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—“𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 & 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝.”

𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 && 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞🧘🏽‍♀️.

002: MASTERLIST.

003: RECENTS.

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ ‘NEVER GETTING LAID [kwon jiyong x reader]

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ ‘TOO LATE TO LOVE YOU [choi seunghyun x reader]

PAIRING: ex!yoongi x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: you swore you wouldn't answer. not after the breakup, not after months of silence, and certainly not when he texts you out of nowhere with that same dry, smug confidence that always got under your skin. But before you know it, you're on the phone with him, falling into familiar habits of unresolved tension and built up desire.

CONTENT: phone sex, praise, “good girl”, mutual masturbation, exes to lovers in a way

AUTHORS NOTE: woah look who’s back..????? left for half a year and came back with a new fav group, expect a LOT of bts fics from now on!! i hope you guys didn’t forget about me haha.. SORRYYYYY

word count: [4.3k]

YOONGI was always dry, subtle, a little smug, like he knew exactly how to get under your skin but never said it directly. Apparently, that hadn’t changed even after the breakup.

If anything, it made it worse.

There was something about his quiet confidence, like he never felt the need to prove himself, that pulled you in every single time.

This time was no different. It was 2:38 in the morning as you laid in bed with a restless boredom. The air was still and quiet, as if your surroundings were anticipating a sudden snap. It was the calm before the storm, the kind of silence that made every noise feel dangerous.

A high pitched ‘ding!’ went off on your phone as you snapped your head over to locate the noise. Of course the culprit was none other than Yoongi, the same boy you swore you wouldn’t let back in no matter how smooth he talked.

u up?

couldn’t sleep, thinkin bout u

Despite everything, your stomach flipped instantly. It was pathetic, really, how two simple texts from him could still do that to you.

You stared at the screen longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the keyboard as you weighed your options. This was a bad idea, embarrassingly bad.

Which was probably why you replied anyway.

why are you texting me at almost 3 am?

go to bed

It wasn’t long before your message switched from delivered to read, almost as if he’d been waiting for your reply. Not even a minute after, you heard that familiar notification sound from your phone once again.

missed bothering u

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. He couldn’t be serious right now

be fr yoongi.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then came right back.

i am, couldn’t get u off my mind

Oh. He was serious.

‘After all this time,’ you thought, ‘after everything?’ Your mind wandered to your breakup, the moment you felt the world slipping out of your hands. You promised to always be there for eachother, but you never expected it to be like this.

why now?

Your heart dropped after hitting send, but even more after seeing his response.

u act like i ever stopped

His words hit you harder than you wanted to admit. You found yourself craving more than just pixels on a screen. You needed something greater, something real.

Fingers moving faster than your brain, you quickly typed out another message.

call me?

You stared the message sending, heart thudding against your ribs. One phone call, that was all. Nothing extreme, just a simple conversation to process everything unfolding right infront of you.

The phone rang almost instantly, and your stomach tightened in the same familiar way it used to. It was bittersweet realizing how easily he could still affect you. As your finger hurriedly tapped the green accept button, your voice caught in your throat.

“You took forever,” he murmured the second you answered

His voice was lower than you remembered. Rough around the edges with sleep, dangerous even. Still, you couldn’t pull yourself out of the trance he’d placed on you.

You grumbled, half upset and half snarky, “You’re one to talk.”

A low chuckle sounded from the other line. The sound settled deep in your chest in a painfully familiar way. No matter how much of a front you tried to put up, your body never lied.

“Yeah, alright,” Yoongi remarked, “So how have you been? You dont text anymore.”

You let out a quiet scoff, shifting onto your side as you stared at the dim ceiling above you. “That usually happens when people break up, Yoongi.”

“Mm.”

That was all he gave at first. A low hum against the speaker, calm and unreadable in the way that always used to drive you insane. Then suddenly, his deep voice cut through the phone once again, “Still could’ve texted.”

