#kwon jiyong series

[gdinthehouseee]

Born To Die (CHAPTER 1): KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: your first meeting with the man himself. or at least, you think it's your first…

word count: 5238

tags: slow burn, mystery, gothic and creepy masquerade, vampire!jiyong, human!reader

series masterlist ⛥ next chapter

“It’s got someone else’s name on, I can’t just waltz in there and pretend to be someone I’m not…”

“Who cares? You’ll have a mask on, you’ll be fine.” 

“And what happens when I get mistaken for the person on the invite?” 

“You’ll be fine.” 

That is how you ended up in a stuffy dress, a delicate mask to match, and shoes you can barely walk in. Standing in front of a manor that doesn’t even exist on your phone’s map, gripping the invitation—registered to a name that you or your colleagues didn’t recognise—like it was your only lifeline, desperately trying to hide your nervousness.

Just the other day, a sealed envelope appeared in your letterbox. It's made of heavy black paper, embossed in gold with a single name that didn’t belong to you. No sender. No return address. No one at your agency knows the name on it. No one’s ever heard of the event, the venue, or the host.

But your boss told you to go.

“Maybe it’s a cult,” he joked. “Maybe it’s your big break.”

You didn’t think it was funny. But you go. Because what if it is something? What if this is the one story that finally gets your name out there? You're the youngest reporter at a mid-tier news agency, constantly dismissed, stuck proofreading real journalists' work while you’re told to write, at worst, about petty crime stories that have a straightforward, linear narrative. If you have to write about one more failed burglary, you might rip your hair out. Or quit. Who knows? 

The manor looms like something out of a painting: tall and wide, lit from within by an amber glow that spills out across the courtyard in soft, flickering streaks. The walls are ivy-clad stone, older than anything should be, and the iron gates open for you as though they’ve been waiting. At the door, a man in a dark suit and gloves takes your invitation. He doesn’t ask for your name. Just runs his eyes over the envelope’s seal, nods once, and gestures for you to enter.

You’re inside.

It hits you all at once—the sound, the heat, the weight of the air. Everything is velvet and gold, candlelight and shadow. The ballroom stretches impossibly wide, with ceilings so high they vanish into darkness. Chandeliers drip crystals like frozen rain. Soft music drifts through the space, the kind of melody that doesn’t seem to come from a band or a speaker. It just is, as though the house itself is humming.

The guests are beautiful in a way that makes your skin crawl. Tall and graceful, dressed in intricate silks, brocade, and lace. Their masks shimmer like precious metal, feathered and bejeweled, each one more elaborate than the last. They all turn when you walk in. Not suddenly—not all at once. But you feel it. The shift. Eyes behind masks following your every step, heads tilting slightly, smiles that are just a touch too wide. Like they’ve been expecting you. Like you’ve wandered into something you shouldn’t have. Like you’re the only real thing in the room.

You try to blend in, but it’s impossible. Your mask is too simple. Your posture too stiff. Your pulse too fast.

Someone brushes past you, their perfume rich and strange, like crushed flowers and old paper. Another murmurs something in a language you don’t understand, their gloved hand ghosting across your arm as they pass. You keep walking, pretending not to notice the way they all keep glancing your way—just a little too long. Like they’re not curious, but hungry.

A server offers you a glass of something dark red and thick. You take it to be polite, but your fingers tremble on the stem. The glass is cold. The liquid doesn’t slosh like wine.

Somewhere, laughter rings out—sharp and sudden—and then cuts off like it was never there.

You move further into the room, past swirling dancers and flickering candelabras, past paintings that seem to watch you back. You wonder if anyone else feels it. That wrongness. That tension beneath the glamour, like a thread pulled too tight. You weave deeper into the crowd, careful not to let your discomfort show. Your steps echo faintly against the marble, drowned by the rustle of silk and the low hum of voices. The scent of wax, perfume, and something darker—earthy, metallic—clings to the air.

Everywhere you turn, people are dancing. But not in the carefree, joyful way you’ve seen at galas or society parties. These dancers move in perfect synchrony, gliding as if they’ve rehearsed for years. The music sharpens now, winding and slow, and the dancers shift with it like they’re attached to invisible strings.

You catch the eye of one masked figure on the edge of the floor—tall, elegant, dressed in deep, navy blue. Their mask is carved into the shape of a fanged beast, gold-tipped and gleaming. You look away quickly, but when you glance back, they’re still staring.

Someone bumps into your shoulder, and you turn to apologize—but the woman is already smiling at you.

“You came,” she says softly.

Her mask is a delicate creation, obscuring everything but her mouth. Her lips are painted a deep plum, and her smile is too knowing.

“I… I think there’s been a mistake,” you begin, but she simply tilts her head.

“There are no mistakes here.”

Before you can ask what she means, another guest sweeps by and catches her attention, and she disappears into the crowd without another word. You stare after her, uneasy. Then, from the shadows of a nearby archway, a man chuckles. It's low and rasping, like it scrapes the edges of your spine. “Clever in every lifetime,” he says to no one in particular.

You pretend not to hear.

Further in, you pass a group gathered around a long table set with impossible food—fruits that gleam like polished jewels, meat that steams and bleeds onto gold plates, black cakes decorated with red sugared flowers. You’re offered a bite of something unfamiliar by a gentleman in silver and ivory, his gloves pristine despite the wine staining his glass.

“Taste,” he insists. “You’ll never be the same.”

You shake your head with a polite smile and keep walking, heart pounding faster.

The walls seem to lean closer the longer you stay. The mirrors show angles that shouldn’t exist. Some don’t show your reflection at all. You pass one that does—and for a moment, the figure in the glass is smiling, even though your face is not. You step away quickly. It’s too much. Too strange. More than anything, you’re starting to feel watched. Not just glanced at. Not admired. Observed.

You need air.

You spot a set of glass-paned doors at the far end of the ballroom—tall and heavy, slightly ajar. No one seems to be paying attention to them. Or rather… no one stops you from slipping through.

Cold night air rushes over your skin like a balm the moment you step outside. You exhale for what feels like the first time. The terrace is wide and open, stretched out like a marble balcony above the world. The stone beneath your heels is cold, veined with pale silver that catches the moonlight. Ornate balustrades line the edge, carved with strange, curling shapes that almost seem to move when you don’t look at them directly.

A soft breeze brushes past, cool against your overheated skin. It carries the scent of night-blooming flowers and something older—wet earth, ancient stone, maybe even a trace of smoke. You can still hear the faint thrum of music behind you, but out here, it's muffled, distant, like a memory already slipping away.

The only light comes from the moon, full and low, casting long shadows across the terrace. A few lanterns glow dimly from sconces set into the walls, flickering gold and orange like fireflies trapped in glass. It’s just enough to see the garden stretching out beyond—rows and rows of hedges rising like dark waves in the fog. A maze. Or maybe something older. Something designed to trap. The fog rolls slowly across the grass, swirling between archways and winding paths, cloaking everything past the first few turns. Statues loom within it—half-seen, white and tall, their shapes too strange to name.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a few blissful seconds, it’s just you and the stillness.

“First time?”

You turn.

He stands at the edge, half-shadowed, moonlight pooling over the sleek black of his suit. His mask is elegant and minimal, a sliver of silver curling up one side like a claw or a crescent moon. The lower half of his face is bare—sharp jaw, expressive mouth, the faintest trace of amusement. You’ve never seen him before, but you’re not sure that’s true.

Still, you exhale, trying to shake the weight of the night off your shoulders. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s done it before.”

You give a small laugh, grateful for the moment of normalcy. “So not your first, then?”

“No,” he says, almost too quietly. “I come every century.”

You blink, then grin. “Wow, I must’ve missed you last time. I was here in the 1800s. Wore a lilac corset with white lace. Almost passed out. Fell for a poet who recited something about violets and dusk.”

“Lilac?” He echoes, after a beat. “With white lace?”

You nod, a little unsure now. “Yeah. Weird detail to pull out, right?”

“And the poet?”

You laugh again, nervously this time. “Oh, he was hopeless. Said his name was Ji… something. Ji-hwan? Ji—” You stop, frowning. “No. Not Ji-hwan. That’s not right.”

“No,” he says softly. “It’s not.”

“You know him?”

“You could say that.”

Silence stretches between you and the mystery man, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s weighted, like the air between you is holding its breath.

“Impressive,” he murmurs.

Your brows knit. “What?”

“Most people can’t describe dreams they had last night. Let alone ones from a hundred years ago.”

You tilt your head and scoff out a polite laugh, assuming he’s continuing the sudden improvisation you started out of your jittery nerves. You look away, down toward the garden maze swallowed in fog, something old and electric pressing against your ribs. It feels like standing on the edge of a memory you’re not allowed to access—like if you reached just a little further, you’d find something you lost long, long ago.

“You haven’t eaten anything tonight, have you?” He asks suddenly.

You glance back. “No. Not really hungry.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Because the food here is terrible,” he answers with a crooked smile. “Trust me.”

You huff another small laugh, but the tension lingers. You’re not sure if he’s flirting or warning you. Or both. He’s still watching you like you’re made of something fragile and precious and impossible. Like he’s trying to stop time. Like he already knows how this ends. Was that even possible?

You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “so what else do you do? Aside from… whatever this is?” 

“Cause trouble. Charm strangers.”

“Mm. You’re one for two so far.”

That earns a soft laugh, low and rich. He steps closer, just enough that the edge of his coat brushes your arm. “Tell me what would tip the scale.”

You raise a brow, amused. “That’s bold.”

“You’re on a balcony in the middle of a masquerade hosted by God-knows-who, dressed like a dream and looking like you don’t belong to anyone here. I figured bold was the way to go.”

A laugh slips out before you can catch it. Warm, real. His eyes light up like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

“There it is,” he says, quietly. “I knew you had a good laugh.”

“So you’ve been watching me?”

“Of course I have. You walked in like a secret everyone wanted to keep.”

Your smile falters for just a second—the way he says it. Like he means it. Like he’s known you longer than this single conversation allows. He tilts his head, catching the flicker in your eyes.

“Too much?”

“No,” you say, softer now. “Just unexpected.”

He grins. “Good. Then I’m doing something right.”

For a beat, you say nothing—just study him under the low silver light. His mask hides just enough, but you can still see the shape of his mouth when it curves. Still feel something low in your chest that doesn’t quite have a name.

“I could steal a dance,” he says after a moment, almost lazily. “But I think I’d rather steal a little more of your time out here.”

You quirk a brow. “Bold again.”

“Habit.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

You bite back another smile, heart ticking faster than you mean it to. And when the breeze moves through the terrace again, lifting the edges of your hair, he’s still watching you—as if he’s memorizing something. As if he already has. Then, he simply extends his hand, palm up between you.The gesture is quiet. Elegant. No pressure, no expectation—just an invitation. You hesitate for a beat. Then your fingers slip into his, and he closes his hand gently around yours. Warm. Steady.

Without a word, he turns and begins to walk, guiding you down the wide terrace steps and into the garden below. It feels like stepping into a dream. The air changes first—cooler, scented thick with night-blooming flowers and something older beneath, something almost metallic. The stone beneath your feet gives way to a soft, mossy path, winding lazily through an explosion of colour.

The garden is nothing like you expected. No tight hedges. No rigid rows. Just wild beauty. Everywhere you look, something’s blooming. Roses the color of wine and ash, foxglove swaying like bells in a silent wind, moonflowers yawning open under the pale silver light. There’s lavender spilling over low walls, clusters of narcissus, pale peonies blooming like secrets in the dark. Petals brush your ankles as you walk. The air hums with quiet life.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

You don’t ask him to.

There’s no sound but your footsteps, soft against the moss, and something quieter still—a hush beneath the silence. Like humming. Like a distant memory.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur.

“It’s never looked quite like this before.”

You glance over, curious, but he’s already looking away again, gaze drifting toward the flowers like he’s known them longer than time.

You walk in silence for a while, passing under low branches and beneath archways grown thick with jasmine. The scent wraps around you. Sweet and dizzyingly warm. It fills your lungs, makes your chest ache.

“This place feels… familiar,” you say, half to yourself. “I don’t know why.”

He doesn’t answer. But your hand is still in his.

“I must sound crazy.” You continue.

“No,” he says finally, voice low and steady. “Not at all.”

You glance at him, expecting a joke, a smile. But he’s looking at you with that same quiet, unreadable gaze. Something about him feels… old. Not in a bad way. Just deep. Pondering. Still.

“You talk like a poet,” you say before you can stop yourself.

That makes him smile — not smug, but soft. Fond.

“Do I?”

“Mm. The romantic kind,” you tease. “Maybe you’re the poet I mentioned earlier. The one from the 1800s.”

He doesn’t laugh like you expect. He just looks at you for a long moment. Then quietly says, “Would you believe me if I was?”

You blink, caught off guard.

“…No,” you say slowly, watching his expression. “But you do have the dramatic stare down.”

That earns a small laugh, low and quiet, curling at the edges.

You walk on, deeper into the flowers. Somewhere behind you, the music from the manor fades completely. All that’s left is the hush of the garden… and the man beside you, still holding your hand like it was always meant to be there.  The garden thickens as you walk, blooms crowding the edges of the path in bursts of color and scent. Somewhere behind, the manor has vanished from view, swallowed by flowering branches and ivy-laced trellises.

Moonlight spills across the winding path, silvering everything it touches. Honeysuckle drips from wrought-iron arches overhead. White lilies cluster beneath wild roses, tangled like lovers in secret. You pass through it all in silence, every step deeper into the heart of something forgotten. Here, the garden feels older. Less curated. Less dreamed-up. The flowers grow wilder, stranger. Twists of nightshade blooming in delicate clusters. Long-stemmed orchids, dark as spilled ink, stretch toward the sky. Some of them sway without wind. Others seem to lean subtly toward your footsteps.

You don’t speak. Neither does he. It’s not uncomfortable—far from it. There’s something about the quiet between you that feels sacred. Like anything louder might wake the garden into something else.

Then the path changes. Stone again, older this time. Worn flat by time, cracks laced with moss and silver threads of root. The trees part slowly ahead, and nestled between ivy-choked hedgerows, something rises from the ground.

A mausoleum.

Small. Weathered. The stone is carved in flowing patterns — flowers, stars, something that might be script, but worn down too far to read. Pale vines creep up the sides, blooming with tiny, ghost-white blossoms. It doesn’t feel menacing. Just… quiet. Like the garden has been holding it close for a very long time.

You stop without meaning to, your breath catching.

“What is this place?” You whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are fixed on the structure ahead, unreadable in the half-light. For a moment, he looks like a statue himself—carved from shadow and silver.

Then, softly, “some say it’s where the first guests were laid to rest.”

You glance at him, uncertain if he’s joking.

His mouth curves, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Not during the party,” he adds lightly, as if that helps. “After.”

You huff a quiet laugh — but it dies in your throat.

To the left of the mausoleum, four gravestones sit nestled beneath a drooping willow tree. Their surfaces are dulled by time, weathered smooth in places, with faint lines of script barely legible in the moonlight. You step a little closer, squinting, finally letting go of his hand. The names blur just before your eyes can make sense of them. The carvings seem to shift in the shadows, impossible to hold still in your mind. A strange chill brushes the back of your neck.

Turning toward him again, you ask softly, “Have you been in there?”

He turns his gaze toward the mausoleum, his expression unreadable. The silence hangs for a moment, and you can almost feel the weight of time pressing in from all sides.

“Once,” he says, voice distant. He takes a step forward, his eyes studying the ancient stone. “Strange thing, isn’t it? It always seems so much smaller from the outside… but once you’re inside, it feels endless. As if the walls were never meant to contain what they hold.”

You feel a shiver go down your spine. It’s not quite fear, but something deeper—as though the air around the mausoleum is full of stories, long-forgotten.

He smiles slightly, almost to himself. “And the man who built it? A devoted one. Loved his wife, I think, more than anything else. Or maybe that was his mistake, building something like this for her. The stones never really let go of that kind of devotion.”

You look at him, intrigued. “What do you mean by that?”

He looks at you then, his gaze soft and searching, as if measuring something you can’t quite see. He tilts his head thoughtfully, his words slow and deliberate. “He was a man of wealth, a man of passion. But when his love passed from him, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her forever. So he built this mausoleum, this grand place to keep her memory alive. But… some say it wasn’t just her memory he wanted to preserve.”

You blink, the words settling in an odd, weighty way.

“What did he want to preserve, then?” 

His smile deepens, just a fraction, and he steps closer to you. “Not just her. Her spirit. His devotion was so great, he wanted to keep her with him forever. And so he… made sure she was never truly gone.” He lets the words hang in the air, like a puzzle he’s only half-revealed.

You stand there, staring at the mausoleum, the chill creeping deeper into your bones. There’s something in his tone that makes it feel less like a story and more like a secret. One that is just out of reach, like the names on the gravestones.

“Let’s not linger here too long,” he says softly, his voice laced with an odd, tender finality. He offered out his hand once more, and you took it. Without hesitation this time.

He gently tugs your hand, guiding you away from the mausoleum and the lingering chill that had crept into your bones. You’re still caught in the weight of his words, the haunting story of devotion and loss swirling in your mind, but his touch feels like an anchor, pulling you back into the present moment.

As you walk, the garden’s flowers seem to fade into the background, their petals dimming under the canopy of darkness. The distant sound of a breeze rustles through the trees, but it’s almost as if the garden itself has fallen silent in the wake of your conversation.

