you with his mouth and hands.

And when he finally entered you, it wasn’t just physical. It felt like worship—like he was savoring every moan, every gasp, every moment you gave him.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered into your skin, moving slow and deep. “So perfect.”

The night stretched into a warm blur of kisses, laughter, and tangled limbs. But long after the lingerie had fallen to the floor, Daesung held you close, brushing hair from your face as you drifted off in his arms.

“You don’t have to wear anything to look this good,” he whispered. “But if you ever want to again... please do.”

T.O.P

The soft lighting in the bedroom bathed everything in a rose-gold hue, as if the walls themselves were blushing for her. She stood by the mirror, nervously twisting a lock of hair around her finger. The delicate lace of the pale lavender lingerie clung to her body like a whisper—cute, feminine, just a little daring. Tiny bows dotted the straps, and the sheer panels revealed just enough to make her breath hitch when she saw herself.

She wasn’t used to this. Wearing something like this. Feeling... seen.

And tonight, she would be. By him.

Choi Seung-hyun—T.O.P. Effortlessly charismatic, always composed, with that low, honeyed voice that could melt glaciers. Yet when it came to her, he was endlessly patient and gentle, never rushing.

"Angel?" his voice called softly from behind the bedroom door.

Her heart fluttered. She almost answered, but nerves caught in her throat.

The door opened slowly, and there he was, leaning on the frame, a question in his eyes—until he saw her.

His lips parted. His breath caught.

"Wow..."

She flushed instantly. Her hands moved to cover herself, but he was already stepping forward.

"Don’t," he murmured, catching her wrists gently. "You look... breathtaking."

His eyes traced her body reverently, not hungrily. Like she was art. The corner of his mouth curled in a faint smile.

"You’re nervous," he whispered, brushing her cheek. "You don’t have to be. Not with me."

"I’ve never..." She swallowed. "Worn something like this. For someone."

Seung-hyun’s gaze softened even more, if that were possible. "Then I’m honored to be the first."

He leaned down, his lips grazing her shoulder before trailing upward to her neck, slow and deliberate. Her breath hitched. The lingerie may have been lace and satin, but his touch lit her skin like fire.

“Tell me to stop,” he said as he kissed behind her ear.

“Don’t,” she whispered back.

He smiled against her skin, hands roaming her sides, learning every dip and curve like a poem in a new language. He guided her to the bed with an ease that made her feel protected, worshipped.

As he undressed her piece by piece—never rushing, always watching her—his touch was a promise: I want all of you. At your pace. In your way.

And when he finally made love to her, it was slow, tender, filled with murmured praise and hands that memorized everything. He kissed every inch of her like it deserved a sonnet, his name a soft chant from her lips as he brought her higher and higher until she trembled beneath him.

Later, tangled in sheets and his arms, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and whispered, "You don’t need lingerie to be irresistible. But God, you made it unforgettable."

She smiled into his chest, finally letting herself feel it: desired, adored, and safe in the arms of the man who saw all of her—and wanted more.

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angel-writes-here · 2 months ago

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Covenant

Choi Seunghyun x AFAB! Reader x G-Dragon Synopsis: As Seunghyun goes to reveal his secret, tragic news comes out. What happens when Jiyong's own secret is revealed? Warnings: Angst, grief, mentions of a dead body. A/N: Part 6 is here! Thank you for all your support on this story! Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in future updates! Part 5

You watch as he knocks on the door, his posture straight, the bedside lamp the only faint light in the room.

You watch it open, everything feeling like it’s moving in slow motion.

“Can I talk to you, privately?” Seunghyun mumbles. Jiyong’s eyes faintly flit to you, if you hadn’t been watching you never would’ve caught it.

“Yeah,” he says and Seunghyun disappears behind the door.

Your phone rings and you see it’s the hospital.

“Hello?”

On the other side of the door Seunghyun patiently waits as Jiyong’s guest is kicked out of the room. Once the door shuts behind her, Jiyong stares at his friend, waiting for him to speak.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Seunghyun starts.

“Oh fuck, you know,” Jiyong mumbles.

“Huh? Know what?” Seunghyun looks at his friend who is now visibly panicking.

“Don’t you?” He asks confused as to why Seunghyun isn’t more upset.

“I don’t know, you won’t tell me what I know.” Seunghyun says.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

“You know about me and y/n,” he sighs and Seunghyun purses his lips.

“I do,” Jiyong interrupts his friend.

“Hyung, listen, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, things were bad between you two, I seen the situation I took advantage,” Jiyong rambles before Seunghyun can stop him.

“Bro, I’m not mad,” he laughs and Jiyong tilts his head in confusion.

“What?”

“Y/n and I,” he sighs, "It's complicated, we aren't,” before he can finish the door busts open, you’re in tears and your body shakes.

“I need to go home,” you sob. You break down, your body falls to the floor before both the boys rush over to your side.

“Wait, baby, what happened?” You cling to Jiyong despite Seunghyun’s presence.

“The hos-hospital called, it’s my sister,” you sob into his shirt and Jiyong looks at Seunghyun unsure of what he should do.

“Y/n,” he says as he hesitantly puts an arm around you, “What did they say?”

You look into his eyes, nothing but care and concern are present in them.

“She-she’s gone,” you sob. Jiyong’s face turns guilty and Seunghyun’s brow quirks at his friend.

“That makes no sense,” Jiyong mumbles to himself.

“Huh?” What do you mean?” You sniffle as you peer up at him.

Jiyong realizes you heard him and his eyes grow wide as he stiffens. You sit up off him.

“I’m going to let the guys know.” Seunghyun goes to get up. You nod at him as he leaves the two of you alone.

“What makes no sense, Ji,” your eyes are red and puffy, but your voice is steady as an ox.

“Well, you’re mom called me earlier today, she said your sister was doing better and,” your eyes are now growing wide as you shrink away from him.

“You fucking knew something was wrong?” your voice raises a few octaves.

“Y/n, please, she asked me not to tell you, she didn’t want you to worry,” he tries to keep you calm.

“That doesn’t fucking matter Jiyong! You knew she was getting worse?” You shout at him.

“She said there would be no reason to tell you because she was doing better, I was just trying to listen to her,” his defense is useless.

“By keeping me in the fucking dark?! Are you fucking kidding me?” you stand up and what Jiyong see’s pulls goosebumps to the surface of his skin. He’s never seen so much anger and down right hatred in someone’s eyes.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry aint fucking good enough,” your eyes are now watering once more.

“What the hell’s going on?” Seunghyun walks back in, Taeyang and Daesung in tow.

Seunghyun wraps an arm around you as he see’s the disgusted look on your face.

“You’re a piece of fucking shit,” you mutter as you storm out of the room back into your own. Anger bubbles within you, he was a good friend to you and your family, but could he not tell you about your own sister? That this had all happened in the span of a few short days.

Seunghyun enters the room, see's you packing your things furiously and grabs his own suit case. He starts putting away shirts and you stop him.

“No, you have shows to do. Just let me go alone.”

“There’s no way in hell that’s happening.” He states.

“Seung, please I don’t want shows canceled.”

“They won’t be,”

“You’re part of Big Bang, please just stay,” your voice cracks. He looks at you, tears silently sliding down your cheeks.

“I’m your husband. I wasn’t there for you the first time, I’m not making that same mistake again.” He says as he embraces you. Your arms envelope his waist, finally allowing yourself to cry and shake violently in his arms. Your chest heaves, air feels like it’s not enough, and the hurt in your heart from Jiyong is overwhelming.

“I feel like I’m going to pass out,” you say just before you start gasping for air as your body shakes.

“Come here,” he pulls you to the edge of the bed.

“Put your head between your knees.” He guides you and helps you breathe. What neither of you see, is the way Jiyong silently checks on you. The way he peeks his head into the room hearing the chaos. Jiyong feels a hand on his shoulder.

Taeyang.

“She’ll be ok, hyung.” He tries to reassure his friend, but its no use.

He watches as you pick your head up, your eyes meet for a split second before you look away, still too hurt to look at him. He knows he was wrong, but he also didn’t want to burden you for something that he was told the doctors said was fine.

Seunghyun helps you stand up, your breath evening out. The door to your room is shut, the two of you left alone.

“How could he not tell me?” you scoff as you resume packing your things.

“He might have thought he was doing the right thing.”

“He fucking didn’t. Because now, thanks to him, I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” You start to sob again and once again Seunghyun’s arms envelope you in a hug.

“Baby, you may not have gotten that chance anyway. There’s no guarantee you would’ve made it.” He mumbles into your hair.

“I could’ve at least tried!” you pull back from him, not wanting to hear logic and reason. Seunghyun sighs and nods his head.

You arrive in Seoul, a car picking you up to take you to the hospital. A few fans showed up but nothing crazy. Seunghyun threatened anyone who told the media would be fired immediately. You meet your mother at the facility; Seunghyun by your side. He hugs your mother and rubs your back soothingly as you step into the room. You’re still able to view her body, and your own starts to shake as you take her cold, lifeless hand.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry.” You sob once more and Seunghyun holds your shoulders and kisses the crown of your head. You drop her hand and turn into him, his chest feeling like the only safe haven you have at the moment. Your hands fist his shirt and tears soak into it.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me? Why did you call Jiyong!” you shout at your mom and your husband does his best to keep you calm.

“I didn’t want you to worry, she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, doctors said it was a result of the chemo and this morning she was better,” she tries to explain with tears in her eyes.

“Baby I never expected this to happen,” she lets a few tears slip but you’re too upset to care.

“So everyone got to know but me. Great.” You scoff in disbelief.

“She knew you loved her,” she says desperately as you grab your bag.

“She should’ve heard it from me,” you bite as you go to the front desk to ask about making preparations.

The nurse fills you in on the details, they’ll have the body frozen and sent to whatever funeral home you choose.

“Honey I can do this,” your mother pipes up.

“NO,” you shout gaining stares from the hospital staff.

“I will do it.” You say quietly.

“Jagi, whatever you want or whatever she wanted, I’ll pay for it, ok? Just do whatever would’ve made her happy.” He whispers to you as you get some paper work from the nurse. You nod and he presses a kiss to your temple.

You get to your home that night, walking in you see Hae sitting on the couch. Your body slumps.

“Seunghyun!” She sings, “I missed you, baby.” She throws you a nasty look as she breezes past you to hug him.

You roll your eyes, frustration with him slightly rising within you. He seriously couldn't tell his girlfriend not to come over for one stupid night?

“I’m going to bed,” you mumble as you race up the steps. The door slams behind you as you fall onto your bed, allowing all the emotions to come up. Screams, tears, body shakes and all. You beat your fist against the mattress as you scream into it.

Downstairs Hae is already pulling Seunghyun to the bedroom.

“Stop, Hae.” He pulls against her, earning a look of confusion.

“Not tonight,” he sighs. He knew this was coming, he just wasn’t sure how he wanted to deal with it.

“How did you find out I was even home?” He asks as he takes off his jacket.

“I called your team because you weren’t answering your phone and they said you were on a flight back.” She shrugs.

“So I used my key to get in and wait for you. After being with y/n I was sure you missed me.”

“She’s the reason I’m home,” he tries to explain to her.

“Figures, selfish bitch,” she spouts off, “can’t even think of your career,” she mumbles.

“Hey, watch your mouth! That’s my wife and you will not disrespect her!” He shouts. Hae takes a step back.

“She’s your FAKE wife!” she yells.

Upstairs you can hear the heated discussion and you step out onto the top of the steps, just out of sight. At least someone else was having problems now.

“Or do you not remember complaining to me night after night about how awful she is. How she’s so boring and annoying and you'd rather be dead than do this any longer?” Your heart aches in your chest at her words.

“How you hated her, hated her presence around you, how she was just a stuck up bitch who wanted you for your money. The endless times you’d come crawling to me to work out your frustrations.” She steps closer to him, laying her hand on his chest.

“She doesn’t love you, Seunghyun. She’s in a contract with you. There’s a difference.” Seunghyun, despite his best efforts, starts to question her words.

“I said all that before this happened,” he weakly defends.

“You still said it, and after one night with me, you’ll remember why.” Her smile is devious and calculated.

She leans up to whisper in his ear, “And if you don’t, then I’ll make sure the whole world knows your little secret.” She pulls him off to the direction of the downstairs bedroom and the door shuts.

Your heart shatters into pieces as you walk back to your bedroom. You let out an ear-piercing scream into your pillow.

No Jiyong.

No Seunghyun.

You’re on your own. Your body shakes, and you feel as though you could collapse in on yourself.

So much for trying in your relationship.

You need Seunghyun but he isn’t there. You need someone, but you’re too mad at Jiyong to even call him, despite all the times he tried calling you. You spend the night alone, your tears making a wet spot on the sheets. Your body weak and exhausted.

The darkness swallows you whole that night, you toss and turn unable to sleep. You slip on our slippers and pad down to the kitchen, who says you can’t drink at 1 in the morning?

You pour yourself a glass of wine, the house still.

“Wow, a dead sister and a drinking problem, huh?” you hear a snarky voice suddenly speak. You jump at the sudden intrusion before rolling your eyes.

“Fuck off, Hae.�� You raise the glass to your lips, tasing the sweetly bitter beverage.

“Fuck you, bitch, I’ll do what I want in my house,” she folds her arms and smirks.

“This isn’t your house, but whatever.”