Your chest tightened embarrassingly fast, the way it would back when the two of you were together.

“You could’ve texted too.” You shot back, partially upset over the lack of contact.

Another pause followed. You could hear faint rustling on his end, sheets moving around as if he’d finally settled deeper into bed. The image formed too easily in your mind: messy dark hair, sleepy eyes, arm tucked behind his head as he spoke like this was the most casual thing in the world.

“Thought about it,” he admitted quietly.

Your fingers curled tighter around your phone. Every conversation with him felt dangerous, as if he was pulling you in like a siren to sea, “Then why didn’t you?”

For a second, all you heard was his breathing. Slow, steady, and somehow causing every nerve in your body to tense up. As you waited for his answer in nervousness, part of you, deep down, was hopeful for his response.

“Didn’t think you’d answer.”

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard enough to leave you silent. Yoongi noticed immediately. Of course he did, he always does.

A faint chuckle slipped through the speaker as he spoke up. “What?”

“Nothing.” you mumbled quickly, but you were a mess. His response sat deep in your heart, a place you didn’t know still existed.

“Liar.”

Heat crept up your neck at the way he said it. Soft, amused, like he still knew you better than anyone else. You swallowed hard before forcing yourself to speak. “Why’d you really text me?”

Silence hung through the air. Not awkward silence, a heavy silence. The kind that only sat between two people who still had too much history between them.

“Was up,” he finally said, but his voice dropped lower this time. It was quieter, closer, “You’ve been on my mind all day.”

Your heartbeat caught mid-beat as his words echoed through your head. Had he missed you? And had you missed him back? “Yoongi—”

“Relax,” he murmured. “I’m just talking.” But the problem was that with him, ‘just talking’ had never stayed simple for very long.

“You’re impossible.” You muttered, but the words came out weaker than you intended, almost like a sigh.

Yoongi hummed softly on the other end, that familiar low sound that always settled deep in your stomach. He didn’t rush to reply. He never did. The silence stretched just long enough to make your skin prickle with anticipation.

“Am I?” he finally asked, voice quiet and laced with amusement. “Or are you just mad that you picked up on the first ring?”

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see it, shifting restlessly under your sheets. “It’s late. I really shouldn’t have.”

“Yet here we are,” he murmured, followed by yet another pause. You could hear him breathing slow and steadily, like he had all the time in the world. “You still haven’t told me why you wanted me to call.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone as a growing heat crept slowly up your neck. As much as you hated how easily he could do this to you with just his voice, you didn’t want it to stop.

“I just wanted to talk,” you said, trying to sound steady. “I don’t like texting.”

“Mhm. So talk then. What’re wearing right now?” Yoongi asked. The question was simple, but the way he said it made your pulse jump, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

You swallowed hard then spoke up, “One of my old t-shirts.”

Yoongi let out a quiet breath, almost like a sigh. Another faint moving sound came from the speaker as he questioned you again “Which t-shirt?”

You hesitated in embarrassment. ‘Fuck’ you thought, ‘Why did I chose tonight of all days to wear his clothes?” Finding your stability again, you answered softly, “The black one. Yours.”

A low chuckle rumbled through the line, warm and satisfied—cocky. “Should’ve known. You always kept my shit, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whispered, flustered, but you didn’t deny it. Your free hand had unconsciously drifted to the hem of the shirt, fingers tracing the soft cotton.

“You still in bed?” he asked, his voice low and a little raspy from the late hour, the way it always got when he was tired but not quite ready to sleep “Yeah,” you answered, shifting slightly against your pillows.

“Comfy?” His tone dropped just a fraction, calm and unhurried. “Relaxed?”

“Not really,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could filter them. You could practically hear the faint smirk in the silence that followed, that subtle smugness he never tried to hide.

“Why’s that?” Yoongi asked simply, never one to push too hard but always knowing exactly when to nudge, his patience stretching the moment out until your skin felt too warm.