His steps are steady, measured, his hand still warm around yours. You glance up at him, his face unreadable in the soft glow of the moonlight. It’s hard to shake the feeling that he’s leading you not just through the garden, but through some kind of invisible threshold, into a deeper space that neither of you can quite define.

When you reach the edge of the garden, he pauses for a brief moment, as if assessing the change in atmosphere. His gaze lifts toward the manor, the flickering lights of the party still visible through the trees, like a beacon calling you back.

He leads you back through the stone paths, the shadows of the hedges falling behind you, and toward the iron gate that separates the garden from the mansion. With a slight tug, he opens the gate for you, stepping aside to let you through first. As you pass by, you catch a fleeting glance of the moon reflected in his eyes, something almost wistful about it, but it’s gone before you can truly make sense of it.

Once inside, the contrast is jarring.

He keeps his hand loosely around yours, guiding you back through the grand entrance of the manor with an ease that makes it seem as though you’ve never left. His presence remains a calm contrast to the bustling atmosphere inside, and for a brief moment, you feel a quiet bubble of relief. You’re back in the world you know, yet with him beside you, it feels like you're standing on the edge of something unfamiliar.

He pauses for a moment when you reach the ballroom, a brief hesitation in his steps before he turns to you, eyes glinting with mischief.

“How about a dance?” 

The music flows gently in the background, a soft, melodic waltz filling the room as couples twirl and glide across the marble floor. The light from the chandeliers casts a soft glow over everything, the room filled with laughter and a quiet hum of excitement. 

You blink for a moment, surprised by the sudden offer, but then a grin tugs at the corner of your lips. There’s something about the way he stands there, waiting, as if he knows you’ll say yes.

“Alright,” you reply with a small, teasing smile, “But I warn you, I’m not the best dancer.”

“Then I’ll just have to lead, won’t I?”

His touch is warm and confident as he gently guides you toward the dance floor. You can feel the soft pressure of his fingers as he places his other hand on your waist, the proximity between the two of you sending a rush of warmth through your chest. The world around you fades slightly, the sounds of the party becoming a soft murmur as you’re swept into the rhythm of the music.

His movements are smooth, graceful, and effortlessly in tune with yours, guiding you through the dance with a kind of quiet elegance. There’s a fluidity to the way he moves, as if he’s been dancing for centuries, and yet, he keeps his attention on you, his eyes never leaving your partially covered face, studying your expressions with a mix of curiosity and something else—something that makes your heart skip just a little faster.

As you sway together, the world around you feels distant, the night air drifting in from the terrace now nothing more than a memory. It’s just the two of you, the music, and the dance.

He leans in a little closer, his voice low and intimate, just above the music. “You’re a natural,” he murmurs, his tone playful. “I might have to keep you on the dance floor all night.”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his breath against your ear. “I’m sure you say that to all your guests,” you tease, but there’s something about the way his fingers tighten around yours that makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s not entirely joking.

The dance continues, the two of you lost in the movement, the connection, the electricity hanging between you. The night has only just begun, but with every step, every turn, it feels as though time itself is slipping away—just for the two of you. And as the dance comes to an end, the soft melody of the waltz fades into a slow, quiet hum, but neither of you move away immediately. You stay close, his hand still resting on your waist, your fingers lightly intertwined. The energy of the room has shifted around you—couples begin to break away, retreating into conversation, leaving the two of you in a rare, almost forgotten corner of the night.

For a moment, neither of you speak, and it feels as though time itself has slowed. The buzz of the party outside the bubble you’ve created seems so distant now. All that’s left is the quiet rhythm of your breath and the feeling of his fingers lingering on your skin. 

One hand stays on your waist, while the other lets go of your hand to slowly make its way up to your face. At first, he gently grazes your jaw, before moving up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You feel a slight tug on your mask before he whispers, finally breaking the silence. 

“May I?” 

Your breath hitches—words rendered useless as they catch in your throat—and you nod, suddenly feeling shy. 

His movements remain slow as he takes your mask off, finally able to fully see your face fully under the soft and warm ballroom lighting. If you weren’t so close, you might have missed the way his own breathing hitched. Fingers flexed at your waist, for a single fleeting moment, before he relaxed the grip as if to compose himself. You almost forgot how to breathe entirely when he next spoke.

“Beautiful… just as I thought.” 

Before you could say anything, the hand on your waist moves to your hand and he brings it to his lips, placing a delicate, lingering kiss on your knuckles. You smile softly, but a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. People begin to disperse, the evening winding down as the last strains of music fade away. It’s time to leave, it seems. He steps back, but only just. He’s reluctant, you can tell, but there’s something else—something unspoken between you. It’s clear he’s not ready to say goodbye.

“Shall I see you off?” He asks, his voice now taking on a more formal tone, though the playful undercurrent still lingers. 

He offers you his arm, a silent invitation to return to the entrance, but this time it feels different—like you’re both stepping back into reality, the night’s magic slowly dissipating with each step you take away from the dance floor. The two of you walk toward the grand entrance, where the final guests are beginning to trickle out. His presence feels like an invisible weight at your side, one that you can’t quite place but are oddly drawn to. When you reach the large front doors, he pauses. For a long moment, you simply stand there, both unsure of what to say next, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts. He turns to you, his eyes searching yours, and for a fleeting moment, something passes between you—a recognition, maybe, or just the promise of something that could be. He smiles softly, though there's a tinge of sadness in it.

This time, you speak up first, hoping to lighten the mood a little. “I hope next time I can see what’s under your mask.” 

“You’re saying you’d like there to be a next time?” His sad smile briefly twitches into a smirk, the glint of playfulness returning to his otherwise dark eyes. 

“Are you saying you wouldn’t?” You quip. 

He decides to step closer, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek, before whispering in your ear. “Until next time, princess.”

With that, he steps back and disappears into the manor. You’re left standing there with your own thoughts, a whirlwind in your mind. You barely register the rest of the night as you climb into the back of the taxi you called, almost tripping on your dress, and not even caring you had forgotten your mask somewhere. You barely remember the drive back to your small apartment in the middle of town. Nor can you remember hastily tugging the dress off and dumping it on the floor, finally collapsing into bed and falling into a surprisingly dreamless sleep. 

The next morning, you curse yourself for not asking the man for any details about himself. You didn’t even have a name. Times like this really made you question how you ended up becoming a journalist in the first place. Ignoring the wave of texts from your boss and colleagues alike, you went about your morning, thankful it was your day off. 

You tried to take your mind off everything when a knock at your front door startled you straight out of your thoughts. What the hell is it now? 

Wanting to get whatever it was over and done with, you practically marched over to the door and swung it open— 

Only to find a single box on the doormat. It was old and wooden, clearly worn down by nothing other than time itself. You looked around, down both sides of the corridor assuming it was some sort of odd prank, but nobody was there. Of course. You decided to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a name—your real name, this time—freshly carved into the lid. Curious to a fault, you took it inside and opened it. Wrapped in ancient fabric, there it was…

A lilac corset. Adorned with white lace.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @ilovethe141 @allthoughtsmindfull 

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 1)

Choi Seunghyun x reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: Yay! Here is part one of this angsty, terrible series I'm writing. This one is a bit of a roller coaster and idk why I'm putting my babies through this 😭 As always, I am in no way shape or form trying to convey that TOP and GD are like this in real life. I have an immense amount of love and respect for them and I am simply using them as characters in this story.

synopsis: Hate fucking G-Dragon wasn't your proudest moment. I mean, you kept coming back for more right? But what happens when his best friend suddenly takes an interest in you...

warnings: angst, mentions of smut

wc: 2.4k+

You couldn’t remember exactly when this all started—only that it had been a collision waiting to happen. One drunken night, a heated argument with Jiyong had turned into something neither of you could take back. You still recalled the fire in his eyes, the way his fingers had wrapped around your throat before slamming you against the wall. His lips had crashed against yours, all fury and desperation, his hands roaming your body like he needed to claim every inch of you. Your legs had locked around his waist, his name spilling from your lips between breathless moans as he fucked you against the cool surface. He had buried his face in your tits, groaning with every ragged thrust, his anger bleeding into something darker, something insatiable.

And that’s how it had been for the last six months—rage, resentment, and raw, reckless lust. The fights never stopped, but neither did the sex. The bruises on your skin from his grip always faded just in time for new ones to take their place. It was a secret, one that weighed heavy on your conscience. You hated Jiyong, and he hated you. That was the rule. It was just meaningless, hate-filled sex.

But then, everything changed.

Choi Seunghyun was the opposite of Jiyong in every way. Where Jiyong was sharp edges and biting words, Seunghyun was warmth and patience. He greeted you every morning with a soft smile, a cup of coffee waiting in his hand just for you. He asked about your day, listened intently when you spoke, made you feel seen in a way you hadn't in so long. You found yourself looking forward to those moments, the easy conversations, the way he treated you like you were worth something more than just fleeting pleasure.

And then came Valentine's Day.

Seunghyun stood before you, a bouquet of roses in one hand, a cliché heart-shaped box of chocolates in the other. His expression was shy, almost uncertain as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“There’s, uhm… this new restaurant that just opened up,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I thought maybe we could try it? Together?”

Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

You knew he liked you. You had felt it in the way he looked at you, in the way he lingered just a little longer whenever he spoke to you. But you never thought he’d actually do something about it. Not when you practically worked for him. 

You stared at the flowers, your mind racing for a response. From the corner of the room, Jiyong sat frozen, his normally unreadable expression cracked wide open. His lips parted slightly, his eyes dark, unblinking as he watched the moment unfold.

You liked Seunghyun. A lot.

But you had been hate-fucking his best friend for months.

“I-uhm…”

Seunghyun’s face faltered for a second before he quickly masked it with a polite smile. “You don’t have to. I mean, you probably already have plans. Just—just forget I asked. Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.”

He turned to walk away, the blush on his cheeks deepening, but something in you refused to let him leave.

“Wait!” The word slipped out before you could stop it. You barely recognized the sound of your own voice. “I-I’d love to actually…”

Seunghyun’s expression lit up like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Really? Great! I’ll pick you up at eight?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled—genuine, unforced. “Sounds great.”

Seunghyun walked away with a barely concealed skip in his step, leaving you standing there, the scent of roses still fresh in the air.

And then the moment shattered.

Jiyong scoffed, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade. You had almost forgotten he was there. Almost.

He sauntered toward you, plucking a single rose from the bouquet and twirling it between his fingers. His lips curled into something cruel, something wounded. “You’re really gonna go out with my best friend? After spending the last six months screaming my name?”

“Shut up, Jiyong,” you snapped, turning away. You didn’t want to have this conversation.

But he wasn’t done. “No, really, I’m curious. You trying to work your way through the whole band, or just the ones closest to me?”

Your blood boiled. “It’s not like that!”

“Oh? Then tell me, what is it like?” He stepped closer, his breath warm against your skin. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You gonna let him touch you the way I do? Gonna let him fuck you the way I do?”

“I actually like Seunghyun.” The words were out before you could stop them.

Something flickered in Jiyong’s eyes. Something you’d never seen before. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “We fucked this morning, Y/N,” he bit out, his voice barely above a growl. “This morning.”

You held his gaze, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “Well, that was the last time.”

You turned on your heel, walking away without another word.

Jiyong’s chest heaved, his hands trembling at his sides. The moment the door shut behind you, he grabbed the glass of water you had left on the table and hurled it against the wall.

The sound of shattering glass filled the empty room.

-

You were the band’s lead stylist, for Christ’s sake. You could dress five grown men in elaborate stage outfits without breaking a sweat, yet here you were, standing in the middle of your bedroom, drowning in rejected dresses. The floor was littered with fabric, discarded options that just didn’t sit right, clinging too tightly in the wrong places or making you feel like a stranger in your own skin. Frustration bubbled in your chest as you yanked yet another dress over your head and then tossing it aside with a huff.

Why was this so hard?

Because this wasn’t just any date.

It was a date with Seunghyun.

Your stomach twisted at the thought. You wanted to look perfect tonight, wanted everything to be effortless, elegant. You wanted to be soft in a way you hadn’t been allowed to be in a long time.

But deep down, a bitter little voice whispered that maybe you didn’t deserve this kind of good.

The ghost of Jiyong’s touch still lingered on your skin—hot, possessive, sinful. Just this morning, his hands had been on you, gripping your thighs, your waist, his lips dragging down your neck as if branding you. The shame of it burned through your chest. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Seunghyun and Jiyong had been best friends since they were kids. This whole situation felt like a betrayal waiting to happen.

But then there was Seunghyun himself—kind, gentle, thoughtful. The type of man you’d once dreamed of, back before your life had been tangled in the mess of lust and hate. He was the kind of man who took his time, who cherished, who actually cared. And more than anything, you liked him.

And you didn’t like Jiyong. 

…Right?

Jiyong was infuriating, arrogant, selfish. He pushed all your buttons, knew exactly how to set your blood on fire. That’s what fueled it, wasn’t it? The hatred, the push and pull, the way you loathed the very sight of him until you were pinned beneath him, gasping his name.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t love. It was nothing.

You exhaled sharply, forcing the thoughts from your head. Your fingers smoothed down the black dress that hugged your curves, the sleek fabric clinging in just the right places. It was classy, yet undeniably sexy. This was the one.

You slipped on your black heels, threw on a matching cardigan, and checked yourself one last time in the mirror. A final touch of gloss on your lips, a quick fix of your hair—then the doorbell rang.

Your heart leapt.

You swallowed hard, inhaling deeply before hurrying to the door. When you pulled it open, the sight of Seunghyun standing there sent warmth through your chest. He looked effortlessly handsome, dressed in a dark suit, a soft grin tugging at his lips.

“Seunghyun! Hi!” you greeted, your smile bright but nervous.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said smoothly, pulling something from behind his back—a single black dahlia. “Jiyong said these were your favorite.”

The breath hitched in your throat.

Jiyong.

Your fingers froze before hesitantly reaching for the flower. “Jiyong told you that?”

Seunghyun nodded, looking at you expectantly. “Yeah, he said you mentioned it once, that you love dahlias. Did he get it wrong?” His voice was light, playful, but his brows furrowed slightly, as if sensing your hesitation.

You forced yourself to push the unease away, offering him a smile. “No… he got it right. I do love them. Especially black ones.” You ran your fingers gently over the petals. “Thank you, Seunghyun. It’s beautiful.”

But your mind was already spinning.

Why the hell would Jiyong tell him that? Had they talked about this date? What else had Jiyong said? Was he trying to sabotage you? Or was this his way of reminding you—of digging his claws in and making sure you never truly forgot about him?

“Ready to go?” Seunghyun’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You blinked, shaking the thoughts away. “Yeah! Let me just grab my purse.”

You set the flower down carefully on the table in the entryway before grabbing your bag and stepping out into the night.

-

The car ride was quiet, but comfortable. Seunghyun didn’t push conversation, choosing instead to let the soft hum of music fill the space between you. The city lights blurred past outside the window, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself relax.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Seunghyun was a perfect gentleman, stepping out first and opening the door for you. He offered his arm as he led you inside, giving his name to the host.

Almost immediately, you were ushered to a private dining room.

The scene was breathtaking—dim lighting, flickering candles, a pristine white tablecloth and delicate wine glasses. It was intimate, romantic in a way that sent warmth creeping up your neck.

“Wow, Seunghyun…” You turned in awe, drinking in the effort he had put into this. “This is… this is beautiful.”

His lips quirked into a pleased smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

He moved to pull out your chair for you, and you found yourself smiling as you sat. When he took his seat across from you, he grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring for both of you before lifting his glass.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his gaze warm.

You chuckled softly, clinking your glass against his. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

As the night went on, conversation flowed effortlessly. He was easy to talk to, his voice soothing, his words thoughtful. He spoke about art, about music, and you found yourself telling him about your passion for fashion in a way you hadn’t in a long time. There was no competition here, no venom, no tension like there always was with Jiyong.

By the time the date ended, he walked you to your front door, lingering for just a moment before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmured.

You bit your lip, watching as he walked away, a giddy warmth blooming in your chest. You wanted more, but you liked that he didn’t rush. That he wasn’t like—

You opened the door to your apartment, stepping inside.

And then your stomach dropped.

“How’d it go?”

The voice sent ice down your spine.

Jiyong was sitting on your couch, the flickering light from the TV casting sharp shadows across his face.

Your smile vanished instantly. “How the hell did you get in here?”

He smirked, holding up a key. “I have a key to everyone’s place. I’m G-Dragon, remember?”

“I’m changing my locks,” you snapped.

He chuckled darkly, rising to his feet. “So? Did Seunghyun make you feel all warm and special inside?” His voice was laced with mockery, but beneath it, something else simmered.

“He’s respectful,” you shot back. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

Jiyong stepped closer, his smirk widening. “Or maybe he’s just too shy.” His eyes flickered with something dangerous. “Me and him have always differed in that area.”

“Maybe I like him that way.”

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, slow, teasing. “What you like, princess, is getting fucked. Hard. By me.”

You barely had a moment to react before Jiyong’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you forward with enough force to send you colliding against his chest. The scent of him—cigarettes, expensive cologne, and something distinctly Jiyong—swallowed you whole, making your knees weak before he even said a word.

His grip was firm, unyielding, his body heat seeping through the fabric of your dress. Your breath hitched as his other hand ghosted up your arm, trailing lightly over your shoulder before settling at the base of your neck, his thumb pressing just enough to make your pulse race. His voice was a whisper, a slow drag of smoke and sin against your lips.

“Tell me you’re not dripping for me right now.”