“Oh, sweetie, it is. My name’s on the deed.” Your heart skips a beat.

“What?”

She chuckles to herself.

“Yeah, well, mine and Seunghyun’s anyway, and that’s my wine you’re drinking so you can replace it when your through.” She smirks.

You smirk back at her as you take the rest of the wine and pour it back in the bottle. Backwash and all.

“No need, keep it.” She makes a disgusted face.

“God, how he could ever even pretend to love a girl like you.” You stare at her. Disbelief running through your veins. He never told you Hae’s name was on the deed, he never said this was her house.

“Baby, trust one thing, once Seunghyun’s done with this funeral business, he won’t need you. So you may as well keep your shit packed.”

“How do you know?” Your voice waivers but you can’t help it.

“Because what’s better for his image than a doting husband being there for his wife. Then due to tragedy his wife leaves because she just can’t handle the life anymore. Or they could say you had an affair because of your grief or something. Either way, this is the perfect excuse for him to get out of this stupid ordeal. So, I guess I have your sister to thank for dying. She’s giving me my man back.” Her smile is evil and she chuckles as she walks back down the hall to the bedroom.

You and Seunghyun walk into the funeral home, the air between you ice cold.

The funeral director starts showing you plans, but you’re barely there. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Thoughts of Jiyong come to mind, thoughts of what Seunghyun and Hae did and talked about come to mind, thoughts of your mother who hasn’t bothered to call or check in, thoughts of how you sister must have felt when you weren’t there and she couldn’t hold out any longer. Tears brim your eyes but Seunghyun’s hand on your thigh pulls you out of your head.

“Baby?” He asks with a questioning look.

“Huh, oh right,” you wipe the few escaping tears from your cheeks.

“I guess, I uh, gosh I don’t know,” you try to think back to what your sister wanted.

“I think her wish was to be buried.” You nod your head and the funeral director goes into the process, explaining everything that will happen, but once again, it’s muffled as you return to your head.

Back in the car, you both sit there silently.

“Do you want to talk or,” Seunghyun asks breaking the silence as he starts the car.

“Just take me to the Crown Park Hotel,” you mumble as you look out the window.

“Wait, what? You have a room at the house-,”

“I want to stay in the hotel!” Your voice snaps and Seunghyun’s lips part slightly as his brows shoot up on his face.

“The room is paid for so just take me there,” you cross your arms over your chest. Seunghyun pulls over and turns to look at you.

“Not without you talking to me,” he says. You scoff with a bitter laugh.

“Why the hell do you care. As soon as the ordeal is over you can be free. I’ll take the fucking blame, just get me to the damn hotel and get the hell away from me.” You shoot daggers at him.

“Woah, what are you talking about? I thought we were working on this,” he motions between you.

“So did I,” you say weakly.

“If you don’t drive me to the damn hotel, I’ll get out and walk.”

“Y/n, no,”

“No? Ha,” you laugh defiantly. You open the door and slam it behind you. Seunghyun watches as you round the car. He opens his door when he see’s you start to walk toward the busy street. He jogs up to you, taking you by the arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you yank your arm from him, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“I’ll drive you to the hotel, ok?” You walk back past him and get back in the car.

Seunghyun drops you off at the hotel, he doesn’t come in, he just watches you disappear inside. The place is nice, red carpeting, golden fixtures, very high end.

You’re sitting in the hotel room, the tv is on for background noise, staring at the ceiling.

You pick up the phone, seeing yet another three missed calls from Jiyong. You tap on the icon, briefly considering calling him. But there’s a knock on your door before you can do so.

You get up with a huff and slowly pad across the hardwood floor.

You open the door, your eyes growing wide at the face before you.

Jiyong.

Tags: @breakmeoff @ilovethe141 @tom-hollands-blog @tabibabib @gdgirl21 @thelovelybireader @hyunjifilm @bcfcpsh @patheticgirl127 @1950schick

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Covenant Masterlist

Part 7

Love notes, comments and requests are appreciated!

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luvieswords · 4 days ago

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☆ Bf Jiyong - soft Headcanons ☆

a/n: my first time writing on this account, kinda nervous.

Pairing: Kwon Jiyong (GDragon) x fem reader

Warnings: fluff (est relationship)

☆Jiyong definitely likes to write cute little poems or lyrics that are intended only for you to see. He’ll secretly leave them in places like your bag or under your pillow, hiding and blushing as he watches you melt while reading them.

☆He’s very protective of his cats, but he’ll for sure let you be their mama, pretending you guys have your own little family together (the cats count as babies of course). And when you’re not there he sulks with both of them like you’ve abandoned them all.

☆ If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed, he’ll always know. You wouldn’t even have to tell him, he would just pick up on things. As soon as he could he’d be with you, whispering sweet words and peppering you with gentle kisses. He also wouldn’t pressure you to explain if you didn’t want to, instead just reassuring you that you’re his favourite person and he loves you.

☆He’d also make playlists for you, filled with not just his songs, but songs that mean a lot to the both of you. He’d make playlists for good and bad days, they’d be titled something cheesy like “songs that remind me of you” with adorable cover pictures of the two of you…which were of course adorned with little stickers he’d added on to make it “more personal”.

☆Jiyong is the king of pillow talk, when you’re both all cozy and cuddled up, that’s when he’ll really open up. Telling you what inspires him, what scares him, and most importantly, he’d describe the future he sees with you, tracing shapes on your arms while he recites plans he has for you two as if he’d already seen the future.

#gdragon x reader #bigbang x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #jiyong #kpop #taeyang #daesung #choi seunghyun #bigbang #gtop #kwon jiyong #jiyong x reader #headcanon #fluff #imagine

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jedisupernova · 8 days ago

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compress, repress (part i) — kwon jiyong & choi seunghyun

summary california is many different things to many different people. to seunghyun, it was simply another place to call the shots. to jiyong, it was an extension of the echo-chamber he's been stuck in since sentience. to you, it was a chance to fulfill your self-prescribed fate—until you unintentionally upended the lives of two strangers, and in turn, your own.

notes minors dni contains challengers au, fem reader, unabashedly plus sized reader as i am myself but anyone can read, establishing lore and dynamics, takes place in the mid 2000s (hence mentions of certain music, technology, media etc.), everyone is a college senior, tennisplayer!jiyong and tennisplayer!seunghyun; reader is head of the debate team, mentions of drinking and smoking, angst (all three are at times depicted as not the greatest of people, love triangle, inferiority complex, yearning, rivalry brewing on and off court, cockiness, selfishness, greed, deception), smut (for my girls who know: the hotel room scene, wet dream, foreplay m receiving; sub!jiyong, suffocating sexual tension), i don't know anything about professional sports so pls dont laugh at me, if you went to stanford and are reading this not youre not, inevitable typos.

author's note welcome to part i of my challengers au!! this has been a long time in the making. a brief disclaimer: these are only characters; in no way do i claim either would act this way in real life. happy (belated) anniversary to the film that changed me forever. if you haven't seen it, you should. get tucked in a comfortable, because this is long. i did my big one with this. see you next friday for pt ii 🎾

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

jiyong’s earliest memory is being mistaken for seunghyun’s younger brother. he was six years old—his only worry in the world whether he would be handed a cherry or grape popsicle at the neighborhood block party. to his luck, he was handed the former. his mother ripped the plastic off for him, leaving him to his business whilst swinging his feet in a lawn chair. “no!” he giggled sweetly when a classmate asked him the silly question. “hyun is my friend.” his childhood lisp caused him to drop the first half of his best friend’s name until a speech pathologist whipped him into shape before middle school. but even then, at such an early age, jiyong remembers feeling resentment. was he being dramatic for a kindergartener? yes. he gets it from his father.

he remembers leaning his short stature to the left, spotting seunghyun across the cul-de-sac, carrying a plate of food with his mother walking beside him. he stared so long his popsicle started melting down his palm, quickly wiping the light red syrup on his shirt before his mother could scold him. their families did everything together. it was a reflection of many shared experiences: immigrating to a new country, establishing their footing, and making a name for themselves. the last task was naturally passed down to jiyong and seunghyun—both the only child of their respective families—brothers by proxy, competition by force.

he loves his best friend dearly. they truly did feel like brothers . . . so many firsts shared together . . . secrets kept . . . music bickered over . . . clothes and shoes stolen . . . unspoken assigned seats in the car . . . constantly being compared to one another as they grew older . . . sharing sweaty headbands much to their mothers disgust and fathers disapproval when their credit cards are swiped for either of their acne treatments . . . but still. sometimes just sometimes, bitterness pricked at jiyong’s skin like a pesky mosquito. crept up his spine. burrowed into his psyche. cemented in his frontal cortex. i’m the one who’s older by three months, anyway . . . he thought to himself at his high school prom, stubbornly downing his cup of spiked punch after his date—who didn’t even try hiding her lingering, longing stares at seunghyun sat across the table—asked him the same question that’s haunted him for years, happy the dj’s speakers made blu cantrell deafening enough to distract him. i mean—do we even fucking look alike?

don’t get it twisted: both jiyong and seunghyun are well-off, and not to mention, handsome. high enough above the poverty line to pursue a sport seriously and be well-educated, and attractive enough to not be completely clueless when it came to dating. although . . . vices will be vices: “your coach says you’re playing like a late-bloomer.” jiyong’s father said to him over the phone, making his then-twelve-year-old self look anxiously over his shoulder at the growing line of boys behind him, waiting for their turn to call home—a defining vignette of his many years at his local tennis academy. he held the receiver tightly, “is this something i should be worried about?” “n-no—i—” “what did he say about seunghyun? hm?” “he said he’s good—” “—that’s what i need to hear about you. this is your ticket out—to live a better life than i did. do you understand me?”

if his guidance counselor asked, jiyong would claim he took up tennis because his mother played before meeting his father. if he looked into the bathroom mirror longer than ten seconds, however,—and didn’t rush to the court for his final doubles match at the academy before leaving for college on a full athletic scholarship—he would have to come to terms with the fact a larger part is definitely due to his bunkmate, playing partner, and future classmate at stanford: seunghyun. it started off innocent: two seven-year-olds dropped off at the rec center for summer camp whilst their parents are at work, picking up rackets and hitting a ball back and forth to pass time. jiyong remembers initially liking it, but not as much as soccer. in contrast, seunghyun liked the feeling of his converse skidding and squeaking on the court—catching his parents' attention asking for tennis shoes the following summer. getting playfully competitive with his best friend (“that wasn’t out of bounds! it was right on the line!” “that was the definition of out of bounds, ji.” “fuck off, seunghyun.”) wasn’t half bad either, though practice sometimes become so heated it led to showcases of subpar emotional intelligence in their dorm at the academy growing up: “jiyong? are you still mad at me?” “why does your back hand swing have to be so . . . mean?” “mean? what? thats just how . . . it is? i think its because i’m taller than you, or something. i think i have more power? jiyong? ji—are you still awake?”

seunghyun didn't exactly like playing against jiyong whereas jiyong actively sought it out as they grew up, feeling the need to prove himself. when he thinks back on his early-to-mid adolescence, it feels as if he just woke up in a tennis academy one day without second thought, or any pushback, really. to his luck, and fortunately for his family's savings, he was pretty good. surely a mix of his parents hoping this was his "ticket out" or whatever. but also an excuse to tie me to him forever, his inner monologue pestered frustratingly, throwing his racket hastily into his duffel, marching out of the locker room after losing his singles match to seunghyun. at least in college jiyong felt like his own person. him and seunghyun majored in differing subjects, had their own friend groups, lived on opposite ends of campus; down the block in different apartment buildings once they were upperclassmen—feeling their brotherhood mature fruitfully in the process.

their dynamic is “concrete and sophisticated both when competing together or on opposite ends of the court,” a student reporter wrote in the stanford daily, much to either of their amusement over lunch in the dining hall: “‘concrete and sophisticated’ … sounding like a bbc anchor at nine-fucking-teen.” seunghyun prodded his salad with the prongs of his fork, stuffing his mouth with freshly-cut lettuce doused in a generous serving of honey mustard. “i don’t know,” jiyong shrugged his shoulders, chewing on his bite of roast chicken, reaching up to fix his stanford baseball cap to rest backwards on his head; either of their backpacks and equipment for practice later that afternoon placed on the empty chairs beside them. “i mean—i kinda take it as a compliment, seunghyun.” “nah, don’t get me wrong,” seunghyun moved on to his bowl of pasta. “i do, too. s'just that shit like this reminds me that we’re at school with some really smart people. like, they sound like that just casually.” jiyong’s eyebrows furrowed, answering before taking a sip of water. “we’re smart, too.” “the guy leading my physics discussion group would say otherwise.”

jiyong landed a couple girlfriends, too. the first he met at his freshman seminar, getting on well until summertime came around—the long distance ending things abruptly. he also didn’t know how to navigate that, so part of him was relieved when she was the one who dumped him. the second he met at the beginning of his junior year, only to break up a few months later when classes and his demanding tennis schedule caused a drift. seunghyun, with his characteristic bluntness, tried to help his best friend feel better in a way that admittedly wasn’t ideal: “damn, man,” seunghyun huffed, sitting next to jiyong on the bench overlooking the tennis court. he tossed his racket to the ground, trading it for his water bottle, downing half of it. “no wonder you’re on fire today—got me running around this court like crazy.” seunghyun chuckled, downing the other half before tossing it with his racket, too.