You closed your eyes, heart beating a little faster at the nervousness pumping through your body. Speaking up, you responded quietly. “Because you’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Being all… quiet and smug. Like you know exactly what’s happening to me right now.” You admitted. He stayed silent for a moment, the kind of intentional pause that made the air feel heavier, thicker with tension. Then his voice came back, even softer, deeper, sliding into your ear like velvet. “And what’s happening to you right now, baby?”

The pet name hit you slowly, sinking in like warm honey dripping down your spine. You pressed your thighs together under the blanket, feeling that familiar warmth starting to spread between your legs, a slow heat building low in your stomach “I’m… warm.” you whispered.

“Just warm?” he murmured, patient as ever. “Or is it more than that?” He spoke as if he didn’t know what he was doing to you, like his words had no impact on your mind, your body.

Your hand moved on its own, sliding down your stomach over the soft fabric of his old black t-shirt, fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. “More than that.”

“Tell me where your hand is.” he spoke. His voice was so soft in a way that made your bones shake. The rasp in each syllable he pronounced gave you goosebumps.

You bit your lip, hesitating as the tension thickened between you, your pulse quickening under your skin. “On my stomach.”

“Mm.” The soft hum vibrated through the phone. “Move it lower, slowly.” Your fingers trembled just a little as you obeyed, slipping under the hem of his old cotton t-shirt and brushing over the waistband of your panties. A shaky breath left you, your skin already feeling hypersensitive to every touch.

“Feel how warm you are?” Yoongi asked, his voice like rough velvet, calm but heavy. “Slide your fingers over your panties first. Don’t go inside yet, just tease yourself a little.”

You followed his words, grazing lightly over the damp fabric in nauseatingly slow strokes, feeling the increasing wetness soak through the thin cotton. A soft, involuntary sound slipped from your lips as your fingertips circled over your clit through the material.

Yoongi hummed again, low and approving. “There it is, that sound I missed.” A brief pause. “You’re already wet, aren’t you baby?”

“…Yeah,” you breathed, face heating up with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, sounding pleased but still so composed. “Keep touching, nice and slow—Don’t rush it.”

Your fingers moved lazily, each pass making the ache between your legs grow heavier and deeper, your hips shifting restlessly under the sheets as the slow build started to drive you crazy in the sweetest, most frustrating way. The wet sounds of your fingers gliding over the soaked fabric were starting to fill the quiet room.

“Yoongi…” you murmured after a while, his name coming out almost like a sigh.

“I know,” he replied, voice low and steady. “Feels good, doesn’t it? But you’re not allowed to go faster, not yet.” He let the silence sit for a second before speaking again. “I want you dripping before you even push a finger in that pretty pussy.”

You let out a soft whine at his words, the dragged out pleasure making everything feel more intense. Every gentle circle tightened the coil in your stomach, but never enough to push you over.

“Tell me how it feels.” he said eventually, tone a little rougher around the edges now, though he was still holding back.

“Wet,” you gasped quietly. “I can feel it soaking through… God, Yoongi.”

He let out a low breath, almost a groan but quieter, more restrained. “Fuck. I bet you look so pretty like this.” Another short pause. “Spread your legs a little more for me.”

You did it without thinking, knees falling apart beneath the sheets as your fingers kept their dizzying rhythm, pressing a bit firmer against your swollen clit through the fabric.

“Yoongi… please,” you whispered after another long stretch of silence, your voice trembling with need.

“Please what?” he asked, still controlled, but you could hear the faint edge of desire creeping into his raspy voice. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“I want… I wanna touch myself properly.”

A soft, smug little chuckle came through the line. “Push your panties to the side,” he murmured, voice low and steady like gravel wrapped in silk. “But with one finger, nice and slow for me.”

You let out a shaky exhale, the sound barely audible over the quiet ambiance of your room. With your heart pounding in your chest, you slid a trembling finger under your panties and slowly dragged it to the side, exposing your slick, heated core to the cool air.