Your breath shuddered. You tried to will yourself into stillness, to force your body to resist the pull he had over you. But the way he looked at you—his dark eyes hooded, lips just barely parted—had your resolve cracking apart like fragile glass.

“I—I’m not…” The words barely made it past your lips, trembling and unsure.

Jiyong hummed, the sound low and knowing. His hand left your wrist, trailing lower, fingers brushing the hem of your dress. You knew what was coming, knew you should stop him—but you didn’t.

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, slow and deliberate, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before sliding upward, pressing right where you were aching for him most.

Your body betrayed you.

He exhaled sharply, his smirk sharpening as he felt the undeniable heat and wetness pooling there. His lips ghosted the shell of your ear, voice dripping with amusement.

“Liar.”

Shame surged through you, burning hot and unrelenting. You should push him away. You should tell him to get the hell out.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stood there, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. Your thighs clenched around his fingers involuntarily, your breath coming in shallow, needy little gasps.

Jiyong didn’t move, didn’t press further—he was waiting. Waiting for you to break first, to give in, to confirm what he already knew.

And you did.

“Maybe just…” Your voice came out weak, barely above a whisper. You swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut before forcing yourself to admit the inevitable. “Just one more time.”

The moment the words left your lips, his smirk deepened, satisfaction darkening his features.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening before he crushed his lips against yours, consuming you whole.

Tags: @fr3akyyg1rll @heuningpie @sapph1r3x @moondooll @tranquilty @noharaaa @mariaxman @dear-satan @infinetlyforgotten @staryscorner @blu-brrys @come-as-you-are-111 @nicklet94 @vamplivivi @3mma-lovely @hanadulsetaad @sayugarper @forevervibezzzz1 @shieraseastarrs @mooonologyy @skzdreamz @stillpervert @seunghyunwifey @juliskopf @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama @kai-277 @rotten-toenails @i-might-be-vanny @zzhengyu @petersasteria @manuzicaveyr @gdinthehouseee

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

[moontabi]

MELTED KISSES

kwon jiyong x fem! reader

summary: you made a promise to your best friend seunghyun to join him on his long-awaited summer vacation after years of urging you to meet his friends. unfortunately for you, you find yourself in the company of one of those friends, jiyong, who isn't exactly thrilled about your arrival. that is, until, well, you’re receiving a drunk call or sharing an ice pop with him on a particularly hot day.

warnings: 18+ content ahead including pet names, dirty talk, masturbation, phone sex, cunnalingus, temperature/cold play, unconventional use of a popsicle, light choking, p in v, unprotected sex. enemies to situationship (?)

a/n: first fic im uploading to tumblr! with summer around the corner i wanted to kickstart my page with some good ol jiyong smut, expect more to come :) i was inspired by @loveesiren’s ‘cross my heart’ series when writing this ♡ go read if you haven’t its incredible!

You’re seated comfortably in the passenger seat of Seunghyun's car as he navigates the serpentine coastal road. The soft tunes from the radio create a warm atmosphere, and every so often, Seunghyun glances at you, his smile wide and full of anticipation.

You watch as the scenery changes from the lively city to peaceful beach town, the salty air flowing through the open windows. After years of his persistent begging, you finally agreed to join Seunghyun on his annual summer getaway.

You can't help but think about what this summer will bring. After hearing countless stories from Seunghyun over the years, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbles within you as you ponder whether you'll truly belong there or not.

"Hey, Tabi?" you call out, using Seunghyun's nickname. "Yeah?" he replies, the sun glinting off of his sunglasses. You exhale deeply, contemplating whether to voice the concern that's been lingering in your thoughts. "Do you really think this is a good idea? "Me going on vacation with all your friends like this?"

Seunghyun's brows knit together as he considers your question, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

“What do you mean? You're my best friend; it’s definitely a good idea for you to join me."

He pauses, an unreadable expression on his face. “Unless…"

You raise an eyebrow at him, curious about how he’ll finish that thought.

"Unless what?"

Seunghyun stretches his free arm around your seat, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Unless you're worried about being alone with me for almost 2 months,” he says playfully.

You shrug his arm off, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks. “Not at all! We’re not teenagers anymore. I can handle myself, you know, and I don’t need you fussing over me the entire trip."

Seunghyun’s lips curl into a grin. "I know, you’re amazing, really.”

A soft smile passes your lips, knowing that this trip will undoubtedly deepen your bond with Seunghyun. Plus, you'll finally have the opportunity to meet his friends properly.

"I’m really looking forward to meeting your friends, Seunghyun." You can see that he's genuinely happy at your words, his expression brightening up considerably. "You'll love them, I promise.”

The rest of the car ride passes in comfortable silence with occasional small talk. Eventually, Seunghyun steers into the expansive driveway of a stunning beach house that seems to have sprung from a dream. With endless ocean waves and golden sands stretching behind it, the scene is mesmerizing.

Just as you begin to take in more of the surrounding area, you see three guys chatting and laughing outside the house. In an instant, you're out of the car, enveloped in tight hugs from Seunghyun's friends, Daesung and Youngbae, who happily share how much they've heard about you from Seunghyun.

As the conversation settles down, you look around the area, your eyes eventually settling on the last of the trio—Jiyong. Seunghyun had often spoke of him, blending his admiration with a hint of caution. "Jiyong's my closest friend, but he can be closed off. Don’t take his attitude personally," he had warned with a small smile.

Jiyong stands a bit away from the others, his dark hair falling over his face while he chats with Seunghyun. A cigarette is held between his fingers, and you notice him take a drag, tilting his head to reveal an angel tattoo at the nape of his neck. His arms and legs are adorned with intricate designs; you can’t deny it makes him look incredibly good, especially coupled with his intense gaze, full lips, and well-defined nose, making him even more appealing.

You realize you’re staring a bit too long when he suddenly catches your eye, his expression one of indifference. With a disinterested glance, he turns back to Seunghyun, and they begin to approach. You quickly shake off your thoughts, diverting your gaze away from him.

Jiyong's expression is icy and detached, showing no interest in your presence. In contrast, Seunghyun beams at you warmly. "Jiyong, this is Y/n; Y/n, this is Jiyong.”

You offer a friendly smile to Jiyong. "It's great to finally meet you."

He responds with a brief nod, his lips forming a tight line.

Well, that felt a bit dismissive.

You choose to overlook the way he scrutinizes you, as if you’re beneath his notice. When he finally speaks, his voice is flat. “Ive got somewhere to be," he mumbles, tossing his cigarette into the sand and crushing it under his sandal before walking off without a second glance.

Seunghyun gives you an apologetic shrug. "He’ll come around; he was the same with me once, believe it or not."

"Oh, I believe it," you reply with a hint of annoyance, while Youngbae offers a reassuring hand on your back. "Don’t let him bother you."

“Let’s unpack and hit the beach!" Daesung exclaims. You manage a half-smile and nod. Aside from Jiyong, you’re definitely looking forward to spending time here.

A couple of weeks have passed, and you've gotten used to living with Seunghyun and the others. Yet, Jiyong's behavior had only deteriorated—whether it's the disdainful looks, the cold shoulder, or the random fights you’d end up having. It felt like there was no way to win with him, and it bugged you even more that you couldn't understand why he hated you so much.

Your patience was wearing thin as your anger towards him continued to grow. But as unbearable as he was, you refused to let it distract you from the beautiful ocean or the late-night bonfires, or the tanning in the sun, or just the sheer happiness this place brought you. You felt a deep sense of gratitude towards Seunghyun for bringing you along.

As night approached, the heat lingered, a constant companion in this paradise, but you relished it. The boys had ventured off to some party one of the other houses was throwing, leaving you to enjoy some well-deserved solitude.

You were starting to get tired, now changing into a pair of low-cut shorts and a loose tank. You settle into bed. Honestly, you were kind of disappointed you didn’t go with them. Don’t get me wrong, alone time was needed, but now that you lay alone in bed, you were missing the lively atmosphere of the boys.

Almost on cue, your cell phone rings. You turn your phone over to see who it was: a random number. You usually didn't answer those, but the location matching made you think it could've been Seunghyun calling from a different number.

So you brought it to your ear after clicking answer.

“Hello?”

A few seconds of silence passed before the sound of muffled movement finally followed. When the movement ceased, you heard the sound of slow breathing.

"Helloooo," you drawled, already annoyed and about to hang up when a familiar voice stopped you.

"Why are you awake?"

You immediately shot up. The voice was undeniably similar to a certain, dark-haired, temperamental man you hated.

It was Jiyong.

"Jiyong?”

Silence again.

"How did you get my number?"

His voice, just above a whisper, low and raspy, he said, "Answer my question first, and I'll answer yours."

You could feel an eye roll coming on.

So annoying.

The words threatened to escape your lips, but you just sighed instead.

You leaned back against your headboard in defeat. Deciding to make this quick, you obliged.

"Well, I was asleep until some random number rudely woke me up." You lied.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you heard more muffled movement. It sounded like he was undressing. You waited silently for a response—preferably an apology with an explanation.

You could’ve easily hung up, not played whatever game Jiyong had up his sleeve this time, but

You made an excuse in your head that you just wanted the name of the person who gave him your number so you could finally hang up, block him, and deal with whoever was responsible in the morning. Your guess is it was probably Daesung…maybe even Seunghyun.

"Liar."

His low, rumbling voice gave you goosebumps. The sound of a belt buckle clicking open in the background made your eyes snap open. The image of him most likely sprawled out on some random surface, hair dishevelled, shirt discarded on the floor, and hands fumbling with his belt flashed across your mind. causing a slight red tint to appear on your cheeks.

Your voice wavers slightly as you manage to utter the words, "I'm sorry?" Your hand tightens around your thigh, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as you try to calm your beating heart.

A slow smile spreads across Jiyong’s face, and he speaks in a low purr. “You're blushing, aren't you? Even now, when I can't see your face, you can't hide it.” His voice dripped with smugness, a tone you've come to dislike over the short time you’ve known him. But there was a new edge to it, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re dreaming," you snap back, your voice barely above a whisper. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.

He sighs dramatically, his voice laced with fake irritation. "Fine, be that way. But just know that I'm over here tormenting myself with images of how I could've been teasing you.”

He pauses for a moment, and you hear a soft groan. "If only I hadn't been dragged to that fucking party, I could've been wrapping my hand around your throat, telling you all the things I hate about you while I kiss you stupid."

You grip the phone tighter, your knuckles turning white, and press your thighs together, trying to ignore the warmth that has begun to pool between them. “You’re drunk,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He lets out a harsh laugh. "Drunk? Maybe. But I meant what I said. If I weren't so fucked up right now, I'd be there to make it happen, dollface."

You swallow hard, your mind racing with images of him doing just that. "Ji…” you breathe out, your voice barely a whisper. "And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” You hear a rustle of fabric and a grunt. "Don't tell me you're not imagining it too.”

You bite your lip, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Jiyong, what's that sound?" You ask breathlessly as you hold the phone to your ear.

The grunt turns into a low, desperate moan, and the rustling of fabric grows louder, more frantic. A warm flush spreads across your cheeks as the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. "Y/n..." he moans again, his voice strained.

You put two and two together, making the realization that he's clearly jerking off to the thought of you, his voice thick with need and frustration. He bites out each word between moans, "Fuck, I'm imagining your face right now, scowling at me... God, you're so fucking cute when you're angry. Makes me want to piss you off some more-“

His hand moves faster, his breathing growing ragged.

“And your goddamn body princess…you have no idea how many times I've pictured those curves under me while I'm being an asshole to you.” He pauses, letting out a sharp hiss.

You sit there with your heart in your throat, moving the phone pressed to your ear onto your mattress, you turn on speaker, his heavy breathing and moans now filling the room. You can feel the warmth between your thighs growing as you imagine him.

"Spread your legs for me?" he slurrs again.

You slowly spread your legs, feeling the cool air hit your clothed center.

He swallows hard, waiting for your response. His brain barely functioning as his hand works his length. "Answer me," he growls softly, "Did you spread those pretty thighs for me?"

You bite your lip, your back arching slightly as you spread your legs wider.

“Y-yes.”

You hear him groan loudly, his voice strained as he realizes you've complied. "Fuck, yes. Just like that." He pumps his hand faster, his breath coming out in short huffs. "Now, reach down and rub your pussy f’me."

You hesitantly bring your fingers down and dip them into your shorts to cup yourself through your thin cotton panties. You let out a soft whimper as you feel how wet you are.

Jiyong hears you moan and starts to lose his composure, his head dropping onto his shoulder. His hand moves with a clumsy urgency.

"Are you touching yourself, baby?" He waits for your response, his thumb rubbing over the head of his dick, spreading his pre-cum.

You whimper softly into the phone, "Mmhm,” You answer honestly, your fingers twitching against your soaked panties. 

What would Seunghyun think of you fooling around with one of his friends like this? Deep down, you know it's not right and yet, you're touching yourself desperately, loving every filthy word that's falling from his lips. 

“We shouldn't be doing this," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of his heavy breathing. Yet, even as you say it, you press harder against your clit.

He lets out a dark chuckle, knowing exactly why you're saying those words - because it feels too good to stop. 

“Then why are your fingers still moving?” He rasps, "Why aren't you hanging up?”

You decide to ignore his question. Instead you finally move your hand into your panties to rub your raw heat more intensely. “Just s-shut up and keep going,” you beg. 

His voice is low and husky, filled with a dark satisfaction. "So easily reduced, from all those comebacks to just needy little whimpers."

Your chest heaves with ragged breaths as you frantically rub your clit, your fingers sliding easily through your soaking-wet folds. You can hear Jiyong's heavy panting at the other end of the line, his hand moving just as quickly.

You're both almost there, your bodies trembling with the need for release.

"Jiyong...m so close..." you gasp.

His voice is strained and desperate as he tries to hold back his own release. "Fuck, I can hear it in your voice...You're right there, fall apart for me baby.” He groans loudly, his hand moving blurily fast.

Your back arches sharply as your fingers swirl rapidly over your sensitive clit.

You're right on the edge, your panties twisted to the side. —one more touch, one more dirty word from him.

Thats when you hear him.

"Be a good girl and cum with me.”

With a final, desperate cry, you shatter.

Your body convulses with pleasure as waves of ecstasy wash over you. Your fingers continue to move in slow circles, drawing out your release.

On the other end of the line, you hear Jiyong’s dragged out moan of your name, his own orgasm ripping through him.

After what felt like a few minutes, You finish catching your breath, your post-orgasm fog clearing.

You lick your lips, tasting your own sweat.

“Jiyong?" You wait, hearing nothing but soft breathing.

He fucking fell asleep...

Your mouth twitches, unamused.

“Asshole." You mutter, finally hanging up.

You feel sensitive all over and with it comes a sharp pang of reality.

With a heavy sigh, you toss your phone aside and lay back on your bed. Your body is still warm, still tingling.

But your heart feels cold.

Rising from your spot outside, the sun begins to set, the sky glows orange and pink as you pull the screen door and walk yourself into the kitchen with sweat trickling down your neck from being in the hot summer sun. your taste buds were craving something sweet to cap off the blazing hot day.

You fling open the freezer door, reaching into the box of fruity ice pops, only to be met with the bitter disappointment of an empty ice cream box. You huff in frustration and grip the empty box tightly in your hand. Jiyong is perched on the windowsill, his lengthy frame silhouetted against the vibrant sunset, wearing only a pair of black board shorts.

Of course he was here.

Especially when you were desperately trying to erase the memory of that phone call from last night. You attempted to hide how your body shuddered at the thought of it.

It was a mistake; he was drunk and he probably doesn’t even remember it.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, he loudly sucks on a juicy red popsicle, his lips plump and pink, and his expression unreadable.

There was no stopping you from stomping over to him as you felt your blood run cold. You didn’t know if it was because you wanted the sweet dessert he was taunting you with or because you were trying to convince yourself that last night didn’t affect you.

Your face scrunches up in frustration. His eyes lazily drift over to you, the cold treat dangling as he takes in your irritated expression. "Out of ice cream already?" he drawls, his voice dripping with mock pity.

"What a shame."

Your eyes dart from his face to the half-eaten popsicle, then back again. "You're the one who ate the last one and didn't even bother to throw the empty box away," you accuse, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jiyong smirks infuriatingly, licking the melting droplets off the popsicle. "If you'd spent less time complaining and more time checking the freezer, you wouldn't be empty-handed now.”

Heat rises to your face at his words. "That doesn't change the fact that there's none left!" you exclaim, gesturing at the box again.

“Too bad you didn't think ahead, huh?” Jiyong says, taking a particularly slow lick as he watches your reaction. He grins at the annoyance in your eyes.

Was he seriously enjoying teasing you like this?

Your expression sours even more, and you can't help but bite down on the inside of your cheek, choosing not to respond and give him exactly what he wants.

He pushes it between his lips again, his eyes locked onto yours as he sucks on it. He slowly pulls it out with a 'pop.'

“You know, if you really want a taste, you could always…” Jiyong trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment before flicking back up to meet your eyes. “You could always come over here and take it from me.”

You feel your ears burn at his suggestive tone. You know he's fucking with you, but there's something in his eyes that makes your heart race. You stand there for a moment, torn between wanting to smack that smug smile off his face or give in and take what he's offering.

His smirk grows wider, resting one hand on his knee as he tilts his head to the side, the popsicle still held between his fingers. "Go on, princess.”

You didnt wanna admit how wet that made you. You forced yourself to stay in place.