jiyong swallowed his energy gel in contemplative silence. seunghyun wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, “you sure you know what you’re doing with them?” he turned to jiyong, “'cause it looks like all you know how to do is scare them away.” jiyong was on edge and offended, looking at seunghyun sharply. “what? how do i scare them away?” seunghyun jutted his bottom lip, shrugging his shoulders much to jiyong’s mounting frustration. “i mean, i don’t know—” “—how does it work for you?” jiyong cut him off, referring to seunghyun’s girlfriend that he’s had for nearly two years now. “we have the same fucking schedule.” there was a brief pause before seunghyun shrugged his shoulders again. does he not know how to do anything fucking else? jiyong’s inner monologue voiced aggravatingly. “i don’t know.” seunghyun shook his head. “it kind of just happens, i guess?”

in defeat, jiyong sunk his face into his palms, sharply sucking in a breath at the sting of sweat sprinkling into his eyes. it was seunghyun’s inadvertent nonchalantness that drove him crazy sometimes. how’re things always so fucking easy for him? and he just—he just doesn’t fucking know it? seunghyun sensed something shifted, but his attempt to patch it up just made it worse. “look, i’m sorry if i—” “—its fine. its whatever.” jiyong got up, reaching into his duffel bag for a new case of tennis balls. he didn’t look at seunghyun between opening the lid, grabbing a ball, tossing the plastic cylindrical case back into his duffel, and picking up his racket propped against the bench. “lets just finish this game. the dining hall’s closing soon, anyway.” jiyong walked to his previous position without a glance seunghyun’s way. “alright.” seunghyun watched the back of his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before grabbing his racket, heading to the opposite end of the court. as jiyong prepared to serve, seunghyun couldn’t help himself: “look—i-i’m not perfect, jiyong. okay? if that’s what you’re thinking.” “it certainly fucking feels like it.” jiyong hit the ball with force he didn’t know he had. looks like those energy gels do work, after all.

for a while, it felt like stanford was happening to you and you weren’t happening to stanford. maybe you weren’t journalling correctly, or perhaps have been listening to too much radiohead recently (your laptop’s fan never forgave you for your download of ok computer from a dubiously trustworthy website onto your ipod) or maybe your ego was too big—scratch that last one, you needed your big ass ego in a place like this. to walk into a room with your chest pumped and head held high, defiant and undeterred. it was the key to succeeding the most stuck-up motherfucker you’ve ever had the inconvenience of knowing as the president of the stanford debate society your junior year. whilst he was bringing his tassel to the left to go make peoples lives miserable in law school, you conducted a complete overhaul of team operations that were, in your eyes, in shambles. you booked nice-and-shiny weekend high school coaching gigs for your members to detail onto their resumes, renewed prep for intercollegiate circuits and tournaments, and was more cut-throat during tryouts.

most people wondered how you slept at night. not that you were a bitch per se (although the sophomore whose rebuttal you cut off in the middle of her tryout for being too fluffily worded would beg to differ) but more-so your workload. a political science major whose the president of an intense extracurricular and coming up on graduation next year; balancing heaps of coursework, assigned readings, debate prep, petty complaints, and still somehow eating three meals a day with time to piss and shit in between. oh, and shower, too. “there’s no secret. only structure.” you told your teammates over a celebratory dinner at applebee’s following a successful scrimmage, kicking off your senior year. “if i don’t have coffee by eighty thirty am—and i know that’s specific—i find that everything else falls apart. but i tell myself it doesn’t.”

it’s true: there you were the next morning, in line at the campus coffee shop nearest to your residential hall. albeit, it was twenty past nine (as much as your teammates joke that you’re a robot, you are human and capable of pressing snooze more times than you should) but not late enough to obstruct the rest of your day. the café was of normal pace—faculty and fellow students waiting for their orders, scurrying out the door to catch the campus shuttle to make their ten am lectures; study groups cramming for their noon midterm over bacon egg and cheese bagels; fiona apple on the sound system. after placing your order, you took your receipt and walked to the counter on the café’s left side, waiting with five others for your number to be called.

glancing at the bulletin board decked out in flyers for campus events, club meetings, and phone numbers for tutoring services, you caught sight of someone for lack of better, less adolescent phrasing . . . easy on the eyes. tall, messy black hair tucked underneath a backwards baseball hat doused in stanford cardinal red because, well, he was wearing nothing but stanford merchandise. an easy outfit, sure, as you’ve cycled through three stanford university shirts during the last six day period of preparing for finals, or whenever you woke up just not wanting to give a fuck. what made an amused, upside-down grin tug at the corners of your mouth to yourself was the trademark stanford logo on his t-shirt peek out of the undone zipper of his stanford quarter zip. if i was playing a drinking game where i had to take a shot every time i said the name of the school, and i was telling this anecdote, i’d have to be jetted to the hospital. you thought to yourself.

you couldn’t help taking another glance when he went up to the counter, more-or-less standing in front of you. his backpack was filled to the brim, equipped with a gatorade squeeze bottle on one side and another bag slung securely over his left shoulder. is that a tennis racket? he took a couple steps to the right, grabbing his coffee, permitting a better view. it is, you mentally confirmed, now noticing just how tan he is. makes sense—"did i bump into you?“ he took you right out of your head. “what?” you shook your head, processing. “oh—no, you’re fine.” he offered a polite grin, “can’t keep track of this sometimes.” he joked, gesturing to his left shoulder holding the enclosed racket. “see you around.” he headed for the door, walking the opposite direction. your number was called some minutes later, but he lingered in the back of your head. its like he knew i was looking at it, you thought to yourself, stirring your iced coffee, walking out the door, and that has to be the deepest voice i’ve ever heard—jesus christ. you didn’t see him again the next day, but did the following week. he wore the same outfit (admittedly unsurprising for a man) sans the hat, sat with someone who looked as if they played the same sport and dressed similarly—only this time, either of their hair looked evidently damp with what could only be sweat. doing that first thing in the morning would make me the most evil person in the world, you took a bite of your bagel, sat at other end of the café, highlighter in your other hand, marking up your xeroxed copy of an assigned textbook reading for your law of democracy lecture later that afternoon.

october 2005 was a turning point. a handful of student groups were in anaheim for expos, tournaments, and various invitationals. the stanford debate society was up there during that three day weekend as well, competing against other california-based universities to set the stage for competitions later in the academic year. you saw athletes running around, too: whether it was the swimming & diving team filing into hotel breakfast smelling of chlorine and gobbling down layered omelettes after being up since four in the morning; golfers and rowers taking up the sidewalk on your way to pick up donuts and coffee for your teammates; or gymnasts that always moved in a group no matter what. on sunday evening, the night before everyone was set to travel back to campus, the university rented out a courtyard at one of the hotels students were staying at—hosting a mixer to encourage mingling, and of course, networking. free drinks were provided for those of age. you gladly flashed your id to the bartender after a successful debate against berkeley, closing out your weekend and finally freeing your schedule on an accomplished high.

a couple hours in, you excused yourself to your teammates, leaving the table and heading to the bar for a second margarita. it felt so good to not have to think about anything—no strategies, research references—nothing. well, at least for now. but that was good enough for you, so cheers to that! meanwhile, on the other side of the courtyard, jiyong was fucking over it. the weekend invitational ended with a doubles match alongside seunghyun against a mouthy pair from uc davis, leaving jiyong with both a bitter taste in his mouth and an irritated right pinky toe. his new tennis shoes were fly and felt aerodynamic, but were stubborn—the pain brewing from his singles game against ucla friday evening, more-or-less subsiding on saturday, only to present itself again earlier that afternoon immediately following the umpire giving him and seunghyun an uncalled-for warning. they still obliterated uc davis and turned them into sore fucking losers, anyway. their triumphant court celebration that followed let them know they lost to us open boys’ junior double title winners (and some of the youngest to ever do it, too.)

the food at the mixer was fine—needed after a laborious day. an hour later, jiyong made it known: "m'kinda over this.” he said to seunghyun, whom was finishing his beer. “wanna head back?” “no problem. shuttle back to the hotel should be coming soon, anyway.” seunghyun got up. “i’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick.” jiyong got up from his seat too, throwing out his emptied bowl of pasta. he looked around at fellow students and various faculty scattered throughout the bustling courtyard, stretching his arms across his chest before cracking his knuckles. his eyes grazed over the granite fountain, hearing the dj switch to nelly as the time read half past ten on his watch. he walked up to the fountain, biting his inner cheek whilst looking at the array of nickels, quarters, and pennies glimmering in the recycled waves. by chance, he looked up, and saw you standing at the bar on the other side. the bartender was busy fulfilling other orders. there were no seats, so after a while, you stood with your elbows propped atop the counter, waiting patiently. you pulled up the sleeve of your blazer you’ve had on since eight o'clock this morning, reading the time on your watch. its been ten minutes, you thought to yourself, my feet are starting to kill me. unbeknownst to you, jiyong took an additional step to his right, getting a better view. she’s really cute, his lips curled into a small grin, looking over his shoulder. no sign of seunghyun. he better take his sweet ass time. jiyong made his way over, slipping to your left after the person next to you walked away—moments before you were handed your margarita.

“come here often?” you heard a voice say. you turned your head, seeing a man your age. you didn’t give time to the fluffy bullshit: “well, i go to this school. so yes.” you answered, stirring your drink with the small black straw it came with. “and by the look of it, you do too.” he saw you glance at his red t-shirt and white shorts, both branded with stanford’s logo on one side and the nike symbol on the other. you offered a playful grin, bringing your drink to your lips for a curt sip, hearing him chuckle. “you got me there.” he smiled greatly, feeling his cheeks warm. “i’m not—i’m not exactly the smoothest when it comes to things like this.” “you’re doing admittedly fine.” you told him, “i don’t have a migraine yet.” jiyong couldn’t help his laugh, “good to know, good to know.” he nodded. he took in your matching dark grey blazer and trouser set. “you look like you started your day opening the new york stock exchange.” he said. you raised your eyebrows, feeling the tequila go down. “well that’s certainly a first.” “let me guess: finance club? i heard they had some sort of forum.” he guessed. “well, one: i’m appalled to learn i look uninteresting enough for you to think i’m some sort of finance heathen.” you quipped, smiling beautifully when you cut him off from protesting. “and two: i’m actually part of the debate team. we had a good weekend." you nodded, hearing him hum in acknowledgement. "let me guess . . . do you play tennis?”

jiyong’s expression of muted defeat changed to surprised awe, a cheeky grin forming from the corner of his mouth. “how’d you know?” you shrugged your shoulders, “lucky guess on the shoes.” your eyes stayed on him as his head dipped to look at his feet, only to turn away once brewing warmth crept up the back of your neck. damn it. he’s cute. you downed another sip of your drink, turning your head back around when he said his name with a tone so shy it was almost sweet, even for your hardened heart. “i’m jiyong, by the way. i’m a—i’m a senior.” he nodded. you introduced yourself, “looks like we’re both getting out of here next year, hm?” you grinned knowingly, liking the feeling swirling around in your chest when he failed to hide his sheepish giggle from you. he was sweet. really sweet. his smile was astonishingly pretty and held an affectionate boyish charm, complemented fruitfully by his witty humor. he got a few genuine laughs out of you, making your cheeks shine in the lingering humidity. the sparkle in his eyes, or the subtle daze in his gaze as you spoke, couldn’t help but boost your ego since he so clearly doesn’t talk to pretty women like you very often . . . or maybe you were starting to feel your tequila a little bit. can anyone fucking blame me? holy shit—he thought to himself as you told him an anecdote from this weekend. she’s talking circles around me, funny to the point where i have to catch up with her, and she’s the hottest woman i’ve ever seen. is she not everyone’s type? where the fuck have i been?

seunghyun asked him the same question, abruptly entering the conversation like a needle scratching into a vinyl. he grabbed jiyong's shoulder, and inadvertently away from you: “holy shit—where’ve you been, ji?” he huffed, eyebrows furrowed. “i’ve been looking everywhere for you. the shuttle’s coming in, like, two minutes. let’s go.” he turned around, taking a couple steps forward, hearing jiyong’s “wait, hold on—” “—i thought you said you wanted to leave?” asked seunghyun. “i did. . .” jiyong’s voice descended into an embarrassed mutter. you turned around, unsure of what to do, but were mildly amused. “but not anymore, seunghyun.” jiyong shook his head, staring daggers at his best friend, foolishly hoping some unknown telepathic powers would kick in right now. seunghyun’s eyebrows furrowed deeper. “what?” he was straight up confused. “we’re gonna miss the fuckin’ shuttle, man. the next one doesn’t come for a half hour.” in your periphery, you saw jiyong desperately flick his head towards you. you turned around, offering a small wave, “hi.” you said simply, finishing your drink.

seunghyun’s expression visibly relaxed. he liked what he saw. it was evident in how much smoother his voice sounded when he opened his mouth next, an ever-so subtle smirk tugging at his lips, “hey.” he responded, eyes resting on you comfortably. he retreated his steps, walking closer to you and jiyong. “well, shit. all of a sudden i don’t wanna leave either.” he smiled, making you tsk—why does it suddenly feel hotter out here than before?—and jiyong chuckle nervously. “i’m seunghyun.” he sought your attention back. “i play tennis—with jiyong. we’ve played together since we were kids.” “you look the part.” you held out your pointer finger, briefly gesturing between them. “dressed like you went to mommy-and-me classes together.” you can’t lie: there was an infectious sense of power felt in their collective laughter—like they were twelve again and were stoked to find out what a girl is.