The moment the fabric moved away, you could feel just how wet you’d become from his teasing, your arousal making your thighs feel sticky yet warm.

Your legs stayed spread apart beneath the sheets, knees bent slightly as you laid on your back, one hand holding the phone tightly to your ear while the other hovered hesitantly between your legs.

Yoongi remained silent for a few long seconds as if he were giving you time to follow through, letting the anticipation stretch out until it felt unbearable.

You could hear the quiet rustle of his own sheets on the other end. Imagining him lying there in the dark with his messy dark hair falling over his eyes, one arm tucked behind his head in that lazy way he always did sent a wave of desire through your entire body.

“Go on,” he finally said, his tone calm but carrying that subtle edge of command. “Slide a finger in, feel how tight you are for me.”

You obeyed with a soft gasp, slowly pushing your middle finger past your entrance. The feeling was immediate and intense—the warm heat of your walls clenching around your finger as you sank it in as deep as you could go.

A quiet whimper escaped your lips, back arching off the mattress as your hips shifted instinctively for more friction. The slow pace he demanded made everything feel amplified, every tiny movement of your finger sent ripples of pleasure through your lower stomach.

“Mm… that’s it,” Yoongi hummed approvingly, sound vibrating through the phone straight into your core. “How does it feel baby? Tell me.”

“It’s so warm,” you whispered breathlessly, voice shaking as you began to move your finger in and out in measured, steady strokes. “And wet Yoongi, I can hear it.” Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.

Setting the phone on speaker placing it beside you, your now free hand gripped the sheets, knuckles turning pale as you fought the urge to go faster.

Yoongi let out a low, quiet breath, almost like a sigh of appreciation. “Good girl, you’re always so honest when you’re like this. Keep going… curl your finger a little bit. Just like that darling, you’re doing so well for me.”

The praise settled over you like a warm blanket, making your stomach flutter even as the slow drag of your finger continued to build that deep, aching pressure inside you.

You curled your finger upward as he told you to, brushing against a sensitive spot that made your thighs quiver. Your breathing had grown heavier now, chest rising and falling quickly under his old black t-shirt, nipples hardened against the soft cotton.

“Fuck, I love that sound.” he murmured after a pause, his voice dropping even lower, rougher around the edges. “You have no idea how much I missed hearing you fall apart like this, so damn perfect.”

You added the slightest bit more pressure, hips rolling involuntarily into your hand. Sweat was starting to form along your hairline as the ache between your legs grew heavier with each passing minute.

Each time you pushed your finger back in, you imagined it was his; longer, thicker, moving with that same confidence he always had when he touched you.

“Yoongi…” you breathed out his name like a chant, your head turning into the pillow as another soft whimper left you. “Feels so good, I need more.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body. “I know you do, baby, but not yet. You’re gonna stay right there, nice and slow until I tell you otherwise. You can handle that for me, can’t you my good girl?”

"Put another in," he instructed, "Don't rush. Let yourself feel every inch of it."

You whimpered softly, the sound catching in your throat as you slowly withdrew your finger until just the tip remained inside, walls fluttering around the emptiness. The cool air hit your soaked skin for only a moment before you were pressing two fingers against your entrance, the pressure already making your hips jerk up

"Easy," Yoongi cooed. You could picture the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners, that rare smile he reserved only for moments like this. "Take your time. Push in slow, baby, I wanna hear when it gets tight."

You bit down on your lower lip hard enough to leave marks as you began to work the second finger inside. The stretch was intense, a delicious burn that made your toes curl against the sheets. Your breath came out in short, sharp gasps as you eased deeper, feeling your muscles resist for a moment before slowing down.

"There you go," he praised, voice dropping an octave, it was rougher now with his own restrained need. "That's my girl. Y’feel that? Feel how full you are?"

"Yes," you gasped, your head falling back against the pillow as you finally seated both fingers fully inside, the heel of your palm pressing against your swollen clit. "Fuck Yoongi, it's.. it's too much. I'm so full, I can feel every—"

"Move for me." he cut off with that authority that made your body sing. "Slow. I want you to feel every single stroke."