Yet he continued to spur you on relentlessly, “Yell at me again," He licks the popsicle slowly, watching your expression darken. "Call me an asshole," He mumbles around the treat, smirking when you grit your teeth.

“Take what you want-”

You finally lunge at him, trying to snatch the popsicle from his hand. Jiyong anticipates your move and grabs your wrist mid-air, using your momentum to tug you towards him.

You stumble forward, landing abruptly in his lap. His other hand wraps around your waist, holding you firmly against him.

“Let go!” you try to pull away, but his hand around your hip keeps you trapped in his lap.

After some back and forth you stop struggling, your breath hitching as you look into his intense eyes. The popsicle briefly forgotten between his fingers, he mirrors your heavy breathing. You part your lips slightly without meaning to.

His gaze drops to your parted lips, his own parting as he swallows hard. The air between you crackles with tension. Slowly and deliberately, he leans in. His free hand moves from your hip to tangle in your hair, pulling you into a deep, claiming kiss.

The kiss is intense, his tongue immediately invading your mouth with all teeth and tongue. You melt against him, His lips taste like the sweet, artificial flavor of the popsicle, the cold stickiness smeared between your mouths.

You feel intoxicated, not just by the sugary sweetness but by him. He pulls away abruptly, leaving you panting and disoriented.

Did you really just kiss him?

The guy you swore you couldn't stand, the guy you shamefully had drunken phone sex with. The very same man you assumed had no interest in you, last night you convinced yourself it was him just trying to get his dick wet, that you were his only option.

But now, in a moment of clarity, he was genuinely kissing you, and you found yourself yearning for more of his sweet cherry lips.

He looks at you with satisfaction, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He brings the now-melted popsicle up to your lips, the sticky residue glistening on the tip. "Here," he says, his voice husky. "You wanted a taste."

You hesitate for a moment before tentatively sucking the melted popsicle into your lips. The sweet, icy liquid fills your mouth, mingling with the taste of him. He watches, his eyes darkening with approval.

He suddenly lifts you off his lap, his strong hands gripping your waist as he stands you up. In one fluid motion, he shifts positions, lowering himself to his knees in front of you. His hands remain on your hips, holding you steady as he looks up at you with dark eyes.

You look down at him, the world tilting as you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands on your hips tug gently, lifting the light fabric of your sundress higher and higher. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down.

The cool air hits your bare skin as he exposes you entirely. He brings the popsicle down, the cold making you gasp as he gently presses it against your sensitive slit. Your knees nearly buckle at the contact, one of his strong hands firmly holding your hip to steady you.

You look down at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The sight of him kneeling between your legs, his eyes locked on your most intimate place, sends a wave of heat through you.

You feel the cold popsicle press against your folds again and your hips jerk slightly as he rubs the frozen treat slowly up and down. It's cold, almost painfully so, but also somehow incredibly arousing. He spreads your legs wider with his free hand, making you whimper.

"Please…” you murmur, watching his head between your thighs.

He suddenly replaces the popsicle with his warm, skilled tongue, lapping at the sticky sweet juice that's dripping down your thighs. He licks the cold, sugary residue off your sensitive flesh, his hands gripping your hips to pull you closer. "So fuckin’ sweet baby.”

He smirks against your pussy, nipping lightly at your clit with his teeth before soothing it with a swirl of his tongue.

He looks up at you with a mocking glint in his eye. "So sensitive," he taunts, his breath hot on your core.

With a whine, you reach down to grab a handful of his hair.

You pull sharply, forcing his face deeper into your pussy. He growls against your wet folds at the sudden tug, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through you. His tongue delves deeper inside you. The ice pop discarded as he starts to thrust his tongue in and out, fucking you with his mouth as his tattooed hands tighten on your hips.

He continues his relentless assault on your pussy, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony to drive you wild.

You can feel the pressure building, your orgasm threatening to explode as your hips grind against his face. Just as you're about to tumble over the edge, he suddenly pulls away.

He stands abruptly. He knew exactly how close you were, and now he is going to make you suffer for it. Before you can react, he spins you around and pushes you face-first against the windowsill.

He wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to leave you slightly breathless. With his other hand, he tugs his shorts down just enough to take his cock out. He kicks your legs apart with his foot, positioning himself behind you. "Just look at the view, princess.”

Your hands scrabble at the windowsill as he chokes you, the pressure on your throat dizzying you. The cool glass presses against your flushed cheeks and heaving chest, and you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your entrance from behind, and you know what's coming.

"Ji, please don’t tease me…” you manage to gasp out.

He loosens his grip on your throat slightly, allowing you to breathe shallowly as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock from behind. He leans down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your skin, "Such pretty pleas for someone who hates me so much." Then, without warning, he slams into you hard, his thick length filling you completely in one brutal thrust. Your hands slip down the window as you cry out, your pussy stretching to accommodate his size.

He starts to fuck you relentlessly, his hips snapping against your ass as he holds your neck in a light choke.

Your body is a mess of sensations—the cold glass against your front, the brutal fucking from behind, his hand tightening ever so slightly around your throat with each thrust. You can feel your orgasm building again, faster this time, fueled by the rough treatment and the dangerous position.

He shifts his angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your knees shake. His lips trail over your shoulder, gentle kisses turning into sharp bites that will definitely leave bruises.

"So tight,” he grunts, his movements growing more erratic. His hand slides up to grip your jaw, forcing your head back and breaking your view of the beach. "Look at me when I make you come."

You moan loudly as he hits that spot again, your body betraying you by pushing back against his hips. He watches your face closely, sees your mouth open in silent cries.

His thumb presses against your lips, pushing inside your mouth as he fucks you harder. The dual penetration sends you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you as you gasp around his thumb, your eyes watering from the intensity.

He's quick to pull his thumb out of your mouth, replacing it with his lips as he swallows your screams. His own release hits him hard, his cock pulsing deep inside you. With a final thrust, he pulls out completely just as the first spurt of cum hits your lower back.

He holds you there against the window and strokes himself with tight snaps of his wrist, painting your ass and the small of your back with his hot release. His breathing is heavy, but his eyes maintain that intense dominance as he marks you with his cum.

He releases your dress, letting it fall back into place. His fingers gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the tender gesture at odds with his harsh tone. His thumb brushes your cheek briefly before he drops his hand.

"Don't tell Seunghyun about this.”

Without another word, he turns and leaves the room, leaving you standing there alone. The click of the door behind him is final, leaving you with nothing but your guilty thoughts and the feeling of his cum drying on your skin.

[mashtatosworld]

eyes on me (1)

summary: the beginning of your story with bigbang as a producer for the MADE documentary. but timing is everything in life. and it can split a person in two.

a/n: this will be a jiyong x reader x daesung series <3

The room was stifling.

You sat rigid, fingers clenched around your pen, silently willing yourself not to meet the eyes that had been burning into you for the last hour.

Unrelenting.

Dark.

Distrustful.

He hated you.

And he barely even knew your name.

Yang Hyunsuk continued talking, your boss nodding along beside you as you took notes diligently, pretending not to notice the weight of that gaze.

GDragon - Kwon Jiyong - made sharp, pointed comments between long stretches of silence. Each one caused your grip on the pen to falter.

“This is bullshit.”

“I refuse to cooperate.”

“I’d sooner jump off stage than film this documentary.”

This meeting was supposed to be exciting.

Your first real assignment beyond editing drafts or scrolling through fashion blogs - a role as a producer for Big Bang’s MADE tour documentary. But the band’s reactions were… mixed.

Understandable, of course.

They were intensely private.

And you?

You were the outsider, the threat. The girl with the pen and the camera and too many questions.

Especially to him.

Jiyong.

He didn’t trust you.

“I can assure you all that y/n is very good at her job,” your boss said, attempting to smooth things over. “She’ll ask questions only if you feel comfortable answering.”

“I won’t be answering anything,” Jiyong said flatly.

Hyunsuk sighed, clearly tired of this.

But then Daesung leaned forward, folding his hands on the glass table. “I think… this could be exciting.”

You met his kind eyes and gave a small, grateful smile. “A lot of artists look back on their tour footage fondly. We’re simply capturing the memories while they’re happening.”

“And sharing them with the world,” Jiyong muttered, not even looking at you.

You quickly looked down again.

“I’m in,” Youngbae offered with a shrug, glancing around. “I mean, how much harm could it do?”

“A lot,” Seunghyun muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But… art is art. This is just another expression of it.”

Eventually, one by one, the others began to agree - mostly reluctantly, but the decision was made. The documentary was happening.

And you could finally breathe again.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You slipped out of the boardroom the moment the papers were signed and made a direct path to the water dispenser. Your hands trembled slightly as you filled the paper cup.

You’re okay. It’s fine. You’ve got this.

"I'm looking forward to it."

You jumped at the voice, nearly spilling your drink. Turning around, you found Daesung standing behind you, hands tucked in his pockets, smiling gently.

“Oh - sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

He tilted his head. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to say… I think this’ll be a good thing.”

You smiled, nerves easing. “Thank you. I’ve always wanted to travel, so it’s already a dream job.”

He grinned. “Ah, well… tour life isn't always that dreamy. We live off instant noodles, energy drinks and alcohol. Mostly Seunghyun and Jiyong’s fault, honestly.”

You laughed, surprising yourself. “Good to know. I enjoy a glass of wine myself."

“So you'll fit right in.” He chuckled, then hesitated. “You’ll be okay, y/n.”

You met his gaze. “I hope so.”

And just like that, the sharp edges of your day began to soften.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

It didn’t take long to learn that while the boys were a tight-knit group, each of them were wildly different in energy and temperament. Youngbae was warm and helpful. Seunghyun was mischievous but kind in his own way. Daesung was steady - your soft landing.

And Jiyong?

Jiyong was still a wall you couldn't climb.

He hadn’t said a word to you since that meeting. Hadn’t acknowledged your presence, even when the camera passed over him in rehearsals or during casual crew meals.

But he watched.

You felt it.

And it was only a matter of time before that fire did something more than just burn.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Touring with Big Bang was like being stuck inside a fever dream.

The days blurred into long stretches of rehearsal, cramped travel, last-minute tech issues, and night after night of performances that left you breathless - even from behind the camera.

And through all of it, you were alone.

Floating on the edges of the crew, invisible in the shadows, with your headphones on and your clipboard clutched like armour.

You were good at your job. Everyone said so.

But being surrounded by a group as close as BigBang- brothers in every sense of the word - made your isolation feel ten times heavier.

The hardest part?

Jiyong still hadn’t said a word to you.

He’d laugh with Youngbae, joke with Seunghyun, hang off Daesung’s shoulder like the most charming man on earth - but with you, it was silence.

Except his eyes.

He looked at you.

Always.

Sharp glances across the dressing room. Lingering stares during soundcheck. You’d turn a corner and find him already watching.

You couldn’t decide if you wanted to run or ask him why.

But then, during a show in Osaka, something cracked.

You were standing in the wings, eyes following Jiyong as he strutted off-stage after Zutter - sweat-soaked and breathless, his mic swinging from his hand.

He was dazzling.

Magnetic.

You didn’t expect him to look your way.

And you definitely didn’t expect him to collapse.

It was like a string had been cut - his body dropping suddenly, gracelessly, onto the floor.

The crew screamed.

Chaos erupted.

You didn’t think.

You just ran.

Dropping your gear, you were the first at his side, kneeling beside him as he fought to stay conscious.

His skin was blazing hot, clothes soaked through.

Heatstroke.

You’d seen it before.

And you knew it could be life-threatening.

You grabbed a cold bottle of water from the nearest outstretched hand, pressing it to his neck, fanning his face with your hand.

Other frantic hands joined yours, but they focused on tugging at his clothes, unzipping the jacket only to force a new one in its place.

"What are you doing?" you snapped at them but they didn't listen to you, only focused on dressing him for his next song.

The idol gasped for breath, squeezing his eyes shut as his vision blurred.

“Jiyong - hey, just breathe,” you urged, voice soft but firm. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

He blinked, dazed, unfocused. You could see the fear behind his eyes. The confusion.

“We need a medic - ” His manager was yelling behind you, but Jiyong’s fingers clutched yours suddenly.

Desperate.

Shaky.

Scared.

You didn’t pull away. You squeezed back.

It was the first time he’d touched you.

Minutes passed.

"I need to go back on," he murmured, trying to lift his head from the floor. "I need - " his head hit the ground again, unable to hold himself up.

He was still due to go back on stage for Bae Bae, the opening chords awakening him from his daze.

"You need to rest," you denied but a flurry of hands soon swept him up and somehow, he remained standing. Stumbling under the lights, finishing the song with sheer willpower and muscle memory.

But the moment he was offstage again, he collapsed straight into your arms.

You caught him.

Knees hitting the ground as he sagged against you. You carefully guided him to the ground, your hand became trapped beneath his head but you let it stay there, offering him what comfort you could.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t open his eyes. Just gripped your hand like a lifeline.

And for that moment… there was no tense silence between you.

Just two people in the quiet chaos of something real.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You hadn't seen him since that night.

A week passed by and the band were finally ready to perform again. And they did. It had been nerve-wracking, watching from the sidelines, your eyes pinned to Jiyong the whole time - wondering if he was ok.

But he had put on a show stopping performance and you breathed out in relief when it was over.

“Hey,” Daesung appeared beside you just as you were packing up camera batteries in the empty dressing room. “Would you maybe, um... did you want to grab some drinks later?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really? Me?”

"Daesung!" Seunghyun called from across the room, half-way out of the door. "Are you inviting her out tonight?"

"Yeah but - "

"Perfect. Meet us at the club! We've booked a booth." He was gone again and you turned your eyes back to Daesung whose shoulders slumped forward with a sigh.

"So it's a group outing?"

“Yeah.” He murmured. “I guess it is."

You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay... I'll see you there then."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The club was already dark and hazy by the time you arrived.

You found the others crammed into a private lounge area in the back, sharing drinks and laughing together.

You weren’t exactly dressed to impress - light jacket, hair pinned back, your usual practical self - but Daesung smiled when he saw you.

He sat beside you for a while, keeping you company as Seunghyun and Youngbae got into a heated debate over setlists, but the music was so loud that it made casual conversation nearly impossible.

Eventually, Daesung leaned in.

“This isn't really my kind of scene,” he said, with a frown. “I think I’m gonna head back.”

“Oh… okay.” You tried not to sound disappointed.

“Did you - well, are you staying here?"

You blinked, then looked down at the drink in your hand. Was that an invitation to leave with him or was the alcohol making you read into things that weren't there?

“I guess?" You looked back at him, hopeful, waiting for his response.

He cleared his throat and nodded. "Ok. Stay safe, y/n. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

He gave your shoulder a warm squeeze and slipped out, leaving you sandwiched between a couple of backup dancers and your untouched drink.

A wave of disappointment and rejection rolled over you.

You needed air.

You saw the sign for the outdoor smoking area and hurried towards it. But the moment the door shut behind you, the music muffled, you felt a pair of eyes on you.

Jiyong was already out there. Alone.

Leaning against the far railing, cigarette between his fingers, drink in the other. The city lights scattered behind him like a crown, and even from this distance, you felt him watching you.

You froze.

He didn’t move. Just tilted his head slightly, lifting his glass in greeting.

You gave him a quick nod and crossed to the far end of the terrace, dragging in a breath as you leaned against the cool rail. You weren’t trying to bother him.

But then… you weren’t trying to avoid him either.

Minutes passed. You could hear the flick of his lighter, the exhale of smoke. Feel the weight of his gaze.

Then - footsteps.

Slow. Measured.

He stopped beside you, far too close for comfort, and yet you didn’t shift away.

“You don’t smoke,” he murmured, glancing down at your hands.

“Just needed air.”

He hummed low in his throat. “Me too," And then he took a long, pointed drag of his cigarette, looking down at you with an amused smirk.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "Very refreshing."

Jiyong nodded, raising a brow. "Ah, you see it's not just about the air out here. The view helps. I'm a very visual person."

His gaze travelled from the city lights back to you.

You didn’t answer.

His cologne was heady, his voice low and lazy with drink, and the heat of his body at your side was… distracting.

"I'm sorry I've been giving you such a hard time," he added after a beat. "I've been under a lot of pressure. And I don't always deal with my feelings very well. Especially if I'm nervous... You make me nervous - if that wasn't clear."

"Oh." You tightened your grip on the rail. "Is that... because of the documentary? Because of the questions?"

"What questions?" he teased. "You haven't asked me any yet."

You gave him a sidewards glance. "Is that such a surprise?"

He shook his head, casting his smile back to the city lights. "Ask me one now. I promise I'll answer."

"Ok..." You tilted your head in thought, wracking your brain for the right thing to say. All of the questions on your list back at the hotel seemed to slip your mind. "Are you having fun tonight?"

Jiyong hadn't been expecting that and laughed loudly, prompting you to smile. His radiance was infectious.

"No," he shook his head still smiling. "I wasn't, but now I think that's changing."

"Oh, it must be the fresh air," you inclined your head towards his burning cigarette with a playful smirk.

"Something like that," he murmured, taking a drag as he held your gaze. “Can I ask you a question now?”

“I'd prefer to remain a mystery,” you said smoothly.

“Shame.”

You met his intense gaze suddenly.

His lips were curved - not into a smile, not quite - and his eyes were hooded, flicking briefly to your mouth before meeting your stare again.

He set his glass down and dropped his cigarette into the remains of gold liquid.

Your breath caught.

Your heart was a drum in your chest, pounding louder than the bass of the club. His watchful gaze held you still - not demanding, but full of that unmistakable pull, the kind that made it hard to think.