“do i know you? you look familiar.” seunghyun asked. oh, god. is this some new pick up line guys are using these days? corny as fuck, you rambled internally. you turned your head—instantly humbled. you got a real good look. it clicked. with the way your heart began to beat, and you suddenly didn’t know what to say, you felt not a day past sixteen. he’s the fucking hottie from—"the café." you somehow found your voice. "coho, i think?” i think? i fucking know! i go there every day! why am i trying to act unbothered? this is so out of character . . . “yeah, yeah. coho.” seunghyun nodded, smiling with an apparent sense of satisfaction. jesus fucking christ—did his voice get lower? “their iced lattes are fuckin’ bomb—” “—you guys have met before?” jiyong was starting to sweat. “yeah. i mean . . . not really.” seunghyun glanced at you, happy to see you were already looking at him. you turned to jiyong, “he almost hit me with his tennis racket.”

seunghyun heard the joke hidden in your blunt tone, not giving you the satisfaction of playing along: “i didn’t. i swear.” you gave in. oh, i like her, he thought to himself, and that beautiful smile. “he’s right. he didn’t.” you assured jiyong. you didn’t notice, because your eyes returned to seunghyun soon after, but jiyong was panicking. the one fucking time i talk to a girl—"would’ve been a memorable first meeting, though.“ seunghyun cut jiyong's inner monologue off. "i could probably think of something more ideal.” you countered. that look in your eyes made jiyong’s heart sink, scrambling to think of something to get you back to him. “yeah?” seunghyun’s voice was beginning to torment his psyche. “like what? hm?” stop doing that shit, man! jiyong briefly held his chin, eyes scattering the pavement below him to think of something. anything. his prayers were answered, all three of you turning heads upon hearing your name called aloud.

it was your team. you spotted disposable and digital cameras in multiple hands, figuring out you were being summoned for group photos. “i should go before they collect me with undiluted fervor. its happened before. it can get scary.” you told them. “i’ll see you both around campus.” “wait—” jiyong’s words caught in his throat, feeling increasingly pathetically helpless with every step you took away from the bar. “are you on facebook?” “what?” you chuckled, turning back around. “he’s asking for your number.” seunghyun clarified. “and so am i.” a beat went by before you processed what was happening. a smile graced your supple cheeks, posture straightening. “you both want my number.” you stated the fact aloud. “i do.” jiyong nodded. “yeah.” seunghyun concurred. your fingers toyed with your watch, contemplating. “it should be clear that i’m not interested in homewrecking.” “we don’t live together. we haven’t since we were eighteen.” jiyong shook his head, nerves making your joke fly right over him. seunghyun caught your drift, choosing to play along this time. “we’re in an open relationship.”

“p-plus—” jiyong stuttered, quickly glancing at his best friend. “plus seunghyun’s, like, fresh out of a relationship.” seunghyun eyed him sharply, wondering where the fuck this came from, and why the fuck would jiyong bring that up now? “fresh out of a—what? no i’m not.” he said defiantly, shaking his head. “what’re you talking about? its been, like, almost eight months at this point. cool it.” he muttered that last part, swiftly looking back to you and changing the subject: “why don’t you come hang out with us later? they’ve got you lodged at the marriott too, right? we’re in room 408.” “you had dinner. you want a show now, too?” you quipped, expression undeterred. seunghyun liked it a little too much. “no. we can just keep talking.” he responded simply. “about us. about life.” you turned about without looking back, definitively walking away. "goodnight." jiyong buried his face in his palms, groaning after hearing seunghyun call out “we have beer!” you snickered to yourself, shaking your head before reuniting with your teammates.

“i can't fucking believe you.” jiyong muttered, walking away from his best friend, aggravated. “what?” seunghyun said aloud in disbelief, following after him. “i just got the hottest girl to come to our—” “—what makes you think she’s going to come?” jiyong countered, stopping in front of one of many potted plants lining the perimeter of the courtyard. “the way you brought it up so—so suddenly, its like—you made it seem like we’re both trying to, like, fuck her in there.” “aren’t we?” “i mean . . . yeah, maybe, but—” jiyong shook his head. “what exactly is your plan? let’s say she did come, right—which she won't—then what? shoot our shot, and hope she, like, makes out with one of us? while the other does what? twiddles his thumbs like a some fucking cuck?” “if it came to that, then sure.” seunghyun didn’t see what the problem was. he rested his hands on his hips, “what? you think that’s beneath you?” “no—its beneath her.” jiyong corrected.

seunghyun scoffed dismissively, “i don’t know what your problem is, ji. you need to lighten the fuck up.” he reached into the left pocket of his shorts, pulling out his lighter and pack of cigarettes. he fished one out, nesting it between his lips, igniting the small flame. he inhaled, blowing the smoke out the corner of his mouth. “what if she chose you, jiyong? hm?” it was jiyong’s turn to scoff. “she’s not coming to our hotel room, seunghyun.” the two looked at each other, silent. it was a different language, communicated in the subtle rustle of the palm trees and tinkering liquor bottles; expressions familiar since childhood, only decoded by their brotherly bond; stronger than any telepathic power inscribed in science fiction novels and films they watched so often growing up their vhs copies are now rendered unusable—this was atomic.

though the quiet served as a testament to their bond, to jiyong’s detriment, it was the type of moment he loathed: he felt smaller with each passing second. there it was, his inner monologue quivered, that fucking look in his eyes when he knows he’s getting what he wants. he’s known it all his life: seunghyun’s impenetrable charm—the force shielding him with what could only be effortless and enviable ease in jiyong’s intermittently insecure eyes—working its frustratingly unbreakable magic in real fucking time. god, he hated this fucking feeling. what’s worse is his tone was never where he needed it to be when he spoke up for himself, feeling stupid for even trying. “i saw her first, man.” his voice was subdued, courage so fleeting he couldn’t stomach looking into seunghyun’s eyes. he kissed his teeth, shaking his head disapprovingly. we’ve never gone after the same girl before. why does tonight have to be that fucking night? “don’t say that shit.” seunghyun muttered, holding up his smushed carton of cigarettes. “you need to fuckin’ relax.” jiyong took one silently, stepping back after seunghyun lit it. “there you go—atta boy.” he patted his shoulder, ignoring his grumbles.

the elevator doors opened to the fourth floor at 12:02 am. you returned to your hotel room at half past eleven, washing the stress of the day off your body and getting ready for bed, until you remembered seunghyun’s offer. you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, having just brushed your teeth: do i really wanna do this? you contemplated. it didn’t take long to give in to yourself, shrugging your shoulders and turning off the light, pocketing your room key: i can pack in the morning. jiyong was picking lint out of his big toe with their room key when he heard a knock at the door—momentarily moving his head, but ultimately keeping his position, laying comfortably on the singular queen-sized bed with his leg propped up. “seunghyun?” he called to him in the bathroom. “did you hear something?” “what?” seunghyun stepped out, corners of his mouth dotted with toothpaste foam, in the middle of brushing his teeth. as if on cue, there was another knock. both of their heads turned at the noise, either of their respective movements coming to a halt—it was irrefutable. “oh shit.” seunghyun muttered.

their unspoken language came in handy once again: jiyong shot up from bed, scrambling picking up his stanford nike polo and shorts off the carpeted floor, tossing it aimlessly into his open duffel bag in the corner of the room along with any stray sock he could get his hands on. seunghyun nearly choked from rinsing his mouth so quickly, shutting jiyong the fuck up when he started panicking at the realization he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet (“i think there was garlic in my pasta!” “bad fucking luck!”), swiftly jumping onto the bed to make the thin, quilted hotel duvet look somewhat presentable in the handful of seconds they had—working against an invisible timer. “wait!” he exclaimed quietly, mindful of you being right outside, catching jiyong making his way to the door prematurely. “does it smell in here?” “no?” jiyong didn’t believe himself. they stared at each other with intensifying worry. “open—open the window!” jiyong suggested frantically, seeing seunghyun spring up from the bed, nearly tripping over his bare feet. you heard everything, hovering your ear by the door, an amused grin tugging your lips. you jumped a little when it swung open: jiyong clad in a stanford tennis hoodie and briefs; seunghyun in the middle of putting a shirt on, the hem of his shorts off-center—both actively trying to look casual. “hi!” jiyong’s voice was an octave higher, quickly clearing his throat as his knuckles went white around the door handle, trying so desperately to keep his mounting embarrassment muted. seunghyun was no better, low voice cracking through his abrupt “hey.” they both looked at you, and you at them.

you three sat in a triangle on the floor, sharing a tall budweiser. rihanna’s voice was grainy, coming out of the complementary hotel digital clock equipped with am/fm radio reading 12:37. seunghyun sat comfortably with his legs stretched out before him, one hand propping himself up whilst the other brought the can to his mouth. “we’ve known each other since birth. literally. same hospital and everything.” he said, swallowing his sip before handing the can to jiyong, whom was sat criss-cross, his back against the foot of the bed. “there was a time in our childhood where my mom joked about being nervous that we were switched at birth.” “so you’re not brothers?” you asked, genuinely curious. you saw the look on jiyong’s face, though it was fleeting. “oh,” a smile crept onto your lips, a chuckle ringing from your chest. “you didn’t like that question at all.” “its fine.” he shook his head, his own giggle escaping him. “its a common misconception. i’m older by only three months, which is barely anything.” he clarified, clearing his throat afterward. he heard you hum in acknowledgement, stirring the beer with a subtle swivel of his wrist, bringing the can to his lips briefly. “i can’t blame people,” he continued, swallowing. “our families do everything together.”

your smile returned. “that’s really sweet.” you said earnestly, accepting the beer, nodding in thanks. “how’d you get into tennis? or is it just another aspect of the co-dependency you have going on?” seunghyun snickered, clearly amused. “its not a heroic story.” jiyong jumped in. “not like our . . . third eye opened suddenly one day. or something.” he laughed. “its kind of uneventful now that i think about it.” “we tried it at summer camp.” seunghyun said cooly, looking at you with his head tilted charmingly to the left. “i liked it. he did too. here we are today.” “no-no,” you tutted, shaking your head, taking another sip. “you’re leaving some pieces out. you don’t just play for a top school because you happened to like a sport.” “we went to our local tennis academy for almost ten years,” seunghyun clarified. “and we turned out to be pretty good. what can we say?” it didn’t take him long to start bragging in his own right: “the youngest to win the boys’ junior doubles title at the us open in fifteen years. until some randos from connecticut took that shit from us our sophomore year.” “i don’t know what that means.” you shrugged your shoulders, looking to jiyong.

“its a—its a tennis tournament. headed by the united states tennis association.” he eyed seunghyun discreetly, taking the can when you offered. “its part of the grand slam, which is something that includes other tournaments in different countries around the world. there’s one in australia, france, and britain called wimbledon. you might’ve heard of that one.” “i have, yeah.” you nodded, it sounding familiar. “so you both’ve done pretty well for yourselves, then.” “we have.” said seunghyun, taking the can from jiyong. “how about you? why debate?” he asked, eyes resting on you. “well,” you let out a breath. “i grew up with my family telling me i talk too much. so i put it to good use.” laughter erupted from either of them. “thats kind of brutal.” jiyong looked at you, fingers toying with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “maybe not as brutal as being in boarding school your entire life.” you said. “i don’t know if i’d call it a boarding school, since we went home pretty frequently—” “—it was a boarding school, ji.” seunghyun cut him off, handing you the can. “we were bunkmates from eleven to eighteen. we’ve seen some shit.”

“i believe it.” you exhaled through your nose, grinning. “your parents must be really proud of you two.” “yours, too.” said jiyong. “i mean—they raised someone humble. you haven’t even told seunghyun that you’re president of the debate team.” “president?” seunghyun sat up a little straighter than before. “they have positions like that? damn. well, shit. excuse my dumb ass.” you couldn’t hold in your bright laughter, genuinely finding him hilarious. he liked the sound of that. “is that your endgame, then? you want to be president—a world leader?" "oh, fuck no.” you shook your head with fervor, hearing both of them laugh heartily. you downed a gulp. “that’s like asking every athlete ever if they want to be an olympian.” “i do, funnily enough.” jiyong fixed his sleeve, looking at you. “i actually wrote about that in one of my application essays.” “oh my god,” your heart dropped a little. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—” “—its okay. you didn’t know.” jiyong held out his hand, waving it side to side in reassurance.