You began to thrust your fingers in and out, the wet, noisy sound of your arousal now louder with the added friction of the second finger. Your hips jerked upward to meet your own hand, craving deeper contact as your walls clenched rhythmically around your fingers. The pressure was building faster, coiling tight and hot in your stomach.

"Please..” you breathed, the word dissolving into a moan as you curled both fingers upward, finding that spot that made sparks explode behind your eyelids. "Please, Yoongi, I need—"

"I know what you need." he said. You could hear the shift in his breathing, it was faster and more ragged than before, his own hand moving beneath his sheets with your movements. "But you're not gonna finish yet. Keep that pace for me, slow and deep. Tell me how wet you are."

"I'm dripping," you cried out softly, your face burning with shame and arousal as you felt a fresh wave of heat rush through you, more slick easing out until your fingers were sliding effortlessly through your folds. "It's running down my hand, down my wrist. Yoongi, please… I can't— I need to go faster. I'm so close, I can feel it—"

"Not yet." he said firmly, though you could hear the strain in his voice now. "Add your thumb. Press it against your clit, but don't rub it. Just hold it there."

You obeyed, pressing the pad of your thumb against your throbbing clit and holding still even as your hips bucked desperately. It was torture; your fingers buried deep, curled against that sensitive spot, thumb adding pressure as your walls fluttered and clenched around yourself.

"Good girl," he groaned, the sound sending a shockwave through your core. "Fuck, you sound so perfect, so desperate for me. Now listen baby, when I tell you to move your thumb, you're gonna rub yourself in tight little circles and fuck yourself faster. Do you understand?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your whole body shaking now, sweat dampening the sheets beneath you, your nipples aching where they pressed against the fabric of his dark t-shirt.

"Come on," Yoongi breathed, voice rough and broken in a way you'd never heard before. "Move your thumb, baby. Make yourself cum for me."

You didn't hesitate. Your thumb began circling your clit in tight, desperate circles while your fingers fucked yourself faster, curling against a spot inside you that made your vision blur. Wet sounds filled the room obscenely, but you didn't care anymore—lost completely to the pleasure building like a storm inside you.

"Yoongi…" you gasped, your hips bucking wildly now, chasing the release that hovered just out of reach.

"That's it," he groaned, and you could hear it now—the rhythmic sound of his own hand moving beneath his sheets, the ragged breaths he couldn't quite suppress anymore. "Fuck, just like that. Tell me you're close. Tell me you're gonna cum for me."

"I'm close," you cried out, your voice cracking as your stomach knotted impossibly tighter, heat flooding in your body. "I'm so close, Yoongi, please—"

You whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you kept working your fingers, hovering on the razor's edge of orgasm. Your whole body trembled, every touch now almost painful in its intensity.

"Now." Yoongi growled, the word tearing from his throat. "Cum with me, baby. Right now—"

You didn't need to be told twice. Your thumb pressed hard against your clit, rubbing ruthlessly as your fingers drove deep, curling and pressing in your pussy.

Your back arched off the bed, a broken cry tearing from your throat that didn't even sound like you as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through. Your walls clamped down around your fingers, pulsing rhythmically as you rode out the orgasm, hips jerking helplessly against your hand.

From the phone, you heard Yoongi's own release as he spoke up. “Oh fuck… God baby— so damn perfect, you sound so good. Shit, I’m—“ A low, dragged out groan vibrated through the speaker and echoed inside your chest. The thought of his ropes of arousal shooting out and spilling over his hands made you moan in need.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of both of you breathing hard, coming down from your climax together. Your body felt liquid, sinking deep into the mattress as aftershocks rippled through you. You became aware of the sweat cooling on your skin, the way your fingers were still buried inside you, the dampness of his t-shirt clinging to your chest.