You felt his hand skim the edge of your hip, then flatten against your lower back. The contact sent a shock straight through you.

“This is a bad idea,” you breathed.

“Definitely,” he said, before closing the distance.

His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was all fire and frustration, months of tension crashing together in one dizzying, hungry second.

He tasted like rum and smoke and trouble.

One hand tangled into your hair, the other still firm against your back as he drew you in.

You melted into his heated touch before you could stop yourself.

The kiss wasn’t slow or sweet - it was sharp-edged, breathless, the kind that left no room for questions.

Your back hit the railing and he pressed in closer, deepening it, tongue brushing yours as your hands gripped his jacket.

He pulled back just barely, lips grazing yours, breathing heavy. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him again - harder this time - fingers slipping into his hair, tugging, losing yourself in the heat of it all. The city lights behind your closed eyes blurred into nothing, the bass inside became background noise, and all you could feel was him.

When he finally pulled back for air, you were flushed, dazed, and trembling slightly.

His thumb dragged lightly over your bottom lip, and his eyes locked on yours with something unreadable.

“Come with me,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be.

You let him take your hand.

The walk back to the hotel was a blur - the quiet hush of empty hallways, the weight of silence thick with anticipation.

His hotel door clicked shut behind you.

And the rest - the way he touched you like he’d been waiting all tour to have you, the soft gasp of your name in the dark, your hands fisted in his dark hair - it all unfolded like a secret you weren’t supposed to discover.

But you did.

You remembered it. Every second.

And so did he.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

It hadn't stopped there.

You had thought it would be over when you slipped out of Jiyong’s hotel room the morning after.

One night.

A simple mistake.

A mix of exhaustion, too much alcohol, and loneliness wrapped in heat and urgency. That’s all it was.

But then it happened again.

And you stopped counting eventually. Somewhere along the line, it stopped feeling like a mistake.

It wasn't just the sex - though God, that was something.

It was the way he looked at you in the dark, after everything.

Quiet.

Raw.

Human.

Not G-Dragon. Not the legend or the headline.

Just Jiyong.

Maybe it started as a way to blow off steam.

You were constantly chasing light, capturing emotion, stitching together a documentary that didn’t step too far into their privacy but still said something.

Meanwhile, he was burning at both ends - switching between stages and press rooms, trying to keep his head on straight when the weight of his persona grew too heavy.

And yet… when it was just the two of you - hidden behind locked doors and drawn curtains - it was like exhaling after holding your breath for days.

You saw him soften.

You saw him shed.

He became talkative during interviews, more present, more grounded. And you started smiling more too, laughing off the stress, knowing you'd have somewhere - someone - to fall into at the end of the night.

It wasn’t love.

But it was something.

And neither of you wanted to name it just yet.

So it stayed hidden.

Although you soon learned that privacy was rare in the life of an idol.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

It was meant to be a prank.

They’d done it to Jiyong before: wait till he was mid-shower, break into his hotel room with the spare key, film him briefly, and vanish before he could snatch the phone.

Classic chaos. Group tradition.

So that night, while Jiyong was in his suite - supposedly alone - the others crept in, snickering like children, phones already rolling to film his inevitable scream when he saw them.

But when they burst into the bathroom, throwing open the door with a loud “YAH, GDRAGON, NICE ASS - ”

They froze.

So did you.

You and Jiyong were both behind the steamy glass of the shower, pressed up against each other, your hands caught somewhere they shouldn’t be.

For a second, no one moved.

Then you shrieked.

Loudly.

Jiyong’s arm shot out to pull you behind him. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Youngbae gasped and dropped his phone, covering his eyes. “Oh my god - ”

“Well that explains everything!” Seunghyun barked, already cackling as Daesung quickly backed out of the room. “I knew you were smiling more lately.”

“Hyung - shut the damn door!” Jiyong shouted.

Youngbae scrambled, eyes covered as he bashed into the door with a thud before blindly feeling for the handle and yanking it closed.

You leaned your forehead against Jiyong’s chest, mortified. “Oh my god.”

He sighed dramatically, rubbing your back. “Well, that’s one way to make it official.”

You smacked his shoulder. “This is so bad - ”

He grinned, brushing wet hair from your face. “Or maybe it's getting good.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

am i starting another series? yes. don't yell at me.

but don't worry, i've already got the next three chapters mostly finished...

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen

[ldydeath]

Feels Like I'll Die Without You Part 3 | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You and Jiyong have to deal with the consequences of your actions.  Word count: 1.5k Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, angst, unrequited love Author’s Note: sorry friends, I don’t think we’re going to see happiness for a bit. This  is the third installment in this series, you can read previous chapters here. 

It had been weeks since Jiyong’s album release. Weeks since your life had completely derailed. When you’d left South Korea no pictures from the party had been posted yet, not really. Not that it mattered, you weren’t in any. By the time you’d gotten home that had changed. Not only had they been posted, you'd been in a lot of them. Harmless at first but there were two that incriminated you. One of you and Jiyong talking, him whispering in your ear and you looking like you could ravish him then and there. The other was him leading you to the bathroom, your hand in his. 

Your boyfriend had them pulled up on his phone, bags packed when you’d gotten home. You didn’t really have to explain anything, he knew and he wasn’t willing to forgive and forget. It was fair, you wouldn’t have forgiven him either. And now as if the world hadn’t frowned on you enough, you were sick. 

You laid in bed, scrolling your phone, wishing you could take back the events of the previous month. You didn’t have feelings for Jiyong, you don’t even know why you’d done it. The thrill of doing something for you, maybe? He was still Jiyong, you’d loved him once and maybe those feelings were just too strong to ignore when you were with him. You couldn’t be with him, though. There was no reality in which that worked out for either of you. 

Your phone rang, Jiyong’s name filling the screen and against your better judgement you answered.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You leaned back on your bed, hoping you didn’t look as sick as you felt. 

“Just wanted to make sure you got home ok.” He paused, studying your face. “You’re sick.” It wasn’t a question. Of course he could tell you weren’t your best. 

“I’ve been home for almost a month, Ji. And yes. I’ve got the flu or something. I’ll be fine.” 

“Mhm. You could’ve at least texted and told me you made it in.” 

“Sorry I was a little busy being dumped when I got back.” You sighed. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” 

The phone went black and Jiyong winced. There was a small part of him that thought you’d stay in Korea, get back together with him, and live happily ever after. That apparently wasn’t happening. You’d been home and single this whole time and hadn’t reached out. Maybe he should move in. No, he knew he should. But he couldn’t. 

There was nothing but silence for another week. Jiyong’s finger hovering over your name to call you at least twenty times, but he knew he shouldn’t. You’d call him when you were ready. Or at least that’s what he hoped. 

You sat in shock, staring at the test in your hand. Staring back at you were two pink lines, and a bunch of other tests that read similarly. You were pregnant. Fuck. One stupid decision had quite literally changed your life forever. And of course the father was Jiyong. Of course it was.  With a sigh, you picked up your phone and sent a text to Jiyong. You knew there was a better way to tell him this news, but you didn’t have the brain power to handle that right now. 

Tour rehearsals were in full force, with the tour starting in a little over a week, Jiyong had dedicated all his free time to make sure everything was perfect for his fans.. It helped to not think about you. As he was doing another fitting his phone buzzed, a smile spreading across his face when he saw your name appear on the screen. He opened the text quickly and almost dropped the phone.

I’m pregnant, yes it’s yours. 

“I gotta go.” He grabbed his security team and all but ran out of the studio. He didn’t even think as he called in the first class tickets, well aware that they only had the clothes on their backs. He’d figure it out when they got to you. He just needed to get to you. Eighteen hours later he was outside your house realizing the time. It was the middle of the night, but he didn’t care. He rang the bell hoping your stupid boyfriend hadn’t come to his senses and taken you back. He wasn’t ready to come face to face with another guy tonight. 

“What are you doing here?” You blinked as you took in the sight of him and his security team. 

“I got your text.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You sighed as you stepped aside to let them in. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“You’re really pregnant?” Jiyong walked over to you, unsure of what to do with his hands and letting them fall to his side.

“Yes.” You shifted, aware of your audience and folded your arms tightly across your chest. 

“I’ll move here. Whatever it takes. I have to be in their life.”  Your eyes locked in his as he spoke and you shook your head. 

“Your life is in Korea, and your tour starts there in a few days.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me.” He smirked. 

“Jiyong.”

“Right, sorry. Not the time.” He shook his head. “I mean it though, I’ll move here. I can find a place during my breaks and we can figure this out. You know I’ve always wanted a family and now we can finally have it, together.” 

“Jiyong, we’re not going to be together. Your life is in Korea, mine is here. We can co-parent when the baby is old enough to travel that distance.” 

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Jiyong had wished for a wife and a baby his whole life and now that he was finally having a baby he was being told he couldn’t be in their life. That despite everything you still didn’t want him. His heart was shattering in his chest. This was supposed to be the happiest day of his life, not his worst nightmare.

“We can figure it out later. Just let me be here for you. This is half my fault.” He was pleading. Your expression softened and you moved to place your hand in his arm. 

“We will figure it out, I promise you that. But you shouldn’t be here. You guys are welcome to stay here tonight but you need to go home.” 

Jiyong nodded, avoiding your face and signaled for his team to take the guest rooms before moving to the couch. You watched as he moved the cushions around and removed his hat before laying down. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Going to sleep.” Jiyong shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. 

“You’re not sleeping on the couch, come on.” You held out a hand for him, helping him off the couch.

It probably wasn’t the best idea, leading him to your room but the selfish side of you needed him close. You still weren’t feeling great and well, this news was going to change both of your lives forever. The least he could do was hold you while you tried to come to peace with that. 

You both slipped into bed and Jiyong moved to hold you against him. He knew this wouldn’t amount to anything, he couldn’t make you love him no matter how hard he tried to impress you. He’d spend the rest of his life trying to show you he wasn’t that guy you’d broken up with all those years ago anymore. 

You scooted into him, laying your head on his chest, instantly hating how much you two still fit together. You couldn’t think like this, not now. You two hadn’t worked back then, there was no reason to believe you’d work out now. You just needed to shut your brain off. You closed your eyes and let sleep take you away as you held onto the comfort of Jiyong. 

Morning came too quickly, Jiyong was sure he hadn’t slept at all. He’d watched you all night, not wanting to move while you slept. He didn’t know when he’d get another night like this, maybe never, and he wanted to hold onto for as long as possible. You had been right though, he needed to get back home and with flights booked there was no reason for him to stay. Unless of course you asked him too. 

He slid out from under your grip, placing a pillow where his body had been. You stirred but didn’t wake up, thankfully. He leaned down placing a kiss on your head and let out a sigh as he watched you sleep for a minute longer. 

“I love you.” He whispered before walking out of the room. 

It was easier this way, to leave while you were asleep. He didn’t know if he’d be able to fly back to Korea if you’d been awake. But if this is what you wanted, he was going to respect it no matter how hard it was. If all he got out of this life was the opportunity to co-parent with you, that was just going to have to be enough.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren @tulentiy @sherrayyyyy @gdinthehouseee

[uuchii]

Unexpected Shift - PROLOGUE ~ Kwon Jiyong

Pairings: Kwon jiyong x Fem!Reader

Summary: you just transferred into another school after getting suspended, you just didn't know that you we're going to get stolen something on your first day.

Warnings: 2000s Highschool AU! Might be ooc (i am so sorry 🙏) , jiyong being kind of an asshole to reader?, bad grammer (english isnt my first language), a bit rushed since i made this in the middle of the night, slowburn enemies to lovers trope type of thing.

Author's note: this kinda sucks lol, its also my first ever series, im not sure if this fic would be doing good, so I'll see if you guys want another part xx

..

God, you felt your head ache just by thinking of it.

You didn't know why, it just happened. It was like a blur. you just got suspended at your school recently after you got into a fight and stabbed a classmate with a sharp pencil at the back, obviously your parents we're upset.

You we're a magnet for trouble, you just couldn't help it. You we're always independent to your decisions, yourself. Even if you try to convince yourself that you want to change, trouble finds through you. Like this one time.. you accidentally broke the classroom's window and your parents has to pay for it.

But it was also kind of a relief, you hated that school anyway, it was time to transfer into another school that could make you atleast change a bit.

And.. thats where you are, right now.

There you stood at the entrance of the school building with anticipation and uncertainty.. students and teachers past by you in the background, the wind gently breezes through your hair. You sighed as you gripped onto the straps of your bag behind you.

"i didn't expect this place would be so big.." you thought to yourself, you looked around in awe as you slowly started to walk towards the entrance.. until you bumped into someone, making your wallet (that was on your skirt's pocket) down to the ground.

"oh god- im so sorry-" you quickly apologized, you looked up to see a boy that seems to be the same age as you, His features are softer and less defined.. his hair appears to be short and dark, likely styled in a simple and casual manner, laid back look.

"its alright." He smiles. "You okay though?"

You nod "yeah.. im sorry again." With that you started to walk away in embarrassment. He stood there watching you walk away, but he spots your wallet and picked it up, assuming it was yours. he looked back at you knowing you would disappear before he could give this to you. "Yah! You forgot your wallet! He shouts.

That immediately grabbed your attention, and quickly went back to grab your wallet. "Oh, thank you."

"no worries." He nods in acknowledgement as he gives you a a grin before walking away. You watched him walk away and turned your attention back to the wallet and checked it first just incase.

"wait.. where's the money?!" You thought, you looked to the direction he walked from, trying to spot him but he was nowhere to be seen. You just realized that you have been stolen on your first day, especially that money was supposed to be for lunch.

Annoyance rises inside you. "That asshole.."

..

It took you a bit long to find your classroom but thankfully a teacher helped you on your way. You could hear laughter, chatting behind that door.. reluctantly knocked on the door twice.. it didn't take long to someone open the door, revealing the homeroom teacher, he greeted you with a warm smile. "Ah your the new transfere. Come in, come in." He gestured you inside, stepping back for you to enter.

you we're greeted by the sight of students talking loudly, some we're even sleeping, girls doing their makeup, taking pictures snd using their flip phones.. You stood infront of the class behind the white board.. the teacher stood beside you as he cleared his throat, trying to grab everyone in the class's attention.

"Everyone, settle down! We have a new student to join us today." His words seems to caught the students attention, their gazes seemed to point directly at you. You looked around at everyone, you couldn't help but feel like you we're being judged.

"miss, can you introduce yourself?" The teacher asked. You didn't have a choice everyone is already looking at you expecting for you to introduce. "Hello, im Y/N L/N." You just said your name, nothing else. Slience turned into hushed whispers before the teacher broke it off. "Okay, Y/N you can take a seat."

You nodded as you slowly made your way to find an empty seat, but then you spotted a familiar face.. it was the same guy that bumped into you and stole your money!

He then felt like someone is staring at him, he turned to look and there they made eye contact.

You could feel your annoyance creeping in yet again, you wanted to confront him but unfortunately you can't, you didn't want to cause a scene on your first day. Though, he could feel it. He gave you a sly smirk and gave you a small wave. It made you even pissed since how nonchalantly greets you after stealing your money.

You just scoffed and eventually you found a seat that wasnt that far away from him. You could still feel like he's staring at you.

His seatmate beside him looking between you two as he noticed the interaction. "Jiyong-ah, you know her?" He asked.

Jiyong just chuckled as he leaned back in his seat. "No, we just had an encounter earlier." His gaze was still onto her.

After class dismissed, you looked around as you see your classmates preparing to leave, this was your chance to confront to him.

You got up from your seat, you turned around and there he was laughing with his friends, talking to them.. a frown formed on your lips as you began to walk towards them. Of course his friends noticed you and then Jiyong.

"give me back my money." You said, straight to the point, You didn't look away from him. But he just chuckled. "I dont know what you're talking about."

"seriously? Your just going to pretend you didn't steal from me?" You scoffed, god you wanted to punch him so bad for his ignorance!

"i didn't steal from you." He said casually, slowly getting up from his seat. "It probably just blew away, its your fault for being irresponsible." He shrugs with that..sly smirk again.. as he walked past you, followed by his friends as they chuckled. You just watched them walked away.. the nerve on this guy- him putting the blame on you when he knows that he stole your money.

You just have a gut.. that you and him? You aren't going to get along pretty well.