“i can see it, though. the adidas campaign—” you told jiyong, seeing him stretch his bashful smile. easy to please, your inner monologue blurted at the back of your head without warning. “rising star with an education turned olympian. pretty inspiring.” “more like pretty cookie-cutter.” seunghyun interjected with a laugh, very much glancing in your direction with the expectation you’d find it funny, too. but there was nothing to laugh at. you saw jiyong’s face fall, turning his head away, looking towards the window. he rested his elbow atop his bare knee, nuzzling his mouth behind his palm. both of them are bad at hiding it. maybe it all comes out on the court. your eyebrows furrowed, turning to look at seunghyun. “what’s so funny?” some part of you was ready to be on the defensive. seunghyun jutted his bottom lip,“i don’t know.” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. he definitely does. “a second ago you didn’t know what a grand slam was and now you’re writing adidas campaigns.” “the world doesn’t revolve around us, seunghyun.” jiyong’s voice was muffled but intelligible. “i’m not saying it does, ji.” seunghyun didn’t move his head, but his eyes did the talking, glancing sideways at jiyong before returning to you. his shit-eating grin didn’t help his case: “it’s just funny.”

i see where this guy gets off at, a mind-map swirled through your brain, your logic sorting things akin to an equation. he wants to percolate at the back of my mind at all times. get under my skin, pinch my nerves, make me tick, poison my senses. let’s see if he’s game. following a few moments sat in brisk silence, you changed the subject: “so is that where you met your girlfriend?” you asked seunghyun. “at your academy?” “ex-girlfriend.” he corrected smoothly, without any hidden malice. “we met at freshman orientation.” “why’d it end?” you asked. “because he forgot her birthday.” jiyong answered for his best friend, getting his flame back, giving you a knowing look after seunghyun went quiet. “and their anniversary.” your face dropped, relishing in seunghyun’s frustrated expression, chin momentarily turning downward. there it is, you thought to yourself. “now that’s brutal.” you made sure he heard the amusement in your tone, laughing with jiyong, feeling some of the lingering tension in the air dissipate. “she always switched up the dates on me, anyway.” seunghyun muttered under his breath.

"how about you?” it was jiyong’s turn. “anyone dump you for forgetting something important?” you asked, softly crinkling the now empty can in your fingers. “i—” “—jiyong does fine for himself.” seunghyun spoke up, nodding. “he’s had multiple girlfriends. i mean, look at him.” seunghyun reached over, nudging his best friend’s temple. jiyong’s reflexes swatted seunghyun’s wrist away, hearing your small chuckle, ultimately turning the corners of his mouth upward—though his eyebrows furrowed at seunghyun, unsure of where he was going with that. “that makes me sound like some sort of—” “—player?” you filled in the blank for him. “yeah, that. but i’m not.” he shook his head, looking into your eyes. “yeah, he’s right.” seunghyun tried to sound unbothered, but you were well enough aware to sense your remarks were still prickling at his mind. he looked up, meeting your gaze. “players don’t scare them off.” he smirked. he felt accomplished hearing jiyong’s offended scoff: thats what you get for airing my shit out, his inner monologue voiced pettily, licking his lips in satisfaction.

“you aren’t scaring me off.” you told jiyong, bringing his attention back to you. “for what its worth.” you grinned sweetly, making his lovesick heart stutter at the sight. “th—thanks.” his voice cracked, quickly clearing his throat afterward, smiling again when hearing your sweet laugh, he’s endearing. seunghyun’s chin dropped again, inhaling sharply through his nostrils, momentarily looking the other way. “so,” both of their heads turned to you. time to get to the crux of it, “how often does this happen?” you pointed back-and-forth between them, clarifying: “going after the same girl.” seunghyun pursed his lips in thought, shaking his head. “not as often as you’d think, actually.” “really?” “we—we usually have different types.” said jiyong, scratching his chin, his warming cheeks making him avoid your gaze. you nodded, “so you’re saying i should be flattered.” “not really.” seunghyun shook his head, jutting his bottom lip out. “i mean,” jiyong cleared his throat, gaining the courage to look into your eyes. “aren’t you everybody’s type?”

you’ll hand it to him: you didn’t know what to say to that, feeling your face warm tenfold. you looked back and forth between them, observing how seunghyun’s upside-down grin deepened with every one of your subtle movements. you weren’t a fool, nor was this your first day on planet earth. you clocked it the moment both stuck to you at the mixer bar; accentuated through catching in your periphery seunghyun’s flittering glances at your bare thighs since sitting across from him on the hotel room floor; solidified by how jiyong straight up could not keep eye contact with you sometimes, and when he did, it wasn’t entirely innocent. i think i like jiyong a little bit more, you thought to yourself, putting the can down. for now, at least. “we’re out of beer.” there was a beat. both seunghyun and jiyong looked down at the can, then back up at you. you three all looked around at each other for a prolonged, pregnant moment, until you abruptly rose to your feet. letting out a small huff, an idea began brewing at the back of your head, traveling down your chest: have to do everything myself . . . you fixed your shirt, pulling it down by its hem before reaching to the front of your left thigh, tugging at the ridden-up fabric of your shorts. neither jiyong’s nor seunghyun’s eyes leave you, watching you walk over to the bed, thinking for a moment, then sitting down. “come here.” you beckoned gently, hands resting in your lap. neither moved. jiyong is the one who dares to speak, “which one of us—” seunghyun doesn’t need a fucking answer. he bolts to the bed, sitting on your left, jiyong scrambling to your right. you grinned at either of them, satisfied. here goes nothing . . .

jiyong and seunghyun have no idea what's about to happen. you turned to seunghyun, leaning in. he’s more than ready, until you decided against it. that felt good to do, your inner monologue schemed. you glanced between either of them until, finally, you stopped on jiyong. he was so fucking nervous, but his excitement was a bit stronger, scooting closer. you leaned in, kissing him sweetly. he returned it firmly, fingers smoothly sliding atop your thigh, gingerly feeling the natural divots of your cellulite underneath his palm. it was romantic. seunghyun watched, licking his lips in anticipation. he noticed how your hands remained politely in your lap, even when jiyong’s traveled to hold the right side of your face. you left his best friend wanting more—seunghyun swallowing his laughter seeing jiyong’s open mouth hovering above your lips, stopping the kiss.

you broke from jiyong. a beat went by before you looked to seunghyun, leaning in and kissing him sweetly. it was slower and more intentional. perhaps because there was more of a height difference than with jiyong, or maybe because his lips nurtured yours with a delectable air of experience. your subconscious spoke for you, hands reaching up to hold his face in your palms, only to smack his hand away when he touched your thigh. “right—sorry.” he muttered quickly, keeping his hands to himself without second thought. hold on—what the fuck was that? his thoughts swirled messily with his brewing libido, making his eyebrows furrow in deeper concentration, kissing you with increased fervor. she let jiyong touch her, why not me? also … did i—did i like that? why did i like that? jiyong watched you two with his mouth hung open stupidly—its like all of his dreams have come true. his posture straightened, hand on the duvet, ready to lean back in whenever you picked him again. he leaned to his right to get a better view, seeing both of your hands holding seunghyun’s face. a tinge of intended jealousy sprouted in his chest: she didn’t hold me like that, he licked his lips, fingers finding your thigh again. i want her to hold me like that . . .

you broke from seunghyun. his mouth didn't hover above yours, letting you go. you felt the tip of his nose rub against yours, letting out a breath, head facing the wall before you. you fixed your hair, making your neck visible, biting your bottom lip wordlessly. neither needed them, anyway—jiyong taking your right, seunghyun coming in hot on your left. your eyes fluttered closed, a smile gracing your face at realizing though jiyong’s kisses on your supple skin were more open-mouthed whereas seunghyun’s felt warm and sensual—both were equally as desperate. jiyong was the first to travel up his side of your neck, nipping at your earlobe before kissing the corner of your jaw. it didn’t take long for seunghyun to catch up, trailing his lips against your cheek, inching closer to your lips. you were admittedly overwhelmed, not having thought this far into your little idea. jiyong and seunghyun inadvertently bought you some time, however, reflexively recoiling after feeling all three of your tongues touched unexpectedly. awkward laughter brewed between them, but you’re not embarrassed whatsoever; smiling, this is the most fun i’ve had in ages. you reached your hands up, bringing either of them closer to you. jiyong just about fell in love. seunghyun was eager—the only thought in his mind: you. they leaned in very slowly, until all three of you are kissing passionately, tongues all touching. movements become quick, brisk, and greedy—making you have to plant your feet onto the ground to maintain your balance after jiyong swiftly moved back down to your neck, seunghyun taking your lips for himself the first chance he got. through it all, seunghyun’s hands remained to himself, whereas jiyong’s subconsciously-stowed desires came out in full force: going back and forth between pawing at your waist and securely kneading your plush thigh.

jiyong re-adjusted the way he was sat on the bed, breaking your lips from seunghyun’s, kissing your neck deeper than before. seunghyun moved quickly, the back of his head caught by your palm, effectively bringing him back to your lips. your other hand aimlessly reached into jiyong’s hair, unintentionally scratching his scalp, only to feel the vibrations of a whimper against your warming skin. he made his gradual way back to your lips, battling it out with seunghyun. at some point, you didn’t feel either of their lips on yours anymore—removing your face from the equation entirely. “okay.” you said simply. seunghyun and jiyong both open their eyes, instantly breaking apart. “i’m going to bed.” you get up as if nothing happened, thankful your back was turned to them whilst your grin deepened in their stunned silence, slipping your shoes on without issue. they looked at each other, their heads whipping around at the sound of the door slamming.

“her—her number!” jiyong exclaimed. he turned to his best friend, who was stuck in a lustful, longing gaze, mouth hung slightly open. “wh—wha—” “her number, seunghyun!” jiyong got up, boner visible through his underwear. “i—i can’t go out like this!” he started to panic. seunghyun kissed his teeth, swatting jiyong’s boner hard, making him fall back onto the bed. “have to do everything my fucking self.” he muttered under his breath, opening the door. “f-fuck you . . .” jiyong called out meekly, clutching his groin, stuffing his face into the duvet. seunghyun jogged down the hallway, seeing you waiting for the elevator. “hey!” he was relieved, catching his breath. “i—” he quickly corrected himself. a freudian slip, if you remembered correctly from the psychology gen-ed you took freshman year. “we, uh—we never got your number.” he cleared his throat. you heard the flub, the corners of your lips turning upward. “right.” you nodded. “i left my phone in my room. do you have yours on you?” “yeah,” seunghyun patted his thighs. “oh, thank god.” he whispered under his breath, fishing his blackberry out of his pocket.

“just got it recently. its a newer—uh, sleek design.” what the fuck am i talking about right now? he shook his head in your understandable silence, glancing at the floor—just now realizing he didn’t have shoes on. you rolled the trackball, rifling through his screen to find the button reading ‘new contact.’ you paused: “are you going to give it to jiyong too?” “y-yeah.” seunghyun answered a little too quickly. the prolonged eye contact waiting for you to believe him didn’t help, either. for seunghyun, tonight was full of surprises, but you were the most perplexing of all, because in a matter of seconds—in three blinks, nonetheless—you got out of him what took his ex-girlfriend weeks of fragmented phone calls and battling an avoidant attachment style to get: the truth. “no.” he corrected himself, eyes softening. he shook his head, “i wasn’t planning on it.” after a beat, you finished typing your name and number in, handing him his phone. he looked at the small screen in awe adjacent to disbelief, attention diverting to your “goodnight,” when the elevator doors opened. “n-night!”

“so?” jiyong asked. his boner was slowly—agonizingly slowly—going down, safely tucked underneath a pillow. “did you get her number?” seunghyun closed the door behind him,“nah, man.” he lied effortlessly through his teeth. he shook his head, “i looked everywhere for her. she must’ve gotten into the elevator as soon as she left.” jiyong huffed, planting his head against the headboard in defeat. “damn.” “what did i say though, huh?” seunghyun smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “she picked you first.” “don’t remind me.” jiyong felt his temples start to perspire. “this shit just started going down.” he chuckled sheepishly behind his palms, a low laugh ringing out of seunghyun’s chest. “she’s unbelievable, seunghyun.” “i know.” he concurred, nodding. flashes of what went down spoiled his mind filthy, wetting his lips with his tongue. “how lucky are we?” “lucky indeed.” jiyong wiped the sweat off his forehead, settling in comfortably against the headboard. seunghyun’s eyebrows furrowed, “hold on. is that my fucking pillow?” “i don’t know. maybe? they all look identical.” “give me that shit, man.” he snatched it away from jiyong, ignoring his sharp inhale from the sudden change of temperature. “better not see any—” seunghyun cut himself off with a shudder. “fuck you,” jiyong threw the other pillow at his head. “you’ve done worse.”

not one call or text. nothing. “i should’ve fucking known.” you murmured to yourself at the end of the fourth day, irrationally checking your t-mobile sidekick for the second time in three minutes. your fingers ran over the tactile buttons, attention diverting to a teammate calling your name. you looked at the clock hanging above the open classroom door—it was two past seven. “is everyone here?” a wave of nods and mhms concurred, “great.” you tossed your phone into your backpack, getting up from your chair, gesturing to the agenda of this week’s general body meeting inscribed on the chalkboard. “let’s get started, then.” two weeks later, it was out of your head; exited your periphery; behind you. you had other priorities: a senior thesis to finish outlining and begin writing before thanksgiving break, preparation the national debate tournament in the spring semester, and dense fucking assigned readings. whoever said senior year was more lax than others was a boldface fucking liar. you can’t remember the last time you felt this stressed. was it normal for a university as demanding as yours? yes. that doesn’t mean it should be, though.