"Fuck," Yoongi exhaled, his voice soft and spent, all the rough edges smoothed away. You could hear the smile in it, lazy and satisfied. "I forgot how loud you get."

You laughed breathless and embarrassed as you slowly withdrew your hand, wiping your fingers against your thigh. Your face burned, but it was a different kind of heat now—the glow of satisfaction mixed with the vulnerability of what you'd just shared.

"Shut up," you mumbled, but there was no bite to it.

Silence followed between you, comfortable this time. You reached for the phone, taking it off speaker and bringing it back to your ear. "You still there?" you asked quietly.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I'm here."

You stared at the ceiling, heart still beating a little too fast, and thought about all the nights you'd spent missing this—missing him. The breakup hadn't erased the way he fit into your life, the way he seemed to find his way into spaces you didn't even know were empty. "Yoongi?" you spoke up

"Mm?"

"What happens now?" you asked. He didn't answer right away, and you listened to the sound of him shifting, imagined him staring at his own ceiling in the dark, messy hair falling across his forehead.

"I don't know," he admitted, and there was something vulnerable in his honesty, something that reminded you of the boy you'd fallen in love with before the hurt had built walls between you. "But I don't want to stop talking to you. Not again."

Your chest tightened, a different kind of ache now. The type that was tender and hopeful. "Me neither."

"Get some sleep," he said softly, not pushing for more, not demanding answers you didn't have yet, but genuinely caring for you and your wellbeing. "It's late."

"You too."

"Hey," he added just as you were about to say goodbye. "That shirt looks better on you anyway. Keep it." You smiled into the darkness, clutching your phone a little tighter. "I was planning to anyways."

"Of course you were." His smugness was back, but gentler now, warmed by something that sounded a lot like affection. "Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, Yoongi."

You ended the call and set the phone on your nightstand, but sleep didn't come right away. You laid there in his shirt, skin still buzzing with the memory of his voice, and let yourself hope, really hope, that this time, things might be different.

PAIRING: gdragon x reader

SYNOPSIS: after an unexpected breakup with your boyfriend, you were called to collect the last of your things from his house. but when you overhear him talking about how the entire thing was fake, something in you changed. it's not like you hated him, of course not! you wished him the absolute best, just that he'd never be able to enjoy it. takes place in 2016/MADE era

CONTENT: slight angst, breakup, mentions of dating other girls, lying, resentment, him + bigbang r kind of assholes

AUTHORS NOTE: made as a part of @jiyongsangel’s mans best friend writing event!! i actually didn’t know this song before finding out about this challenge & now it’s one of my favs so tysm for putting me onto it i listen 24/7 😭😭

words: [2.9k]

THE past half year of your life had been a whirlwind. In six months, you’d met a man you were completely immersed in, found out he was an idol, and managed to build a relationship with him.

Things had been good for the most part. Sure, you’d argue now and then, but it was usually from the stress you were both under. For a regular graduate to be dating a world-famous idol, you considered your relationship pretty healthy.

That was until he came home after rehearsal, sweaty and irritated.

A loud crack echoed through the apartment, shattering the silence like a bullet through glass. You’d planned for the two of you to relax and wind down together, but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen.

“What’s wrong, babe?” you asked gently. There were plenty of days when things had gone wrong at practice and he’d break down the moment you spoke, so you’d learned it was better to approach him with patience.

He didn’t answer right away, though. Instead, he dragged a hand through his damp hair, jaw tight as he paced across the living room. His sneakers squeaked faintly against the floor, the sound almost as sharp as the anger radiating off him.

You stayed on the couch, watching carefully. Pushing too soon would only make him shut down, and you hated when he closed himself off like that.

Finally, he exhaled and dropped onto the armchair across from you. “Everything,” he muttered, voice low but edged with irritation. “The choreo’s a mess, the timing’s off. Nothing feels right.”

You tilted your head, softening your tone. “So practice was rough.”