[moonzzip]

what we share | kwon jiyong

a/n — i tried to put as much feeling into this story as possible, i think i expressed it well (I think), i hope you like it! feel free to correct grammatical mistakes! love ya 🤍

summary: you are hired for a new commission and meet again someone you never expected to see.

pairing: jiyong x gn!photographer!reader

warnings: fluff, a lot of feeling, i think nothing more

lowercase letters, word count: 2,7k

you close your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief, covering your mouth with your fist. this is unbelievable, you think. there’s no way this is real. your heart races, your body shivers.

expensive cheese is definitely the best in the world—this is a top-tier charcuterie board.

you silently thank yourself, patting your own shoulder for accepting the request from that strange old man. well, you know him (you’ve seen him on the internet)... he’s just weird.

you don’t even remember his name properly, but he owns some music industry company—what’s it called again? your eyes were on the payment for this gig. why the hell was he paying you so much? you have no idea, but you’re not complaining either.

the party itself is quite big, but there are about three other photographers scattered around. more will arrive later, but among those already here, none seem to be appreciating the food as much as you. no one does it better than you.

you got here early, camera already hanging around your neck, snacking on cheese, olives, bits of ham, and other things—so many variations of the same items that you can't even count. the formal dinner is supposedly happening after 8:30 pm, so you have to stuff yourself now—who knows if there will be anything left by then? you had a little bread, a snack or two before coming, but the old man promised food, so you held back. you don’t know if there’s going to be a table for the photographers or if you’ll all end up eating in a tiny room full of useless junk that barely fits two people sitting down.

internally, you pray to any god listening that this is just your imagination. ah... you can smell the scent of expensive, delicious food from miles away.

finishing your cheese, you glance around. there’s even a fountain with a well-sculpted cupid spouting water from its mouth. you also spot an ice sculpture of… what the hell is that?

oh. it’s the old man.

your eyebrow furrows slightly with a confused mix of disgust and disbelief. so, he was that type... yeah, it actually fits his overall vibe.

now that you think about it, the old man gave you a contract to sign. you were going to read it until he mentioned the numbers, and then you just grabbed the pen and signed it. a spectacularly dumb move on your part, but whatever, right? he could have slipped in a clause about selling your dog, billie, and you wouldn’t even have noticed.

billie, forgive me if that actually happened.

bored of talking to yourself in your head, you get to work.

not to brag, but you’re really good at what you do. you’ve had experience with an endless variety of projects—you’ve been a camera coordinator for films, series, music videos. seriously, you’ve done it all. you’ve photographed everything.

marine life? yes.

natural phenomena? yes.

supernatural? maybe not, but you’ve caught a shadow or two.

jungle life? also yes!

you’ve spent weeks in some country, shooting and filming whatever they needed. thinking about it now, maybe you should start reading contracts more carefully before accepting a job.

your work isn’t just about holding a camera and snapping random photos. your job is to show people what you see—to capture your perspective, your way of admiring things, whether small details or grand landscapes. this is how you express yourself, sharing what you observe. and you don’t regret it, despite a few life-or-death situations along the way.

you chuckle at the thought. where’s my love for life? no idea.

scratching the corner of your mouth, you take a wide shot of the venue, checking the preview on your camera’s small screen. (did you mention how huge its lens is? no? well, it is.)

you’re the lead photographer tonight, responsible for capturing everything—from the main guests to that cursed ice statue. you shudder, squeezing your eyes shut for a second to erase the image from your mind.

oh. the first guests are starting to arrive. now the real work begins.

you move toward the entrance and start with simple shots, adjusting the focus before capturing images. so many people arrive at once, but that doesn’t discourage you. later, you’ll have to take individual portraits of the main guests anyway.

slowly, the hall fills up. the other photographers are already at work—one outside, filming the arrival of guests stepping out of their expensive leather-seated limousines; another woman recording a general overview of the venue; a third taking pictures of the “less important” people (according to the old man). meanwhile, you, speaking in a calm and polite tone, ask guests for permission to take their photos. your charm is strong, and you genuinely enjoy your job, so it’s not a problem.

you see children, animals—only dogs and cats, inside bags or on leashes—people (of course), some older, some younger. you overhear one of your fellow photographers saying that a large number of actors, actresses, many, like many idols, groups, and solo artists are here.

you don’t really follow the industry closely—not that you don’t consume the content, you just don’t dig deep into it. so, if someone asks you who some colorful-haired guy from some group is, you definitely won’t know.

you swap out your phone frequently because you have a bad habit of breaking it during photoshoots. you’ve been more careful lately, but it still feels like you get a new one every three days. that doesn’t mean you’re some clueless grandma who just discovered the internet last week—you know things, okay? you work in photography, so of course, you have to know how to use a phone. you do! it’s just that when you’re online, your mind is locked onto other types of content—games, your favorite youtubers, food videos, and other cool stuff. but so what? no one asked you.

you nod to yourself. who am i even talking to?

you refocus on your work.

you have a list to follow.

"let’s see... now... g-d... gey-dragon... g-dragon...? is that how you say it? probably," you mumble to yourself, shrugging at your own question. wait, how are you even supposed to find him??

you look at your list for more details. kwon jiyong... kwon jiyong? your eyes wander upward, hand on your chin. that name sounds familiar, but from where?

you shrug again and scan the paper.

"chanel ambassador... founder of the brand peaceminusone... peaceminusone??"

you glance at your sneakers. despite your formal black outfit (a bussiness suit—mandatory for all photographers), the only not black thing on you is the colorful logo of your nikes. you bought them recently and fell in love at first sight. you vaguely remember seeing "peaceminusone" when researching the shoes. they even had daisy designs with missing petals that you found adorable.

you get a little more excited. what kind of person is he? g-dragon... i think that’s right. would it be weird to go around asking who he is? yeah, probably. better to ask where he is instead.

scanning the room, you spot amai, another photographer. she might know. you chuckle at yourself.

approaching the shorter girl, you tap her shoulder lightly. "hey, hey, amai! how’s it going?" speaking in japanese, knowing she struggles with korean.

hearing your voice, she turns with a smile. "hello, ___! i’m good, and you? busy?"you smile at her sweetness, playfully tapping her head. "nothing i can’t handle. your senior here has everything under control, don’t worry." you continue, "i wanted to ask if you know where... g-d—g-dragon-nim is? is that how you say it?"

amai giggles at your stuttering mix of korean and japanese.

"g-dragon-san? i think i saw him going outside to the garden, but i'm not sure..." a bit of guilt appears on the shorter girl's face for not being able to help you. seeing this, you gently ruffle her hair, smiling, "thank you, amai~ that helped me a lot. good job to you~" you wave as you walk away, and she smiles, waving back.

okay, you got some information, but is it enough? you wonder. you're more lost than a fish out of water, you have no idea how to search... better go where amai said first, maybe someone saw him there.

you walk, greeting everyone with a smile and a nod, carefully avoiding bumping into anyone (your lens was way too expensive, you don’t want to risk breaking it). you reach the door leading to the garden.

you’re not sure if you have permission to enter. maybe you should wait for him to come out? but what if it’s not him? this waiting time could be spent looking for him instead. maybe he's just nearby?

you glance around but then remember you don’t even know what he looks like, so you have nothing to lose.

placing your hand on the doorknob, you twist it and pull.

oh.

it didn’t open.

you keep trying to pull.

okay.

maybe it’s locked?

you sigh.

maybe try...

you twist the knob again and push outward this time, and it opens.

oh man, is there anyone dumber than you

unlike before, you pray to any existing god that no one saw this horribly embarrassing scene. you clear your throat to cover up the shame, open the door wider, and step outside into the garden.

everything was so illuminated, not by any lamp, but by the moon itself. you look up at the sky, walking forward, stepping down the small staircase, your feet touching the grass. the garden was beautiful, with several flower arches in various colors, nothing excessive, a small bird fountain, scattered benches, and even a tiny artificial pond where you could see fish swimming inside. it was truly adorable. the garden was spectacular—definitely worth photographing.

you smile fondly and start capturing everything you see. turning to the side, one eye closed, the other on the camera, you see through your lens a man sitting on a garden bench, his back turned to you. he wears a coat with fine, shiny fur, seemingly an expensive crochet design, in shades of purplish-blue, lighter blue, with small pink and green details, the colors blending into a rich pattern. you couldn't see the pattern of his pants well due to some flowers near the bench, but his pink hair was very noticeable—not an eye-burning pink, but a very beautiful shade. he didn't seem to be looking at his phone or anything, he was just... admiring the night and the beautiful garden.

lowering your camera, you stare at his back for a few seconds until—

"ah. that must be g-dragon-nim."

you murmur to yourself and start walking towards him. to avoid startling him, you call out softly,

"excuse me, kwon jiyong-nim..?"

the man's shoulders jump slightly, but then his face turns, his slightly long hair moving along with it. the moonlight highlights his cheekbones, as well as his eyes. you stare for a moment before your own eyes widen.

"j... jiyong..?" — "___?"

you and the man in front of you speak at the same time.

he stands up so quickly you don’t even have time to blink. you almost take a step back but steady your feet. neither of you speaks, just examining each other.

you noted earlier that he was only wearing that coat and a necklace—like, nothing underneath?

apparently, he noticed your gaze and instinctively pulled the coat tighter to cover some skin, though not out of discomfort.

jiyong felt his cheeks heat slightly. the person he had been looking for all these years, and in their first reunion, they see him like this? not that he was poorly dressed, he just felt your stare was too intense.

noticing him adjusting his coat, you act as if you didn’t see anything.

"wow... it's been so long... how long, like... 5 years?—"

"16 years, ___."

your mouth falls open in shock—it had been 16 years since you last saw kwon jiyong’s pretty face.

the man overcomes his moment of awkwardness and looks at you with a serene gaze, and unconsciously, you match his expression. both of you feeling nostalgia, overwhelmed by emotions from a past that now feels too distant. 16 years is no short time—it’s impossible to ignore the palpable longing between you. in those 16 years, either of you could have been kidnapped, died in an accident, been killed, gotten involved in crime, anything. but no, here you both were, face to face, in silence.

"i've been looking for you. all this time."

his deep voice resonates in your ears, filled with raw emotion—so much longing, a bit of exhaustion, and relief.

your heart races. you press the back of your hand against your mouth, letting out a shy laugh, but quickly recover, smiling as you step closer to jiyong. now, you’re truly face to face. "don't say things like that, or I'll fall for you all over again."

he chuckles softly, stepping even closer. "what if that’s my goal?"

you shrug, your faces now mere inches apart. "then I'll let myself feel it."

surprised, he leans back slightly and laughs. "you’re even worse than 16 years ago, who taught you this?" he playfully judges you, and you shrug again. "you're just too charming not to flirt back, you know?"

he rolls his eyes, looking down, opening his mouth to say something but stopping when he sees your shoes.

"my nike collab sneakers? you’re more of a fan than i thought, ___."

following his gaze, you look down too and laugh. "ahh~ yes, kwon jiyong, i totally thought of you when buying these sneakers."

he looks at you, his eyes shining slightly. "wow, really?" you shrug again, laughing and shaking your head, making him roll his eyes again before giving you a gentle push.

you take your camera off your neck, placing it on the bench, and walk closer to him, looking at him with warmth.raising your arms, you step forward. he sees this and prepares to stand up too, but you pause. "i don't know if i should... won’t it, i don’t know, cause you problems?"

he doesn’t answer. instead, he grabs your wrist, pulling you into an embrace. his arms wrap around you in an instant, the cold night wind blowing around you both, yet the comfortable silence remains.

jiyong rests his head on your shoulder. at first, you’re surprised, but you hug him back, pressing your face against his neck, feeling his warmth, his familiar scent, and his arms bringing that unforgettable sensation. you both close your eyes, drowning in each other’s presence.

the cold doesn’t matter at all—not when you both warm each other with memories of the past. spending time together, doing nothing on the couch, running on the beach, night walks, having dinner, comforting each other through past rejections, confusing emotions, bad situations, tears... even your first kiss, shared between the two of you.

all of it washes over you like an ocean wave, unearthing memories of a bond only the two of you understand—one that no one else will ever have anything similar to.

no matter how many people you and jiyong met along the way, your hearts and minds only ever spoke of each other. in every moment. no matter where you were, the only thought on your minds now was making up for lost time.

you don’t need words to understand what the other is thinking. despite 16 years passing, neither of you had lost your essence. personalities change, that’s a fact, but what lies deep inside—there is no amount of time that can alter that.

"thank you for looking for me, jiyong."

you pull away from the hug, cupping his face, caressing his cheeks. he closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, placing his hand over yours.

"but in the end, it was me who found you."

a/n – sorry for not posting yesterday, I was busy and had no ideas, but today I posted! I hope you liked it, this time I wrote it listening to 'supernova love' by ive, this song makes me very melancholic... feel free to correct any grammar mistakes! thanks for reading! 🤍😞

[pinkmoontaco]

MASTERLIST

Seventeen:-

"It all started" Series:

It all started with a song - Lee Jihoon

It all started in a set - Kim Mingyu - pt.1, pt.2, pt.3

It all started at a survival show - Boo Seungkwan - pt. 1, pt.2

Oneshots:

Melodies of Us - Lee Jihoon

Fated to Love you - Choi Seungcheol

Hug in the Limelight - Xu Minghao

Spotlight on Us - Lee Jihoon

Caught in the Spotlight - Yoon Jeonghan

Welcome to the Family, Soonyoung!!! - Kwon Soonyoung

You Should’ve Told Me - Jeon Wonwoo

Straykids:-

Oneshot:

Fake it till we make it - Hwang Hyunjin

Crossroads of Fate - Bangchan

Big bang:

Oneshot:

Exposed - Kwon Jiyong

[gdinthehouseee]

Born To Die (CHAPTER 2): KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: returning to work, you're bombarded with questions but your closest co-worker manages to save you from it all and you grow even closer. you finally get the mystery man's name and everything feels normal again... so why does it still feel like you're being watched?

word count: 5300

tags: mystery, light angst, slow burn

prev. chapter ⛥⛥ next chapter

The moment you walk into the office, the usual hum of activity is accompanied by an unusual tension in the air. Your colleagues are all whispering to each other, glancing at you in between conversations, and you immediately feel their eyes on you as you pass by. You’ve only been back for a few minutes when your boss approaches you with a brisk pace before you can even reach your desk. His tone is light but there’s an underlying curiosity that you can’t escape.

"So, how was the masquerade?" He asks, a playful grin on his face. "Any good stories for us, or were you just there to rub elbows with the high society crowd?”

You pause, blinking as your mind whirls. His question is innocent enough, but it opens the floodgates to all the things you still can’t quite wrap your head around—the charismatic man in the silver mask, the heavy air of the night, the feeling of being watched at every turn, even the location itself. 

You force a smile and casually shrug. "Oh, you know, just a low-level influencer stunt. It was one of those things, mostly for show. Nothing too interesting.”

“An influencer stunt?” 

“Yeah…”

“I thought it was more than that—no secret meetings or exclusive interviews? I figured there’d be more than that.”

"Yeah, I was expecting something more too, but honestly, it was all just smoke and mirrors. A lot of masks, a lot of flashy people pretending to be more important than they were.”

The words come out smoother than you expected, and they’re easier to say than you thought. You don’t even have to think twice about how you’re phrasing it. Why is it so easy to cover up something that’s clearly gnawing at you? Why are you covering up in the first place? And why can’t you stop yourself? 

Wanting to end the conversation, you step towards your desk while he processes what you said. But the questions don’t stop. The noise of the office surrounds you, but your thoughts are elsewhere. You glance down at your phone, as if it might save you. It was supposed to be just one night—a little change up to how you usually spend them, stretched out in the living room, re-watching your favourite show for the billionth time. But it’s not just one night, is it? You can’t shake the feeling that something important happened. But why won’t you let yourself admit it? Why won’t you tell anyone?

You’re seconds away from leaving early and working from home, when a familiar voice cuts through your colleagues’ nonsense—

“Did someone die… or are you all just fishing for gossip?” 

Youngbae. 

He’s been working here for longer than you have, and he was the first to make you truly feel welcome in this place. You don’t exactly hang out together or anything, but his presence is a relief. A saviour even. While the rest of your team breathes caffeine and deadlines, Youngbae always feels like he’s just come back from a peaceful retreat.

“She’s not telling us anything about that weird party,” someone from across the room piped up.

“You actually went?” Youngbae turned to you, a curious smile and a quirked brow on his face. 

“Article potential… it wasn’t anything special. Influencer stunt.” You shrugged again.

He keeps his gaze on you and hums before turning to the others, tone light but firm. “Well, sounds like it was boring. Let her breathe, yeah? You’re all acting like she came back from war.”

A few chuckles. A few eye-rolls. But the moment breaks just enough that the circle disperses—some off to refill their coffee, others back to their screens, the energy of interrogation dying down.

You glance up at him with barely concealed gratitude. “Thanks for that.”

Youngbae pulls up the chair at the desk next to yours, tossing his bag down and opening his laptop. “No problem. You looked like you were one more question away from setting the printer on fire.”

You laugh under your breath. “I might’ve.”

“Just so you know, your excuses need work.”

“Huh?” 

He shoots you an amused look. “Influencer stunt? Really?” 

“Not you too…” you groan. “Don’t tell me you ushered them away just so you can hear about it first?” 

“So you admit something did happen?” He looks back up at you, leaning forward, and revelling in his little ‘gotcha’ moment. 

You roll your eyes. “Why do you care so much?” 

“I don’t,” he said as he then raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll call it even if lunch is on you.” 

“Wow, okay.” You scoff out a laugh, and he joins in on the laughter. 

He knew better than to keep prying. It was pretty obvious something had happened, if anything he boiled it down to meeting someone interesting, which wasn’t all that far from the truth. But he wasn’t the type to make you uncomfortable just for the sake of intel.

The two of you sat in a relaxed silence, losing yourselves in your respective work. The hum of the office is steady and familiar—keyboard clicks like rainfall, the low whirr of the printer, someone’s too-loud phone conversation from the corner no one ever uses for actual privacy. You stare at your monitor, squinting slightly against the harsh blue glare, your fingers hovering over the keys, unmoving. Your coffee's gone cold, half-forgotten on your desk, right next to your half-scribbled notes from the last editorial meeting. You pick up your pen, tap it twice against the pad, and try to recall the article you’re meant to be writing. Something about startup culture. Or was it an expose on digital branding?

“Hey,” Youngbae says gently, his voice cutting through the static in your brain. “You planning to eat today or just feeding off the existential dread?”

You shake your head, as if trying to clear it. “What time is it?”