jiyong was on high alert. he could not stop thinking about you—mind running the night at the hotel on a loop; spoiling himself thinking about cute date ideas and what’d you think of his music taste; his daydreams lulling him to sleep at night and greeting him first thing in the morning; sharply turning his head on his walk to tennis practice thinking he saw you, only to scurry away when it was just someone with a similar hairstyle; and going as far as to contemplate visiting every coffee shop on campus on the off-chance he would run into you. it was as if he was experiencing having a crush for the first time in his life with how giddy and nervous he felt—the rush felt good. maybe he’s being dramatic, but some part of him felt alive again, even if the thought of looking into your eyes made his underarms tingle with unease. there was a new pep in his step. one seunghyun took notice of in how jiyong’s swings were recently more crisp and packed a harder punch, earning more compliments than usual from their coach, but didn’t offer his own two cents in. not that jiyong noticed—he was too busy finishing his drills to the thought of you cheering for him in the stands.

until it all culminated in an unexpected way. it started off great: jiyong lost in some fantasy whilst somewhere deep in his rem cycle—blurry frames of his shoes skidding against the court with his racket tightly in hand, his teaching assistant from his populism lecture spring semester of sophomore year randomly congratulating him in an empty dining hall in the middle of the night, and you. you. the dream unfolded quickly, yet took its time in showing you sat at his desk in his room, working on an assignment in a different t-shirt and shorts than what you wore to the hotel room. it suddenly switched to you and jiyong together in his bed—his eyes functioning as the makeshift camera—him fucking you deliciously from behind. he could see the globes of your round ass recoil every time you met his pelvis; squish your lush waist in his palms, pawing at his sheets in his sleep; could’ve sworn he felt your slick coating his hardening cock in his briefs, grinding into nothing before turning onto his side, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth and onto his pillow.

he could hear himself and you: “sh—shit, b-baby!” “o—oh my god—” before he could hear his name, a pair of hands that weren’t his own cascaded down your bare ass, kneading your cheeks unapologetically—almost territorially. dubious dream logic certainly worked its magic, because jiyong didn’t know where his hands went, making his eyebrows furrow and fingers sink into the linen. his eyes trailed up your bare back, hearing your moans and whimpers intensify, suddenly becoming muffled—replaced by loud, obnoxious, wet, almost hungry sounds of lips colliding. he recognized that head of black, shaggy hair—seunghyun. completely naked and underneath you, having you for himself. “wh—whaa—wait . . . no . . .” jiyong murmured in his sleep. he looked down in the dream, seeing seunghyun fucking you from below. the pace was unrelenting and felt intentionally brash, almost as if to say—“s-seunghyun!” your moan was perfect and clear, making a nauseating weight press deep into jiyong’s chest, infecting his lungs with unrelenting haste. you were so much louder than you were with him. so much more . . . alive. the sound of yours and seunghyun’s skin manically slapping together induced panic, suddenly aware he was in a dream, but stuck with irrational fear he would never get out.

jiyong suddenly woke up, inhaling deeply through his nostrils. that was fucking weird, his inner monologue grumbled. i hated that. he squinted at the sunlight seeping through his curtains, slipping his arms from underneath his duvet, stretching them generously over his head—elbows slightly sore from practice earlier this morning. a long yawn drew from his lungs, going to stretch his back next, sucking in a breath so sharp he nearly descended into a coughing fit. he lifted the duvet, his crotch heavy and wet, seeing the medium-sized spot on his briefs. from her, he bitterly clarified to himself. not from that fucked up ending. he gradually sat up, quietly hissing at the discomfort below his waist. he looked over at his bedside table, eyes widening in panic. “shit!” he exclaimed, realizing there was less than an hour before his lecture. he hastily got to his feet, heading out of his bedroom, booking it to the bathroom to freshen up.

you lugged the heavy door open, entering the building with a huff. it was the largest lecture hall on campus, housing ten rooms with capacities for over 450 students each. usually used for arts and humanities, it was also home for pre-requisite courses for popular majors such as economics, biology, or any other stem-related fields. for you, it hosted one of the last credits necessary to graduate—an essential course for your major. you made your way to room 403, noticing the crowd of students lounging outside the door. some leaned against the tall windows, others sat whilst conversing on the carpeted floors about the past weekend. previous lecture must be running late, you pondered internally. you couldn’t help but feel relieved, jetting to the nearest bathroom, your iced coffee from earlier this morning making itself known in your bladder.

jiyong filed into the building five minutes later. he thought he was hallucinating, seeing you hold the door for someone heading into the bathroom as you walked out—remnants of his wet dream still percolating in his senses, even after his ice cold shower. “no fucking way.” he muttered to himself, peeking over the shoulders of those taller than him to keep his innocently excited eyes on you. you lifted your head, hearing your name, stood in your own momentary disbelief. “oh my god?” you blurted without thinking, why did he feel like a figment of my imagination? these past two weeks were akin to months from how your brain rewired its priorities. in the presence of someone so sweet, however, it suddenly felt as if you never left that mixer bar. “you take law of democracy?” you were shocked. “wait, what’s your major?” “political science.” answered jiyong, fixing the way his stanford baseball cap rested on his head. the conversation felt juvenile, like this should’ve been the first thing you two ever talked about, not after your tongues became acquaintances. “me too.” you gestured to yourself. “did we not bring that up before?” “i think—i think there was something else on our minds the last time we saw each other.” he scratched the back of his neck, exhaling through his nostrils. an upside-down grin tugged at the corners of your mouth, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. “how come i’ve never seen you around before, jiyong?” you asked, tone more relaxed. “what’s your track? i’m international relations.” you nodded, “that’ll explain it. i’m law and justice.” jiyong smirked, unable to stop his blossoming smile. “are you sure you don’t want to be president one day?”

you tsked, nudging his shoulder with your palm. he felt his heart leap, masking it behind a soft chuckle. “i’m sure.” you told him. students from the previous lecture filed out, inadvertently beckoning you inside. “maybe i’d be an advisor, but someone else can be in the hot seat.” “fair enough, fair enough.” jiyong giggled sweetly, over the moon. he was a few paces behind you in the large lecture hall, swiftly catching up when the few people between you two took their seats. “hey.” “hi.” the effortless smoothness in your voice made him smile nervously. “do you mind if i—” “—no, not at all.” you said earnestly, gesturing for him to sit next to you. jiyong settled in on your right, snug against your elbow. not that he was complaining. or you, for that matter. he used his proximity to you wisely: eyes fluttering into a subtle sideways glance your way, only to be humbled when his mind randomly flashed him a frame from his earlier psychological excursion; pocketing the sound of your small giggle at the note he scribbled in the margin of his lined notebook paper: the person next to me is ripping ass, to which you wrote back im sorry ˙◠˙.

he trailed politely behind you on the walk up the stairs following your professor’s dismissal, panicking slightly upon hearing “i guess i’ll see you on thursday, jiyong,” referring to the next time lecture was to reconvene later in the week. “s-see you.” his mind scrambled to keep you tethered to him. you waved, intent on heading to the library, until the lightbulb went off in his head: “would you—would you wanna come to a party on saturday?” god bless his roommate who mentioned it to him earlier. “with you?” you asked, pointing to him. “i mean—i mean—” jiyong’s mouth suddenly felt dry. it was a pleasurable sight, seeing him look everywhere and at everyone but you. “y-yeah.” he nodded. “with me.”

you turned around, facing him completely. a smile stretched your lips. you lifted your hand above your eyebrows, working as a makeshift visor from the bright california sun above you. “i’ll go if you’re taking me, jiyong.” you said. “you don’t have anything for debate?” his words spilled out of his mouth, but wasn’t necessarily incoherent, i really need to work on how easily anxious i get. you shook your head, “i’m my busiest on thursdays, which is when we meet.” you explained. “we don’t have any competitions until the spring. we haven’t started prep yet, either. so you’ve lucked out.” the smile on jiyong’s face could have thawed any pessimist’s heart. it surely did the trick for you. “cool.” he nodded, letting out a sweet-sounding laugh. “that’s really cool—” he cleared his throat, “—is it okay if i get your number? i can call you tonight. we can coordinate a pick-up time, and all—all that.” seeing you nod, he handed you his slide-up nokia.

unlike seunghyun, jiyong kept his word. he called right at the time you told him you’d be free to talk, unpacking your backpack with him on the other side of the line at half past five. it was times like these you were lucky to have a single dorm room, free to do whatever you want with the scholarship money to back you up. “you’re headed to practice again?” you questioned, fishing your laundry basket out of your closet, shoulder keeping your phone to your ear, intent on doing a load before dinner. “i thought you said you went this morning?” “i did, yeah.” jiyong stepped off the campus shuttle, walking towards the university’s athletic center. “sometimes i just want extra cardio. other days my coach isn’t in the best mood and we have to compensate for it.” he looked both ways before crossing the street, hustling behind a crowd of gym-goers before the doors closed. “luckily, today’s the former.” “i would be in the worst mood ever. all the time.” “i get that,” jiyong let out a laugh, scanning his student id, entering the locker room. “s'not so bad when you’ve done it your entire life.” “you’re built different, jiyong.” “i couldn’t do what you do, either.” “all i do is argue.” “and all i do is hit a ball with a racket. consider us both inept.”

come the end of practice friday morning, seunghyun couldn’t take the look on jiyong’s face anymore. “what's got you all giddy?” he hastily wiped his sweat with a microfiber towel, throwing it into his duffel bag on the bench between them. they were the only two of their team left in the locker room, the time nearing eight. jiyong entered his combination, twisting the knob and pulling his locker open. seunghyun did the same, eyes flickering to the side at the mention of your name. “turns out, we’ve had a class together this entire time. what’re the chances, yknow?” jiyong thought aloud. seunghyun didn’t say anything, suddenly preoccupied with the lid of his gatorade squeeze bottle. “anyway, i invited her out on saturday.” seunghyun looked over, “'out?' “since when were you so casual about dates? you used to almost piss yourself at the thought.” “i mean, i guess?” jiyong looked over his shoulder at seunghyun. he shrugged his shoulders, “she’s easy to talk to.” says the one who couldn’t look into her eyes for longer than five fucking seconds at the hotel, seunghyun’s psyche gave into his brewing frustration. “why didn’t you tell me you had a class together?”

“because you’re not my fucking dad?” answered jiyong, tone easy, wondering what the fuck seunghyun’s problem was. “is that okay with you, or?” he joked, shaking his head with a light scoff, hoping the tension wouldn’t escalate further. seunghyun turned his back on him, rifling through his locker. “you’re being selfish, ji.” he muttered. that was the last straw: “no, i’m not.” jiyong turned around fully, approaching the bench, nonverbally daring seunghyun to face him. “i mean, look who’s talking.” he added, kissing his teeth. he knew what the crux of this tension was, the bitter wound still fresh: “its not my fault coach is making you do drills tomorrow night.”

seunghyun let out a long sigh. one hand rested on his hip whilst the other pinched the bridge of his nose. how fucking simple-minded can he be? sure, it was partially true: a foul-mouthed comment, bursting at the seams over what his coach thought was going to be a passive disagreement over strategy. but seunghyun’s endured this bullshit a million times over the years, so it wasn’t a big deal . . . or it shouldn’t be a big deal. because all of a sudden, he felt he could light the entire place on fire from how irritably his stomach churned at the thought of being somewhere so mundane on a saturday night whilst jiyong was—was with you. he doesn’t fucking deserve it, his thoughts vitriolic. but maybe i don’t either. he loved having power in his hands—a girl wondering if he’ll call her until her eye bags deepen and self-esteem depletes, enriching his senses like a high. seunghyun knew he was hot shit and had no problem acting like it. in these last couple of weeks, however, he’s suffered the realization of it only works when she comes crawling to you, and you had no business trailing after a man—period. he’s learned his lesson the hard way—stifling his bruised ego behind tightened lips at coho a week after the mixer, spotting you at the café though you didn’t see him. if he went down, he was taking jiyong with him.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about, ji.” “just shut up, man. you don’t know what you’re talking about.” jiyong dismissed, turning back around with a curt tsk. “i’m taking her to that party and you can stay mad about it.” “you really think i’m mad about some party—” seunghyun attempted to deflect, to remain steady with the upper hand, but jiyong wasn’t having it. “you just called me selfish two seconds ago. don’t suddenly start speaking a different language.” jiyong looked over his shoulder a few moments later, seeing seunghyun’s eyes already on him. “i saw her first, seunghyun.” jiyong told him, tone unwavering. he wasn’t going to be apologetic this time, accept a cigarette to shut him up, or succumb to the definitive pat on the shoulder disguised as part of their brotherly bond, “you know that.” he punctuated. seunghyun slammed his locker shut, abruptly zipping his duffel bag and hoisting it over his shoulder, heading to the exit. jiyong didn’t flinch. “you don’t even know what to do with all that.” seunghyun mumbled to himself, boarding the campus shuttle, heading to his apartment.

the party was great to the point that if seunghyun were there, seeing you and jiyong giggling so closely on the couch that your respective red solo cups tinkered together, it would not have ended well for anyone. your shared evening was spent at a student-rented sublet on the outskirts of campus, hosted by friends jiyong’s had since freshman year. he was the perfect gentleman the entire night: opening the car door both when picking you up and arriving at the party, taking diligent mental note of the snacks you wanted; sorting an array of chips, pretzels, and a handful of m&ms to share on a paper plate, introducing you to his friends whenever they were around, not making a face when you brought your drink to the bathroom instead of asking him to hold it for you; but held your purse as seriously as a club bouncer, and making you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world with how his eyes never lost that awestruck glimmer.

you took yourselves outside to the patio later in the night, sat comfortably on the cushioned bench overlooking the crowded curb. jiyong leaned back, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms over his chest, nodding as your conversation trailed to post-grad plans. “i need to turn my brain off for at least a month.” you told him. “just a month?” “maybe a little bit more,” you finished your drink, setting the now empty cup aside on the floor. “but those job applications aren’t going to finish themselves.” “true, true.” he nodded, running his hands through his hair. “i take it you want to go pro.” he smiled, “you’re a quick learner.” you gave him a look of faux-offense. “i would be remised not to be.” you countered. “imagine after all this time, i didn’t know a thing about you—let alone the most, like, defining quality.” “there’s more to me.” he shrugged his shoulders, failing miserably at keeping up his newly acquainted toughened-front, succumbing to his deepening upside-down grin. “yes, that’s true.” you concurred. “but still.” “i know, i know. m'just playing.” he chuckled.