He gave an emotionless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.” His eyes finally met yours, dark with exhaustion, and for the first time all night, you saw the vulnerability peeking through the cracks in his frustration.

You stayed quiet, giving him space to untangle his own thoughts. But instead of softening like he usually did, his expression hardened.

“This…” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “I don’t think this is gonna work.”

The words landed like a punch to your chest. You blinked at him, trying to process his sudden statement. “What are you talking about?”

He leaned back in the chair, avoiding your eyes now. “Work’s too much. Practice, schedules, interviews—I have so much to focus on that I can’t do good at anything. Adding a relationship on top of that? It’s… it’s just too much pressure.”

It sounded noble on the surface, but you knew better. The way he refused to look at you, the way his words stumbled over themselves, it wasn’t just about stress. He wanted an exit, and this was the excuse he’d latched onto.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Too much pressure?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost too quickly, as if he’d rehearsed it. “I can’t keep giving this half-assed effort. It’s not fair to you.”

For a moment the apartment was silent, the air thick with the weight of his words. You let them sink in, your pulse slowly calming back down as something inside you twisted.

“Alright,” you finally spoke up, voice calm in a way that seemed to catch him off guard. “If that’s what you want.”

His eyes flicked up, brows pulling together confusedly. “That’s it? You’re not gonna argue?”

You shrugged lightly even though your chest felt heavier than you’d admit. “Why would I fight for someone who’s already decided this is too much? If you want out, I’m not begging you to stay.”

The faintest flicker of guilt, maybe regret, crossed his face before he leaned back again, covering it with a forced scoff. “Guess I wasn’t expecting you to make this easy.”

You held his gaze, unamused. “You said it yourself—it’s not fair to me. So go ahead, Ji.”

His brows lifted once again, eyes wandering away from your gaze “Wow, okay. Um… do you have any of my stuff you need to give back?”

Without saying a word, you rose from your seat on the couch, walking straight towards your room and into the closet.

You grabbed all of the clothes he’d lended you and stacked them into a neat pile in your arms. 18 in total.

Sighing deeply, you turned on your heel and marched back to your living room. You weren’t sad, just tired. Tired of the excuses, tired of him pretending this was some grand conclusion instead of what it truly was.

You dropped the stack of clothes onto the coffee table with a low thud, then crossed your arms, waiting.

For a minute, Jiyong just stared at the pile. His expression flickered before he finally pushed himself to his feet. Hesitating slightly, he shifted his weight as if he wanted to say something, then stepped closer and pulled you into a brief hug.

It wasn’t tender, wasn’t desperate, just a quick squeeze, as if he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do.

And then, without another word, he turned and let himself out of the apartment, the click of the door behind him echoing louder than any of your thoughts.

Days passed, and so did your certainty about the breakup. Somehow in the past three days, you went from being confident in Jiyong's decision to completely puzzled. It seemed as if the longer you sat thinking about it, the less it made sense.

You tried every solution in the book. Stalking his accounts, drinking yourself half to death, even considering asking his unfamiliar friends. Just last week, the two of you would be in bed holding eachother, showering the other with compliments and repeating how much you needed them. But now? All of that was nothing but a unfeigned memory in your mind.

At least that's what you thought. Suddenly, the loud ringtone of your phone buzzed throughout the room, vibrating on the nearby table. Glancing over lazily, you read the contact name and felt your heart drop to your knees.

Incoming call from 'Ji'

Your mind went blank. Why was he calling you now? After three days of no texting, no communication, just a final hug as he walked out of your front door and life all at once. Clicking the green 'Accept' button, you held the phone up to your ear as that same voice you once fell head over heels for spoke up.

"Hello?" It was normal, a little too normal. You weren't used to him speaking so regularly to you. Still, you responded. Copying him all the way from the words to the tone.

"Could you come over in a little? I forgot that you have some things here too and I wanted to give them back." He sounded like he was smiling, but you could tell something was off. "The boys are here, so it won't take long."