“Almost one,” he replies, amused, already slipping a folder back into his bag. “You’ve been zoned out all morning. I thought maybe you transcended this realm.”

You offer a tired smile, just as he fumbles with a stack of papers and winces.

“Shit,” he mutters, pulling his hand back. A thin, bright line blooms across the pad of his finger.

You reach for the tissues on your desk, handing him one. “Papercut?”

“Yeah. The deadliest wound known to office workers,” he jokes, holding the tissue to his finger.

“Maybe the paper knew you were making fun of it.” You lightly mocked. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I was cursed by a spreadsheet,” he grins before discarding the tissue. “Come on, I know a place that just got their new spring menu.”

You pick up your bag and follow him out. The air outside is warm, a spring breeze cutting between buildings, brushing across your skin. You walk in silence for a while, surrounded by city sounds—footsteps, distant horns, someone yelling into a phone.

“You okay?” Youngbae asks as you wait for the light to change.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… sleep-deprived, I think.”

He watches you for a second, thoughtful, like he can sense there’s more you’re not saying. But then he just offers a small smile and nudges your shoulder with his. “Does food still fix everything?”

You smile back. “Yeah. Still does.”

The two of you cross the street together, and you find yourself grateful for the realness of it, the weight of your shoes on concrete, the ordinary hum of the world—the simple comfort of someone who doesn’t ask too many questions. You both duck into a small restaurant just around the corner from your agency, the kind of place that smells like buttered toast and coffee grounds, all chrome edges and cracked vinyl booths. After ordering, you sit across from Youngbae near the window, watching the street while listening to your co-worker.

He’s mid-story about how he accidentally sent his mother a meme meant for his fiancée when he pauses, grinning. “I’m getting married soon, by the way. Did I tell you that?”

You blink, surprised. “No! Oh my god, congrats!”

“Thanks,” he beams, picking at the corner of his paper napkin. “We’ve been together forever. Like, since uni. She’s definitely the patient one in the relationship.”

“I mean, I have seen your email inbox.”

He laughs, a full-bodied sound that makes the waitress behind the counter glance over fondly. “Touché. She’s actually calling now—probably checking if I remembered to send the caterer the final menu.”

His phone buzzes again, vibrating against the table. He stands, mouthing one sec and stepping outside to take the call, his voice already softening as he greets her.

You watch him go, then shift your gaze to the window.

Across the street, you notice two figures. One tall, dressed in a charcoal overcoat with sharp, elegant features and an unreadable gaze, holding an umbrella. The other, a little shorter, holds himself like he’s posing without trying, hands in pockets, shoulders relaxed like the whole world moves at his pace. He looks a little too familiar, but you’re not sure why. Your gaze lingers on the two men longer than you mean to. The taller one is already looking elsewhere, scanning the area, but the shorter man turns his head slightly, as if sensing something. You still don’t place him. Not yet. He says something to the other man—too far to hear, but it’s casual, low—and starts walking toward the diner. You look down instinctively, busying yourself with the condensation on your water glass. You’re probably mistaking him for someone else.

“Didn’t expect to see you so soon.” 

That voice. You glance up slowly, your eyes catching on the curve of his mouth first—the hint of amusement tugging at one corner—and then the rest of him. Familiar, but in a way that sneaks up on you. That outfit, the way his hair sweeps across his forehead, the glint of something secret in his eyes.

“You…”

The word slips out before you can stop it. You blink, your mind stumbling. He says nothing, just watches you with that same quiet interest, like he’s flipping through a book only he can read.

“You were at the masquerade.”

His smile deepens. “You remember.”

“Of course I remember. That night was…” you trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding completely insane. You decide to change the subject a little. “I didn’t catch your name,” you say, studying him.

“Didn’t offer it,” he replies, smooth as silk. “But I suppose that’s only fair. You didn’t give me yours either.”

You’re not sure why you do, but you immediately tell him your name. His eyebrows raise at your eagerness. Before you wish for the floor to swallow you whole, he offers you a sweet smile and says your name as if to try it out. 

“It suits you. Matches your beauty, princess.”

“Alright,” you glance down, feeling your cheeks flush immediately. “What’s your name, then?” 

His expression shifts slightly, before his voice lowers into something softer, “it’s Ji-yong.”

You glance out the window. Youngbae is still on the phone, pacing a little, laughing softly. When you turn back, the man is watching you in that same quiet, amused way. Waiting. Not impatiently. Just… present. You tried to ignore feeling as small as you did, given both men were practically towering over you.

“I was starting to wonder if it had all been a dream, Ji-yong.” You half-joked, wanting an excuse to say his name. His eyes noticeably gain some sort of spark as he steps a little closer and leans closer, one arm leaning on the back of the booth behind you.

“Would’ve been a shame, hm?” He tilted his head, his dark eyes never leaving you.

“Yeah—” 

“You looked beautiful under the chandeliers, even more so in the moonlight. I almost didn’t want to let you leave.”

That made your breath hitch. “Almost?”

“I’m still deciding. I guess it depends on if you plan on… vanishing, again.” 

Your lips part as you’re about to speak, when you hear the bell of the front door chime again, and Youngbae steps back into the café, sunlight catching on the curve of his smile as he makes his way toward your table. You smile in return, already reaching for your cup—but the air beside you changes before he even speaks.

Ji-yong doesn’t shift much. Just another tilt of his head. A quiet inhale through his nose. But it’s enough. Still silent, his friend glances at him. 

And then you see it: the thin smear of red on Youngbae’s hand as he presses a napkin to a fresh papercut. Still slightly bleeding.

Ji-yong’s jaw flexes.

Youngbae drops into the seat across from you. “Sorry,” he says, oblivious to the tension humming through the space. “I accidentally picked at it and it started bleeding again.”

You laugh softly. “That’s what you get for showing up late.”

Ji-yong leans even closer, voice light, almost sing-song. “So is this the lucky man who gets your attention?”

“Coworker,” you explain. “Same department.”

“I basically bribe her with food to deal with me. Works like a charm.”

That teasing smile is still on Ji-yong’s lips, but there’s something simmering beneath it now—his fingers brushing the edge of your booth like he’s deciding whether or not to dig them in. “Ah,” he says, eyes flicking to the napkin again, “so even when he bleeds for you, it’s all strictly professional?”

You blink at him, startled by the phrasing.

His friend exhales quietly through his nose, a barely-there sound, and shifts even closer to Ji-yong’s side. His presence is steady—heavy in the way mountains are heavy. He doesn’t say a word, but Ji-yong seems to breathe a little deeper because of it. They must be close, right? Still, that gleam in Ji-yong’s eye doesn’t fade.

“Must be nice,” he continues, eyes never leaving yours, “having someone so… dedicated.”

There’s something in the way he says it—velvet and knife-sharp—that sends heat curling up your spine.

Youngbae chuckles, still oblivious. “You two know each other?”

Ji-yong’s gaze lingers on you as he answers, “You could say we’ve met before.”

That makes your cheeks warm. Before you can reply, Youngbae winces and dabs again at his cut. “Okay, ow. That might need a bandage after all.”

And that’s when Ji-yong shifts again. He blinks, sharp and sudden, and turns his face away for a moment—just enough that the flicker of something darker behind his eyes disappears from view. His tongue swipes across the inside of his cheek, jaw visibly tense. His friend leans in and murmurs something too low for you to catch. Whatever it is, Ji-yong nods once, breathing out through his nose like he’s pulling himself back down from something high and hungry.

“We should let you eat,” the man says at last, the first words he’s spoken.

“I’ll see you again,” he says, soft but certain. Ji-yong lingers a beat longer, eyes fixed on yours. Then they’re gone—leaving the door swinging gently behind them, your pulse rushing in your ears, and a strange pressure in your chest that you can’t quite name.

Youngbae raises a brow. “So… who was that?”

You shake your head slowly, voice quiet. “I don’t know.”

But that’s not entirely true. Not anymore. Youngbae takes a bite of his sandwich, watching the door slowly swing shut behind the two strangers. His casual expression falters just slightly. You notice the way his brows pull together, just a bit tighter than usual.

“You okay?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant, but even to your ears it comes out a little too breathy.

He glances at you. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

You stiffen, then force a soft laugh. “I’m fine. Why?”

“That guy—I don’t know, you just looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“It’s not like that.”

He doesn't press immediately. He takes another bite, chews, swallows. But when he sets his sandwich down, there’s something different in the weight of his tone.

“You sure? ‘Cause you looked like you knew him.”

You try to brush it off. “I met him once. Kind of. At a thing. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “The masquerade?”

Damn it.

You nod, still playing casual. “Yeah. He was there.”

“You said that you didn’t meet anyone important there.”

You elected to stay quiet, taking a sip of your drink as he studies you for a long moment. Then he leans back, folding his arms. 

“So why’d he look like he wanted to kill me for sitting with you?”

“I don’t know…”

Youngbae takes a bite of his sandwich, still chewing when he glances at you again with a smirk. “So… are we just gonna pretend you didn’t turn into a shy schoolgirl the moment your mystery man showed up?”

You choke slightly on your drink and glare at him over the rim of your cup. “I did not.”

He raises his brows, clearly enjoying himself. “You barely looked up. All blushing and blinking like you forgot how to function.”

“I did not blink like I forgot how to function.”

“You did,” he says with a grin. “It was cute, honestly. A little weird—since you’ve been chewing up every press event and assignment this month like a machine—but cute.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch upward despite yourself. “Shut up.”

“I mean, look. I get it.” He leans back with a light shrug. “If I didn’t already have my heart claimed, I’d be just as dumb over my fiancée. I’d follow her through a damn haunted mansion if she asked.”

You raise a brow. “That’s oddly specific.”

He grins. “She’s into spooky stuff.”

You both laugh, and for a second it grounds you—his warmth, his ease, the way he makes everything feel less surreal.

Youngbae picks at the corner of his sandwich and adds, more gently this time, “But really, I get it. When someone makes your brain short-circuit like that? When they make you feel something even when you’re trying not to?”

You glance down at your hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s something.”

“Just… be careful, alright?”

You nod, but there's a strange heaviness clinging to the center of your chest. Because even you don't know what you’re being careful of.

The days begin to blur again, smoothed over by the rhythm of work and deadlines. You wake to alarms instead of moonlight, fall asleep to the glow of your laptop instead of candlelit chandeliers. The masquerade becomes something you fold away in the back of your mind, like an old photograph—strangely vivid, but too dreamlike to trust.

The newsroom returns to its usual chaos: coffee-stained notes, editors barking for rewrites, the distant whirr of printers chewing through drafts. You slip easily back into your role, tapping out columns and headlines, pulling interviews from people who would rather stay quiet. The hum of the office becomes your pulse again.

Youngbae starts to stick around your desk more often—easy, familiar, always arriving with a joke or some takeout he picked up “accidentally” in double portions. There’s a quiet comfort in his presence, the kind that sneaks up on you in the silence between meetings. Sometimes you find yourself laughing louder when he’s around. Sometimes you glance toward him before saying something, waiting for the glint of amusement in his eyes. You start to learn the way his voice softens when he talks about his fiancée. You like the way he always walks you to the train if you both leave late.

But in the still moments—those seconds between paragraphs, between breaths—you can’t shake the sense of something else. A tingle along your spine. A weightless pressure just behind your shoulder. Like someone’s watching.

You start to catch yourself glancing at darkened corners, reflective windows. Nothing’s ever there. Not really. But sometimes, the light seems to bend just a little too strangely in your periphery. Sometimes, the back of your neck prickles like someone’s just stepped out of reach. You brush it off, tell yourself it’s just residual nerves, or too much caffeine. You keep writing. You keep moving. Still… sometimes, late at night, you pause mid-sentence—staring at the blinking cursor—heart skipping for no reason at all.

And outside, beyond your apartment window, the shadows never quite stay still.

The office is nearly empty, quiet and golden under the dimmed lights of the after-hours lull. You’re finishing up a final draft, fingers clicking softly against your keyboard as the city outside hums low through the windows. Behind you, Youngbae is moving slowly, gathering his things—coat, phone, the last few stray papers on his desk. You glance back when you hear the rustle of fabric.

“You’re still here,” he says with a tired smile.

“Same as you,” you reply, stretching in your chair. “Don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter the day before your big wedding.”

“Nah. Just tying up some loose ends,” he says, slipping his phone into his coat pocket. “Tomorrow’s going to be… something.”

You swivel your chair toward him, grinning. “I can’t believe I didn’t get an invite. I thought we were work friends.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Private ceremony. Just close family. Small. Quiet.”

“Sounds nice, though.”

“Yeah,” he says, but his smile flickers — not quite sadness, but a kind of reflection, like he’s holding something tightly just behind his eyes. Probably the realisation of such a big life event finally setting in.

The way he says it makes you falter for a second, but you brush past the weird weight of it with a smile. “Well, you better at least bring photos next week. I need to rate your tux.”

Youngbae chuckles, then steps over, tapping a knuckle lightly on your desk. “Promise. Just don’t work too late. You always get stuck in your head.”

“I’ll head out soon,” you promise.

“Good.” He hesitates, then adds, quieter, “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

You nod, a little confused by the gravity in his voice, but say nothing. He leaves with a small wave and a soft smile. You don’t realize how long you sit there after he’s gone, fingers resting still on your keyboard, your screen dimming slowly as the office around you goes still and cold. Ten minutes later, you finally pack up, grabbing your bag and making your way to the elevators.

The lobby is mostly empty when the doors part, save for a figure leaning casually against the glass wall—backlit by streetlights, sharp coat, posture lazy and confident. Your steps falter. It’s not until he lifts his head and smiles—crooked and knowing—that you recognize him.

“Late night?” 

The breath catches in your throat.

“You again.”

Ji-yong pushes off the glass as you approach, that same smile curving at his lips—something half-charmed, half-patient, like he’s been waiting.

“Thought you might be the last one out,” he says. “You always look like you’ve got a hundred thoughts spinning in your head.”

You blink. “You’ve been watching me?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “I notice things.”

You should feel unsettled. Maybe a part of you does— the part that flinches at how familiar he feels. But instead, you find yourself saying, “That sounds like a line.”

“It could be,” he replies smoothly. “If you want it to be.”

His gaze flicks down to the way you shift your weight between your feet, then back up — something amused and unreadable behind his eyes.

“Walk with me?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Just turns toward the glass doors and holds one open, glancing back at you. And like the first time—like the masquerade night that still lingers in your dreams—you follow. The air outside is cool and sharp, the city humming low beneath the late hour. Streetlamps paint the sidewalks in gold and shadow, and your footsteps fall into rhythm with his without effort. You follow him down the quiet street, where the orange glow of streetlights gives way to the muted hush of shadows and old brick. It’s late enough that the world feels paused—no cars, no footsteps but your own, just the low murmur of city wind threading between buildings.

Ji-yong walks a step ahead, glancing at you over his shoulder with a smirk that’s almost too knowing.

“I have to say,” he drawls, “for someone so mysterious, you’re dangerously easy to read.”

You laugh, a little breathless from catching up. “Dangerously? That’s dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m very dramatic,” he says, turning toward you slightly. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

There’s something different in the way he says it. Not heavy, not overbearing—just a touch more forward, his gaze lingering longer than it did before, voice smooth enough to feel like it’s brushing right up against your skin.

You try to keep your cool. “Is this your usual routine?”

“Only when I actually like someone.” His smile tugs deeper now, almost lazy. “I don’t do this often, you know. The whole… moonlit stroll, charming conversation, letting someone see me like this.”

“Lucky me,” you tease.

“Very lucky,” he says, no hesitation, no grin this time—just a quiet certainty.

You glance away, the tension winding in your chest so unexpectedly it makes your hands a little clammy. He steps closer—not enough to cross a line, but enough that the space between you shifts.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I don’t mind the way you look at me like you’re still trying to figure me out.”

“I’m not,” you say, heat rising in your cheeks. “I mean—I am, a little, but—”

He tilts his head, clearly entertained. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You give him a look, but you can’t help smiling. “You’re trouble.”

He shrugs, unapologetic. “Maybe. But I’d say it’s worth it.”

You’re not sure what makes you laugh—the audacity or the way he somehow says it like it’s a promise.

You reach your building before you even realize it, the soft tap of your shoes on pavement slowed to a reluctant stroll. The evening is heavy with warmth, the kind that clings to your skin and makes the air feel rich, like something is about to happen. Ji-yong’s presence beside you hasn’t dulled since you left the café—it’s only grown, like a second pulse just a breath behind your own.

He stops with you at the gate to your place, one hand casually tucked into his coat pocket, the other brushing his fingers against the iron bars as he looks up at the façade of your building.

“So this is where the enchantress disappears at night,” he says, voice all velvet and smoke. “Fitting.”

You smirk, leaning against the gate, arms folding loosely over your chest. “Enchanted now, are we?”

His mouth curves slowly. “Oh, I’ve been under your spell for much longer.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to play it off with a laugh, but there’s something in his tone that makes your breath catch. You’re not entirely sure if it’s a line or the truth—but either way, it’s working. Too well.

“You always say things like that to strangers?”

“You still think we’re strangers, my love? You wound me.” 

You chuckle, but it comes out softer than intended. There’s a tug in your chest you can’t quite explain. You should feel like this is too fast, too flirtatious, too much… but all it feels like is familiar. And safe. And entirely too compelling.

You glance toward the entrance behind you. “I should probably go in.”

“You probably should,” he says, but he doesn’t move away. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you want to make this moment last a little longer.”