“but you’re right, i want to go pro. training for that will begin as soon as humanely possible.” jiyong thought aloud, hearing you hum in acknowledgement. “i may or may not do the us open. depends on what the regiment is and where my focus is at, but i might end up cornered into it anyway.” “hearing you talk about that so casually is extraordinary.” you chuckled, hearing him snicker. “but if you do decide to do the open, should i expect a cute little invitation in the mail?” you knew the question sounded ridiculous, hence the out-of-character word choice to compensate for your sudden sheepishness. “oh, of course. without a doubt.” he nodded. to you, he was playing along, but he was being entirely serious. “you’ll have your own spot in beijing come 2008, too.” he referred to the future host nation of the olympic games, making you grin. “i’ll clear my schedule then.” you spoke softly, thumb running over your purse sat in your lap. your eyes cast downward. jiyong felt the air change, too, suddenly finding his jeans interesting.

“do you think—” him clearing his throat led you to look at him. “in that—that month where your brain’s turned off, you might turn it back on to answer a call from me?” “i do, yeah.” your heart softened, tone so tender he felt like the only man in the world. “i do, jiyong.” his cheeks were ablaze, nodding and licking his lips to thwart his heart flatlining. “cool, cool.” he muttered, running his perspiring palms along his thighs. his world stopped turning, feeling something rest atop his fingers. he dared to glance down, seeing your soft skin bless his calloused hands in real time. jiyong went on auto-pilot, blinking and suddenly having your hand in his; fingers gently intertwined, your joined hands resting atop his thigh serenely. his eyes fluttered closed, sucking in a quiet breath feeling your temple land gingerly on his shoulder. his subconscious spoke for him: your eyes closing in content, jiyong’s head nestled against yours.

you two walked to his car an hour later. though your hands are to your selves—his stuffed in his pockets, yours behind your back; purse strap slung off your curled fingers. the house is at a moderate distance behind you, music muffled yet lively, filling the comfortable silence. when you approached the car, you glanced in his direction, seeing he already had the same idea. you let out a laugh. so did jiyong, turning his head the other way upon feeling his cheeks warm. after a moment, your breathing leveled, walking a few paces to your right, fleetingly focused on the sight of a bunny dashing across someone’s yard. jiyong, on the other hand, is perpetually attempting to just work up the courage, turning and leaning his back against his car, eyes returning to you. you turned around, seeing his unabashed gaze, the way he rubbed his face with his hand leading you to wonder aloud: “what?” his hands returned to his pockets, failing to bite back his sheepish grin. “i really wanna kiss you right now.” he descended into nervous giggles, kicking at nothing on the asphalt below him.

you walked over, those nine paces making his heartbeat pound louder between his temples with every step you took. “you’ve done it before.” you looked into his eyes. “what’s stopping you now?” you offered a gentle, kind grin. meanwhile, every nerve in jiyong’s body was working overtime to keep him conscious. you waited patiently, a soft breath exiting your nostrils, eyes fluttering to the aged wu-tang clan logo on his shirt. jiyong’s palms made residence on either side of your face, bringing you to his lips. the way he kissed you was reminiscent of the infamous night that’s since riddled his senses with longing and insatiable hunger: firm and sweet—saying things if he merely attempted to verbalize, would only clog his throat with inexplicable anxiety. you dropped your bag, palms riding up his biceps, resting atop his shoulders—kissing him back in a way that, for once in life, didn’t give his brain a chance to doubt himself.

but some part of him still needed to see it to believe it, breaking the kiss. you looked at each other for a beat, his breath tickling your mouth. now you were the one with your lips open, hovering above his. an exhale escaped his nose, seeing a mirror reflection of desire seeping from your pores. holy shit—you cut his inner monologue off: “come back here.” you murmured pleadingly, hands on either side of his neck, pulling him in. the tension builds quickly; your back landed against the car, jiyong’s hand slipped underneath your thigh when you lifted your leg, bringing him closer. you feel each other over your clothes—your hands traveling hastily through his hair and down his back; his arms wrapping around your waist, palms barely able to get a good grasp on either globe of your ass. jiyong tried to compensate with the tilt of his head, deepening the kiss. you obliged: holding on the back of his neck whilst your nails gently raked against his scalp.

oh god, oh god—he cut himself off this time: “f-fuck—” he whimpered into your mouth. that was all you needed to hear. one of your hands reached aimlessly behind you, tugging at the door handle. a yelp from you abruptly ended the kiss, his car alarm blaring for the entire fucking world to hear. “shit!” you exclaimed, clutching your chest. jiyong patted his thighs down frantically, fishing his keys out of his left pocket. he pressed his fob, the alarm ceasing. before he could finish his breath of relief, your fingers wrapped around the handle: “unlock it,” you told him. “wanna get in the backseat.” “o—okay.” jiyong pressed his fob again, unlocking the door. you got inside, scooting to the opposite seat, leaving the other for him. “shit—your bag.” he picked it up, sliding it over the shoulder of the driver’s seat, hearing it land without issue.

with the door closed and car locked, you and jiyong were effectively in your own world. never mind the partygoers who had a clear view of the brewing, unadulterated sin once they walked passed his windshield—all that mattered was you two. you kissed him slowly and with intent, hands holding his cheeks tenderly whilst his was reached over your lap, tracing the side of your thick thigh sensually. it was an ego boost to hear him begin to softly whimper with every other kiss, leaning in more once your hand found the back of his head—other palm warming the back of his neck after his found your lower back, fingers nestled underneath the hem of your shirt. he whimpered again feeling you smile into the kiss, pleasantly surprised when he added his tongue into the mix.

you beckoned silently for him to lean back into his seat. your hand cascaded down his chest, palm rubbing his toned stomach through his shirt—hinting at something with your lowering touch. his tongue toyed with yours for a little longer before letting you know he got the idea: “you can touch me.” he whispered, irrationally afraid he’d break the illustrious tension if he spoke at a certain volume, “its okay.” “undo your belt for me.” you spoke quietly, too. jiyong gently broke the kiss, lips wet and slightly swollen, lowering his chin to look at his buckle—only for you to lift it with your fingers, bringing his lips back to yours. his fingers scrambled to undo his belt, gap between his knees widening to make room for whatever’s been cooking underneath his jeans. his briefs felt tight. he was afraid to look down. he tilted his head to the side, the slight squeak of your lips parting making his brain feel fuzzy. “you should grow this out,” you spoke softly against his mouth, thumb running over his three-day stubble. “it suits you.”

the only response he could muster was another frail whimper against the wrinkles of your gorgeous lips, taking his pouty ministrations to your cheek and soft jawline after you broke the kiss to catch your breath. you looked down, an amused smile brightening your features. “there’s no way you got that hard in five minutes.” “its been longer than that. . .” he muttered into your neck, hiding his warming face. “okay, then what? five and a half?” “stop. . .” jiyong drew the last syllable out, growing more embarrassed by the second. “okay, okay.” you gave in. “its just that i’ve never seen a mountain so up close before.” “oh my god—stop!” he exclaimed, though fragmented through his timid chuckles. you let out a laugh, too, jiyong biting his bottom lip when you gingerly rubbed his stomach through his shirt. he sucked in a breath, feeling his dick exposed to the air of the car, your fingers curled and tugged at the band of his briefs—setting it free after he lifted his hips.

“you should’ve seen me when you left our room,” he licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “was so worked up—didn’t go down for another t-two hours.” “aw,” you jutted your bottom lip out. your hand snuck underneath his shirt, palm tracing his bare stomach side to side. “should’ve called me. i would’ve helped you fix your little problem. well, its not exactly little.” you corrected yourself, feeling the vibrations of his chuckle against your skin. it wasn’t exactly a third leg, but it was enough to make your mind wander off, your lingering stares fruitful with mounting lust. “didn’t have your number.” “i gave it to seunghyun.” “you did? wh—when?” “at the elevator.” you said. your hand trailed up his chest, nails poking out the collar of his shirt. jiyong straightened his posture, lifting his head from your neck. “why’re you—” he nearly lost his words, licking his lips to ground himself. “why’re you telling me this now?” he asked, looking into your eyes.

to be completely candid with yourself, you didn’t know entirely why. was it a slip of the tongue, or does he deserve to know? or is some part of me still frustrated that seunghyun never called? “because you’re a good friend, jiyong.” you told him sincerely. “to him.” you clarified, hand trailing back down to his stomach. “are we—” he cleared his throat. “are we . . . just friends?” you looked into his eyes, “not if you don’t want to be.” he shook his head, body speaking before he did: “i don’t wanna be.” “okay,” you said softly, nodding. his eyes fluttered down to your lips as you gradually leaned in, kissing him gently. “okay.” you repeated in affirmation, stirring something in jiyong. his hands held your face, co-existing in this world of impenetrable intimacy by your side. he’s never felt this divinely close with someone before—so many unspoken words, yet it all felt so loud and perhaps the feeling that attracted him the most: unapologetic. you wanted him, and he wanted you. that’s all he needs.

his tongue tousled with yours again, egged on by your satisfied huff. your fingers reached lower, wrapping around his hardened cock, stroking slowly. “fuck,” he let out sharply, kissing you deeper. you slowly—agonizingly so—broke the kiss, feeling his breath brush against your skin, mouth greedily hovering above yours. you turned, head so close to jiyong’s his lips brushed against your cheek, settling his forehead on your temple without another word. though it was dark, you could make out your hand enveloping his dick. if sight was an issue, the sound of his pre cum would suffice enough. you gingerly swiped some off the slit atop his tip with your thumb, hearing his breath hitch in your ear, him biting his bottom lip as you continued your ministrations. “with how hard you say you got, and how hard you are now,” you said, “i can’t help but wonder if you’ve ever seen a pretty girl before.” you smiled to yourself, finding your joke amusing.

“not as pretty as—” his voice cracked, quickly swallowing. “not as p-pretty as you.” “oh, yeah?” his cock was slick enough to warrant a firmer hold in your palm, making jiyong’s eyebrows furrow deeply, using every nerve in his body to thwart his brain’s desire to just shut off completely. you turned your head, enamored with how heavy his eyelids looked. “are you saying that just to get your dick wet?” you asked, purposefully playing up your faux-innocent tone. he started shaking his head, a small gasp leaving his lips when you momentarily ceased jerking him off, palm returning to his bare stomach. “you can tell me the truth, jiyong.” you nodded, the feeling of your nails gently raking against his skin making his toes curl in his sneakers. “i like guys who’re honest, anyway.” “i’m being so fucking for real—” his voice quivered. “you’re the prettiest girl—prettiest w-woman i’ve ever m-met.” you were satisfied. “good.” you murmured. jiyong moaned more vulnerably than intended, feeling the ghost of your touch pass the top of his ballsack, your fingers stroking his cock from the base to the head. “good boy.” you said definitively, seeing his jaw fall open in your periphery, eyebrows contorting sinfully. “o—oh my f-fucking g-god—”

their coach left hours ago, but seunghyun remained in the indoor tennis court at stanford’s athletic center. he tossed his racket aside, tugging his sweat-soaked shirt off from the neck. he continued his drills, grabbing a fresh tennis ball from his duffel bag before yanking his racket up, tossing the ball above his head—thwackkkkk!—the dash of lime green flew in the air, bouncing off the wall fifteen feet away, his arm muscles contracting—hitting it back-and-forth with characteristic groans his sport would be arguably unrecognizable without. he can’t remember the last thing he ate—a protein bar, maybe? at like 8:30 pm?—but his mind was elsewhere. “shit.” he muttered, jogging to his left when the ball traveled out of his reach, hiking it back in the air without issue. the vein on his temple popped fiercely every time he remembered where jiyong was, knuckles whitening around his racket’s grip, grunts starting to make his chest burn.

he hit the ball with less power, catching it swiftly in his hand, making his way over to the bench. he sat down, taking a generous gulp of ice water from his squeeze bottle, breathing heavily. he ignored how uncomfortably his shorts stuck to his thighs, or how ticklish the beads of sweat trickling down his spine felt, intent on doing another set before heading home. seunghyun held the second round of water in his mouth before swallowing, closing his eyes, leveling his breathing. it was of no use: his brain didn’t hesitate to torture him, stream of consciousness poisoned by the nauseating prospect of jiyong with his tongue down your throat, or worse, yours down his. he kissed his teeth, standing up with the shake of his head. throughout the evening, seunghyun’s felt himself come closer to a metaphorical boiling point. through his own stubbornness, however, he’s refused to acknowledge it. until the ball landed a little too far to his right, sending his poor racket crashing to the ground.