Your breath hitches. There’s barely a foot between you now. The faint glow from the streetlamp overhead turns his eyes gold around the edges, and you can feel the heat from his body in the little space left between you.

“You say that like I’m not already stalling,” you murmur.

“You say that like you don’t want me to notice.”

You meet his gaze and find it steady, daring, but not unkind. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek with maddening care. His fingers linger just a second too long. You draw a breath, but it catches in your throat. Your heart is beating too loud, and you feel it in every inch of your skin.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, surprised by the breathlessness in your voice.

He smiles, slow and sure. “I was waiting for permission.”

You don't answer with words. You just lean in.

The kiss, when it happens, is warm and slow. His lips move against yours like he’s been waiting, like every inch closer is a step into something sacred. His hand finds your waist, steadying you, drawing you in as though letting go simply isn’t an option. You sigh softly into his mouth, feeling your fingertips clutch his jacket without meaning to. He deepens the kiss only slightly, but it’s enough to send a current skimming down your spine.

When you finally part, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little harder than before. Neither of you says anything for a few long seconds, like speaking too soon would shatter whatever just passed between you.

He’s the first to speak.

“I was right,” he murmurs.

“About what?”

“You’re very good at making moments last.”

You laugh, cheeks flushed, lips still tingling. “You’re very good at ruining goodbyes.”

“I’m only good at goodbyes when I know I’ll see you again.”

That makes your smile falter, just a little—but before you can dwell in the weight of his words, he straightens up and presses a kiss to your knuckles with a charm so casual it makes your stomach flutter.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs. “Don’t dream of me too much.”

You arch a brow. “Too much?”

“I’m giving you room for dignity.”

You laugh again, low and surprised, and by the time you’ve caught your breath and looked up—he’s already halfway down the street, his silhouette flickering in and out of shadow like something half-real. You touch your lips, still warm from his kiss, and let yourself lean against the gate for a moment longer before finally heading inside—wondering what you just stepped into, and why it felt so eerily meant to be.

The next morning starts like any other. There’s sunlight peeking between your blinds, warm and unassuming. The city hums outside, muffled and steady, and your apartment carries the faint scent of last night—smoke, roses, a touch of his cologne still clinging to your scarf. You feel it all in pieces: his smile, the feel of his hands, the way his kiss left you breathless and wanting more. But now it’s morning, and you’re back in your usual rhythm. Shower. Clothes. Half-burnt toast. The mundane grind. You barely remember the walk to the subway. You barely feel the eyes on you.

By the time you step into the office, ten minutes behind schedule, everything feels… off. Not loudly. Not obviously. Just enough. The kind of quiet you notice too late. No one’s talking. No music playing from someone’s phone. No keyboards clacking or printer jamming or someone cursing under their breath. Just muted whispers, heads down, movements that feel too careful. And then, as you turn the corner toward your department, your feet stall.

Youngbae’s desk.

You don’t realise you’ve stopped until someone brushes past you. Your eyes are locked on it. It’s too clean. Chair tucked in, screens off. No snack wrappers. No tangled charger cables. No scribbled reminders on post-its. Just a small vase of fresh lilies—pale and crisp and wrong. Your chest tightens. The absence is louder than anything else. And just as you take one slow, unsure step forward, someone at your side—low, almost gentle—says it.

“Yeah… he’s dead."

taglist: @emmiesoverthemoon @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @ilovethe141 @allthoughtsmindfull 

[aizshallnotbefound]

Zenny's Masterlist━━━☆

REQUESTS : closed !

(I ONLY do social media au currently so feel free to request a scenario !!)

Currently writing for Bigbang only <3 ( GD , TOP , D-LITE)

G-DRAGON / KWON JIYONG

1 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘨

2 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 spectulations about rumoured relationship

3 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1 and having an after party dinner with bigbang and getting caught being cozy with jiyong

4 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1 and having a photoshoot with vogue

5 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1 and having a pool party with bigbang

6 - your love is my favourite song - pt 1 Your love is my favourite song - pt 2 collab post with @mashtatosworld

7 - butterfly masterlist - collab smau mini series with @makeitworse

♪ ────── ──⊹⊱✫⊰⊹── ────── ♪

T.O.P / CHOI SEUNGHYUN

1 - 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 , 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯

♪ ────── ──⊹⊱✫⊰⊹── ────── ♪

D-LITE / DAESUNG

1 - 𝘥𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨 2 - 𝘥𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 , 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵

♪ ────── ──⊹⊱✫⊰⊹── ────── ♪

Taglist:

@sherrayyyyy , @ldydeath , @eru-vande , @tulentiy, @infinetlyforgotten , @gdinthehouseee , @mashtatosworld , @loveesiren @breakmeoff @kwomikailea @heartubeatusalon @sylviavf @flwerangii

♪ ────── ──⊹⊱✫⊰⊹── ────── ♪

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 11)

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

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

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

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

wc: 3.9k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sticking out from between its pages was an envelope.

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

Se & Ji

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

His heart slammed against his ribs.

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

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

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

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

Sharp. Shattering. Blood-curdling.

The entire lobby fell still.

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

He already knew.

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

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

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

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

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

Please let this be a dream.

Please.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!!!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you were already gone.

They all knew it.

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

And still, he clung to hope. To you.

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

None of them could answer.

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

“She’ll… she’ll be o—”

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

-

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

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

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

Seungri had been given the worst job of all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungri froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungri broke. “She’s dead.”

The words hit like a gunshot.

Jiyong just… stared.

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

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

“I’m not joking,” Seungri whispered.

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

“She’s gone, hyung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—silence.

His body stilled, breathing slow and shallow.

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

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

He hated it.

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

The thought made him cry harder.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

Tears burned behind his eyes.

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

It wouldn’t fix what happened.

It wouldn’t untangle the three of you.

And it wouldn’t bring you back.

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

-

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

But it would do.

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

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

“And a car—”

His voice broke.

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

You’re not here.

“What was that?” the barista asked gently.

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

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

-

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

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

“Add some flare, you grump.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Sir?”

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

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

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

“Hyung!”

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

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

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

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

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

Youngbae could only nod.

“Is Jiyong awake?” Daesung asked gently.

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

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

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

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

-

Jiyong was already awake.

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

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

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

Then Jiyong spoke.

“Tell me what happened.”

Seunghyun’s breath caught. “Jiyong…”

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

Seunghyun’s heart shattered all over again.

He lowered his gaze. “She jumped.”

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

“Are you… are you sure?”

“She left us a letter.”

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

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

-

Seunghyun, Jiyong…

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a love letter.

To the two absolute loves of my life.

Seunghyun,

You were my calm. My safety. My home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loving you.

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

Jiyong,

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

God, I fell so hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry I didn’t stay.

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

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

Thank you for setting me on fire.

Thank you for making me feel alive.

Thank you for being my beautiful disaster.

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

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

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

Let that bring you together, not tear you apart.

Take care of each other, please.

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

Always.

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

Forever yours, Y/n ♡

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

TAGLIST

Tags: @infinetlyforgotten @ldydeath @c1delight @divinefeminineeeee @nicklet94 @fleabagspurplewife @rafesbunniebby @dear-satan @princessadedulce @aerangi @Bcfcpsh @fairyprincesslvr21 @rositapinchesfresita @steponupbabe @w31rd3rg1rl @gdinthehouseee @petersasteria @emmiesoverthemoon @pinkpunkdynamite @modzmadness @breakmeoff @Sofws @burlesquerade @eru-vande @Amyyforshort @korevictrix @gdgirl21 @aizshallnotbefound @ttturnitup @Keiraryan @mashtatosworld @Kai-277 @Loonybubny1 @sherrayyyyy @sharnnnnnn @juliskopf @97claudia97 @shad0wcast @lilysdoll @scream-queen-25 @rubyylovestoread @wickedbutlovely @sherxoo @cannotdriveinastraightline @crashmunson @whotfiscamellia @heartubeatusalon @slut4namgyu @ricecake9999 @makeitworse @Liv2cool @butnobodycares @g-devine

[saymonsays]

‎✎ masterlist

@saymonsays —

‎status: active / requests open 💌

‎

kwon jiyong fics :

‎ongoing series : Solving for X (And Maybe Love)

‎✎ parts:

1 ‎— Variable Unknown (SFX'AML')

2 ‎— Things I Cant Say Out Loud (SFX'AML')

3 ‎— The Distance Between Our Table (SFX'AML')

‎— [part 4+] coming soon... 👀

other jiyong works :

‎Echoes Of Us

Got you stuck on my body, like a tattoo

choi seunghyun fics :

— Play, Pause, Repeat

dong youngbae fics :

— coming soon 🔒

kang daesung fics :

— From Diapers To Desires

‎🧠 note: more BIGBANG members content is in the works! currently on full jiyong brainrot.

‎

‎🚫 i don’t write for:

‎Youngbae — unless you want him as reader’s cool, overprotective dad 😭💕

‎

[mashtatosworld]

masterlist

welcome to mashtatosworld 🫶

kwon jiyong/gdragon

everything i wanted some peace of mind

4 seasons: the 'back to you' series masterlist

close to you stitches

only girl sucker talk that talk

lover boy(s) lover boys (2) lover boys (3) lover boys (4) lover boys (5)

eyes on me (1) eyes on me (2) eyes on me (3) eyes on me (4) eyes on me (5)

lesson learned (1)

we can’t be friends

city lights

the one that got away

on set

dial-tone

your love is my favourite song(1) your love is my favourite song(2)

choi seunghyun/top

make you mine

how you get the girl

lover boy(s) lover boys (2) lover boys (3) lover boys (4) lover boys (5)

on and off stage

cant pretend

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe, @moontabi , @@1950schick

all credit for the lovely dividers goes to @uzmacchiato!

[ldydeath]

Feels Like I’ll Die Without You | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You run into your ex at a party. Neither of you are over each other, despite you being in a relationship with someone else. Will temptation get the best of you? Warnings: language, mentions of cheating, make out scene.  Word Count: 1.3k Author's Note: this is kind of a part two to I Used to Believe In You. You don’t really need to read it to understand this installment but if you want the background on why they broke up, you can read it here. Considering turning this into a series, let me know if you want a third part of this! 

It has been years since you’d been back in Korea. You didn’t even want to think about how long it had been or the way your last trip had ended. Something you’d thought would last a lifetime had come crumbling down in seconds. Looking back over the last twelve years you were glad it had ended. As much as you’d love Jiyong as a young twenty something in the industry it wasn’t meant to be. 

You hated how your brain instantly went to him the second your feet touched solid ground after your flight. You had a boyfriend and it has been twelve years since you’d seen Jiyong in person. Sure, he’d pop up on tv from time to time or social media but you hadn’t thought of him, talked to him, seen him since he’d flown to your house after you’d broken up all those years ago. 

For whatever reason, you were being forced to go to an event that you knew he’d be at, because of course he would be. Luxury, fashion, expensive things were his thing now. Long gone was the blonde edgy boy you’d met when you were first starting out. Now he was softer, more into fashion than you’d ever remembered him being. But your relationship had never really been that deep and for all you knew this was who he’d been from the start. 

“No shit.” You heard a familiar voice and turned, coming face to face with Youngbae and grinned. 

“Hi YB.” You pulled him into a hug, instant relief washing over you. 

An unfortunate circumstance of your fall out with Jiyong was the no contact you’d had with his three best friends post breakup. They’d been your friends too but as his closest friends and bandmates it was just easier for you to fade out of their lives.   

“You look great. How have you been?” 

“Good. Stable. I heard you got married and have a kid. That’s so exciting, I’m so happy for you!” 

“Thanks! I gotta admit I always thought you and Jiyong would be first to get married.” 

“Yeah, well…that didn’t happen.” The all too familiar voice of Jiyong rang out and you swallowed, your smile faltering. “Hello.” 

You turned from the safety of Youngbae, coming face to face with Jiyong. He was still just as handsome as ever and damn it if your heart didn’t speed up at the site of him. He looked handsome, his suiting fitting his body like a glove. The hat was a little goofy but damn it if he didn’t rock it. 

“Hi.” You squeaked out. Cursing yourself in your head. Jiyong smirked before raising a brow at Youngbae. 

“Excuse us for a minute?” Youngbae waved goodbye to you before walking away. “You look….amazing.” 

That was not what he wanted to say. You looked hot, but he wasn’t going to come straight out and say how down bad he still was for you. How no woman he’d been with since you could ever compare to you. You’d have all the power and he couldn’t have that. 

“Thanks. So do you.” You could feel the awkward tension rising in the room. 

“You wanna grab a drink and talk?” The way he said talk made your weak. That used to be code for doing anything but talking. 

“I have a boyfriend.” You blurted out and Jiyong closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. 

Of course you had a boyfriend. He should’ve known you wouldn’t stay single. You were one of the most talented and amazing people he’d ever met, you wouldn’t have just stayed single the last twelve years. 

“Ok? So a drink and we actually just talk.” You knew you shouldn’t, everything in your body telling you not to go with him. 

Deciding to ignore the warnings, you nodded your head and followed him. His hand reached out to grab yours and you knew you should pull away. Instead you linked your fingers with his and allowed him to lead you away from the crowd. He grabbed two drinks off a tray, handing you one so he wouldn’t have to let you go and led you outside. 

There was nobody out here, thanks to the chilly Korean night. You took a sip of your drink, your hand staying firmly in Jiyong’s hand. He looked down at your entwined fingers and smirked again before giving your hand a squeeze. He wasn’t going to let go first. Neither were you. Why was it so easy to fall into these old habits with him? 

Jiyong let go of your hand, moving to stand directly in front of you, his drink abandoned. Your heart sped up and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach at the closeness. You looked up, locking eyes with him and he moved his free hand to cup your cheek. You should back out of his touch, run inside, find security with the other attendees. He wouldn’t touch you like this in front of people. Instead, you leaned into his touch and there was that damn smirk again. 

“What?” 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” His eyes trailed from your eyes to your lips as he spoke.

You didn’t even question it, your body reacting to him whether you liked it or not and his lips were on yours. It was too much, too much passion, too wrong but you couldn’t help yourself when it came to Jiyong. You would probably always want him and that was why you’d stayed away for as long as you had. He wasn’t good for you, this wasn’t good for you. 

“Jiyong.” You panted, pulling away from him. “I can’t. I have a boyfriend.”  Jiyong shrugged at your words, leaning in closer to you. 

“He doesn’t have to know.” His lips covering yours again. 

It was almost too easy, getting lost in this moment with him. Hands roaming each other's bodies as the kiss took a desperate turn. His jacket was off, tie untied as he lifted you up on the table, your legs opening slightly so he could stand between them, your legs wrapping around him. His hands roaming up your legs as he broke the kiss. His lips latched onto your neck as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest. Your eyes popped open as if coming to your senses as his lips brushed your breast. 

“Jiyong, I can’t.” You pushed him away slightly, jumping down off the table and smoothing out your dress.  “I’m not this person anymore.” 

Jiyong took a respectable step back and straightened his tie before sliding his jacket back on. As much as he still wanted you, he wasn’t going to do anything you didn’t want to do. If that meant he had to wait another twelve years for a stolen moment with you, fine. 

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.” 

“It’s fine. I did too.” You let out a sigh. You could’ve walked away at any moment, this wasn’t all on Jiyong. “I think I should go though.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I have to go present this watch anyway.” He took his hat off running his hand through his messy green hair and offered you a weak smile. “It was really good to see you.” 

“You too.” You nodded before walking away. 

Jiyong stood there, watching you walk away and swallowed the lump on his throat. He’d watched you walk away from him too many times in his life and somehow this one hurt the most. He wasn’t the same cocky asshole you’d met all those years ago but of course he hadn’t shown you any proof of that. The second he’d seen you all logical thoughts had gone right out the window. 

It hurt all the same though, having you reject him all over again. At this rate he figured he’d never be over you. It had been twelve years and he folded the second he’d seen you. Maybe one day he’d convince you that you were meant to be. But for now he’d just have to find a way to be ok with this moment. He smoothed his suit out one last time before heading inside, making sure to avoid you the rest of the evening.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren @tulentiy

[moontabi]

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

18+ content ahead, minors dni

kwon jiyong/g dragon

melted kisses

so good

choi seunghyun/t.o.p

muse (series)

drop your top

kang daesung/d-lite

soon…

[ao3feed-ateez]

Tides of Winds and Change

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/S0ZhzCQ by skersey31 Phoenix and her crew prepare to face off against the biggest enemy they have ever faced. Phoenix gains another new ally and reunites with someone she hasn't seen since she was a teenager. The epic conclusion to the On Unusual Tides series! Words: 904, Chapters: 1/15, Language: English Series: Part 3 of On Unusual Tides Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band), EXO (Band) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Multi Characters: Original Female Character(s), Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa, Zhang Yi Xing | Lay, Original Child Character(s), ATEEZ Ensemble, EXO Ensemble, Lee Taeil, Pyo Jihoon | P.O, Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon, BIGBANG (Band) Ensemble, Lee Seunghyun | Seungri, Son Hyunwoo | Shownu, Wu Yi Fan | Kris Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Original Female Character(s), Park Seonghwa/Original Female Character(s), Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa/Original Female Character(s), Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Lee Taeil/Pyo Jihoon | P.O Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Light Dom/sub, Dom Park Seonghwa, bratty sub kim hongjoong, Sub Original Female Character(s), Blood and Violence, Minor Choi Seunghyun | T.O.P./Kwon Jiyong | G-Dragon, Lee Seunhyun | Seungri is his own warning, Wu Yifan | Kris is his own warning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/S0ZhzCQ