“fuck!” he exclaimed, low voice echoing throughout the empty court. “fuck this shit, man!” he stood in silence for a few fleeting moments, internally wrestling with his suffocated frustration. the outburst was needed, he knew that much, though vivid shame followed afterward. in this moment of clarity, seunghyun got himself together. by the grace of the universe, his racket didn’t suffer any injuries, safely tucked back into its case without further protest. he sat on the bench, bending down to rifle through his duffel bag, finding a spare shirt lodged at the bottom. after retying a loose shoelace, a sudden wave of panic enveloped him: unzipping the side pocket of his duffel, fishing out his blackberry. its only 11:15, he let out a long exhale. last campus shuttle’s at midnight.

the shuttle came every twenty or so minutes, so seunghyun was more than keen on heading out, about to lug his bags over either shoulder—until his bitterness re-appeared in an alternate form: an idea. his blackberry returned to his line of sight, rolling the trackball to your contact. he pressed the green call button, bringing the phone to his ear. voicemail. no surprise there. he dialed again. voicemail. what the fuck am i even—and again. and again—“f-fuck!” jiyong panted, toes curling so hard he was on the verge of giving himself a charley’s horse. he caught his breath when you slowed your pace, allotting your wrist a brief pause. you reached down, stretching your palm over his heavy ballsack, hearing his heavy breaths. “feel good?” you asked. “you have no fucking idea.” he inhaled sharply through his nostrils. you hummed in content, nudging the bridge of your nose against his, molding your lips together. you soothed his racing heartbeat, breathing life into him—oh god. i’m in deep, he thought to himself, tilting his head comfortably to his right, kissing you back passionately.

your phone rang silently in your purse in the driver’s seat. after the sixth attempt, seunghyun turned off his phone in pointless protest, looking at other partygoers on the shuttle with tight-lipped malice. jiyong parted his lips from yours, hot breath sending goosebumps down your spine, kisses trailing your cheek to below your ear. he settled on your neck, gently sucking and nipping at the lush spot of your supple skin. “mmph,” your eyes fluttered closed, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “thats right.” you murmured quietly. jiyong earned a breathy moan from you, the warmth of his tongue running over your neck caught you blissfully off guard, sucking harder than intended when you started stroking his cock again. “harder—suck harder, just like that—” you gasped, thighs rubbing together subconsciously. you adjusted your grip on his dick after it slipped out of your hand, biting your bottom lip, trying to focus with your increasingly fuzzying mind. “f-fuck, jiyong.” “wanna t-taste you.” “i don’t think—” you caught your breath. “i don’t think there’s enough room for that here without pulling a muscle.” you joked lightly, the vibrations of his whimper humbling you real quick.

he sucked firmly, begging nonverbally—“f-fuck!” you gasped. “like that—oh my god, like that.” jiyong continued his ministrations diligently, hand coming up to your cheek to keep you in place. his mind clouded his senses with a fantasy—your words and how euphoric your hand felt pumping his cock not helping his desperate state whatsoever. “h-harder.” you whispered, eyes snapping open when his hips suddenly bucked upward. it was his muffled, perishable moan that helped you put the pieces together—getting a fair picture of what he was thinking about. you didn’t spare him: “are you thinking about fucking me?” he whimpered again, peppering kisses onto your fresh hickey, trying to thwart his shame in thinking such lewd thoughts unabashedly. “what did i say?” you tutted, hand traveling higher, closing in on his tip. “i like guys who’re honest with me, jiyong.” “y-yes!” he mewled. “i was—i was thinking about fucking you!”

he was barely able to open his eyes, “you’re just … you’re just so—mmph!” his voice squeaked several octaves higher. your grip was now solely focused on his tip and a few centimeters below, stroking mercilessly. “y-you’re just s-so—you have this e-effect—oh my, f-fuck—o-on me—” “you don’t need to explain yourself,” you told him, sincere. you leaned closer to his ear, pressing a soft kiss. “keep thinking about it.” jiyong let out the most vulnerable moan you’ve heard yet. “go on. you can do it.” your tone was gentle, contrasting wildly with how your hand made his tip red and angrier by the second. “how do i feel, hm? you can tell me. i wanna know.” “you f-feel so fucking good,” he gasped, the knot threatening to unravel in his abdomen. his eyes were glossy, “best i’ve e-ever had.” “are you giving it to me good?” “s-so good, baby,” he panted. “you—you have no f-fucking idea.”

the feeling of your smile against his cheek made him cave his stomach inward harshly, swearing off his orgasm until the perfect moment. “i like the sound of that.” you chuckled, licking your lips in satisfaction. “are you close, jiyongie?” oh my fucking god. “my wrist is getting tired again—” “—yes! y-yes!” he cut you off frantically, trying to find his words in his current blinding, lust-filled haze. “c-call me—call me that again!” “what? jiyongie?” “yes! oh my fucking god, baby, i’m gonna—” “c'mon, jiyongie. i know you can give—” “—f-fuck!” for a few seconds, he couldn’t breathe. his breaths came out in stutters, back arching so sharply his elbows cracked. he effectively ruined the bottom half of his shirt—his desire criss-crossing messily onto the fabric, some drizzling down your wrist. his moans were raw and human: initially high pitched at the height of his orgasm, descending into guttural grunts upon coming back down to earth. jiyong weakly turned his head towards you after a few quiet minutes, your fingers wiping the tear that had escaped the corner of his right eye, gradually nursing him back to life with your soft, merciful lips blessing his.

it was amusing—plugging in your sidekick the next morning after forgetting to charge it overnight, seeing six missed calls and two unread texts from the same person: seunghyun. you yawned, stretching your arms above your head. you rubbed the remnants of slumber from your eyes, picking your phone up afterwards, dialing jiyong. you grinned sleepily at the sound of his low voice. he must’ve just woken up, too, “morning,” another yawn escaped you. “no practice today?” “i slept in.” he murmured, turning onto his side, eyes fluttering closed at the cool feeling of his pillowcase against his cheek. “have to make it up tonight.” “sorry for inconveniencing your routine.” “don’t say that,” he tutted. “you’ll never be an inconvenience.” you licked your bottom lip in thought. “wanna meet up for breakfast?” “of course.” jiyong said without hesitation. “what time?” “in an hour?” you contemplated aloud. “i have to become a person again.” “no problem.” you heard the smile in his voice. “i’ll take the shuttle to you.” jiyong vaguely remembered the general location of your residential hall, having sent you off with a sweet goodnight kiss in his car less than eight hours ago, endearingly succumbed to the embarrassment of not wanting to walk out in a shirt hotly tainted by your effect on him.

you saw each other outside of your shared class that following week—lunch here, kisses before he headed to practice there, cheeks warming over a cute text another morning. jiyong and seunghyun filed in for tennis practice early on monday as per usual routine, but avoided each other like the plague—lingering wounds from their previous argument going unacknowledged, coupled with seunghyun’s pride stifling his budding curiosity over what went down saturday night. their teammates took notice, initially caught off guard by their cutthroat tension. come tuesday morning, the itch to know became unbearable. seunghyun knew he couldn’t come in hot, so he eased into it, casually asking jiyong “do you have spare kt tape?”, a small win when handed the roll wordlessly before heading to the outdoor court; pulling humorous yet familiarly disarming faces when paired together for drills—a strategic tool in his arsenal dating back to mending petty arguments throughout their childhood; and the classic “y'know i can’t live without you, ji.” which more or less earned him his best friend back, though the honest statement held contrasting intent. “i was out of line last week.” he admitted, albeit skirting around the crux of it—an explicit apology foreign to his vernacular. “i don’t know what got over me.” “s'fine, seunghyun.” jiyong looked him in the eyes, “just let me know next time you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

seunghyun didn’t bring you up until wednesday morning: “she tell you to grow this out?” his tone was playful, nudging jiyong’s chin with his finger. jiyong smiled, his own fingers tracing hair lining his upper lip and peppering his chin. “yeah.” he confirmed, the two of them walking past various weight rooms at the athletic center. seunghyun nodded, “looks good. suits you.” they approached the doors leading to the outdoor court, seunghyun holding it open for jiyong. he zeroed in: “what do you mean you won’t say?” “i don’t kiss and tell.” seunghyun’s eyebrows furrowed, but kept his tone light, his effortless chuckle helping his case. “since when?” “since she looked at me like she’d stop seeing me if i told anyone.” jiyong answered. its true: he did see an unreadable look in his periphery after mentioning it whilst studying in your dorm the other day . . . or perhaps “maybe i’m just overthinking it,” he muttered, seunghyun overheard, “you probably are, man.”

they arrived at a spare court, hearing the grunts and thwackkkks! from their teammates in neighboring courts, all carefully observed by their coach. they set their duffel bags and rackets down, starting to stretch together. holding each other’s wrists firmly, both gradually squatted, hovering a few inches above the ground. “she had to know you’d talk to me, though. right?” seunghyun asked, letting out a long exhale afterward. jiyong laughed, repositioning his feet. “she didn’t really indicate there were any exceptions.” they slowly stood, letting go of one another. though parted, their movements remained mirrored: now stretching their forearms—interlocking their fingers, bringing their hands in front of their chest, and slowly pushing with their palms facing outward. “just give me a signal, then.” said seunghyun. jiyong was confused, “a signal?” “yeah, a signal.” seunghyun repeated, gradually bringing his hands above his head.

“isn’t this, like, hard for you to hear?” jiyong brought his hands above his head, too. “like, wouldn’t you rather not?” “no. i’m happy for you.” seunghyun switched to stretching his triceps, holding for fifteen seconds each on either side. jiyong followed suit after feeling the tension in his lower back unravel. “i just don’t wanna feel left out.” seunghyun added. jiyong didn’t say anything, their warm-up proceeding in silence. an idea permeated seunghyun’s logic, grabbing his racket, heading to his side of the court. “if you two fucked, do a normal serve.” jiyong looked at him with widened eyes, descending into a nervous, yet entertained laugh. he grabbed his racket, walking to the service line across the net, picking a ball out of a tall metal basket filled to the brim with spares, one of many lodged between all of the courts. jiyong bounced the ball a few times, stalling his serve.

seunghyun saw the cogs turning in jiyong’s brain. “i’m not asking you to tell me, ji.” “but you are, though.” jiyong countered smartly, continuing to bounce the ball, not looking at him. seunghyun shook his head, kissing his teeth in disapproval. “you know i’m not.” his eyes followed the ball, the back of his throat starting to itch with percolating frustration. you’re nearly there, his inner monologue reminded. “i’m just saying that if you fucked,” he smirked at the sight of jiyong swiftly looking over his shoulder, worried their coach overheard. “then serve like me.” “like you?” jiyong knew what he was doing: buying unnecessary time, not giving seunghyun what he wanted. he ceased bouncing the tennis ball, trading it for a condescending gesture at seunghyun with his racket, seeing him nod. “you know you have this thing you do sometimes, right? before you throw the ball up, you place it in the center of the neck of the racket.” seunghyun took out a ball from his shorts, miming his service motion to a t. jiyong was unequivocally correct, making himself laugh with an added air of cockiness. he had the upper hand—a rarity between them—both metaphorically and literally.

seunghyun licked his lips, actively attempting to deter any crude remarks. “so do that if you fucked.” “i’m not telling you anything, seunghyun.” “you won’t be telling me. c'mon, ji.” jiyong looked at his best friend, admittedly wary. he carefully took in seunghyun’s encouraging grin. he went into his normal serve, until a grievance returned to his periphery, summoning his arm to lower: “why didn’t you give me her number, seunghyun?” jiyong saw his best friend’s expression fall, albeit slightly. seunghyun’s posture straightened, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly to the point where if jiyong blinked, he’d miss it. “you know how it is, ji.” jiyong’s jaw stiffened, looking down at the ball and racket in either of his hands. he contemplated, i know it’d be lying but . . . he lied to me, too. “yeah,” jiyong nodded, swiftly performing seunghyun’s service motion. “i do.” seunghyun was too distracted to get into position—thwackkkkk!—the ball landed in. he didn’t even go for it. he looked up, seeing jiyong shrug his shoulders with a shit-eating smile, fixing his stanford tennis baseball cap. seunghyun smiled back, but when jiyong looked away to reset, his face fell to one of hatred. not only did jiyong sleep with you—or so he thought—he was perfectly capable of serving the “normal” way, but chose not to. it was like looking into a mirror—seunghyun loathed it. jiyong returned to his normal serve, seunghyun cementing into position, ready to fucking demolish the return—thwwaacckkkk!

seunghyun entered coho's late thursday morning with damp hair and flushed cheeks, fresh off the court after a more demanding practice than usual. definitely due to the upcoming match, he figured, but his fingers grabbed the collar of his t-shirt, wiping that sweat off his upper lip with an annoyed scowl nonetheless. he ordered his iced latte without issue, waiting patiently by the counter for his number to be called, folding his receipt and using it as a makeshift fan to cool down. “my bad—you’re good.” he muttered to the person behind him, stepping a couple paces to the right, offering a polite nod after they picked up their drink. he lifted his head, fleetingly recognizing natasha bedingfield on the sound system, but recognizing you entirely—sat on the other side of the café, nose-deep in whatever you were reading sprawled out on the table before you, your coffee halfway empty. speak of the fucking devil, he smirked to himself, picking up his order swiftly; an added air of determination . . .

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