It wasn't what you expected, but you weren't too surprised to hear it, either. After all, you had slept over eachother's houses countless times, you were bound to leave some of your belongings there.

After a brief talk, the two on your agreed on a time for you to pick up the remaining of your things. Since it was only a couple of hours from then, you decided to take a nap. Partially to pass time, and partially to calm your nerves.

When you woke up, the sun had dipped lower, streaks of orange and purple painting the edges of your room. The weight of what you’d agreed to hit you all over again, curling in your stomach like a knot. You got dressed quickly, nothing special, and grabbed your keys to walk out the door.

The ride over felt longer than usual, each street sign pulling you closer to a door you weren’t sure you wanted to reopen. When you finally arrived, you hesitated, hand hovering in the air before forcing yourself to press the doorbell.

It was Jiyong who opened it. He looked the same—too much the same. His hair was pushed back carelessly, a faint sheen still clinging to his skin as if he’d just come from the studio. His eyes flicked over you, unreadable, then he stepped aside.

"You can come in.” he said simply. Behind him, you caught voices, laughter echoing from deeper inside the apartment. His friends, just as he’d mentioned.

The sound made your chest tighten. Somehow, it made everything feel more final, like this wasn’t your space anymore, just a place you’d been allowed to visit.

Following him to his room, you passed by things you knew all too well. The couch you two used to lay on and watch movies together, the kitchen you attempted to cook in, the bathroom where you'd help him dye his hair countless times—it was like walking through a museum of memories.

Finally arriving to his room, Jiyong handed you the small bag of your things, barely looking at you as he did. You didn’t linger, didn’t ask to sit, didn’t let yourself feel out of place in the apartment that once felt half yours. His members’ voices carried through the walls, muffled laughter and the scrape of beer cans against the table.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, adjusting the strap on your shoulder.

He gave a short nod, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. Take care.”

It was final, at least it sounded like it. You turned and walked down the hallway, his bedroom door closing behind you with a soft thud. The sound echoed more than it should have, making your steps quicken toward the front door.

But as soon as you stepped foot outside, you froze. Your hand instinctively searched through your bag, rummaging past your wallet, lip balm, and phone only to realize the familiar weight wasn’t there. Your car keys.

You cursed under your breath, spinning on your heel. Each step further inside felt heavier than the last.

Reaching for the room’s doorknob, you pushed it open just slightly, slipping inside without thinking. The laughter from the other room was louder now, voices raised with the looseness that came after a few drinks.

After retrieving your keys, you started to walk back to your car, then you stopped right at the edge of the hallway. Their voices were clear now. Close enough that you could hear every word if you moved just a step farther.

Your chest tightened. You shouldn’t listen, you should just continue walking, right?

But your feet wouldn’t move. You found yourself inching closer to get a better listen to the commotion. The laughter rolled down the hall, a sound you used to hear in private, now mingled with voices you didn’t quite know.

The first voice, as deep as the ocean, chuckled, “Proud of you for going through with it, man. Girls are fun and all, but they're stressful as hell.”

“Yeah, you’ve already got enough pressure with practice. Adding a relationship on top? Wild.” Another joined in, smooth and calm, “That's why you gotta date another idol if anything, you see how that turned out for me."

A louder voice cut in, playful rather than mean. “Exactly. I mean I liked your girl, but it's just better to be single.”

Their laughter swelled, warm and thoughtless, and then you heard his voice, the one you knew better than any of theirs.

“Yeah… I mean, you’re not wrong, this feels easier. I just had to find a reason to end it, y'know?” He stopped to sip his drink before speaking up again, "Couldn't tell her straight up, she'd start going crazy. I know lying was bad, but at least it worked out for me."

What the hell?

Your breath caught in your throat as you froze in the hallway, hand clutching your keys so tightly they dug into the skin of your palm. The words weren’t cruel in tone—just careless, pushed aside with friendly laughter and banter. That almost made it worse.

You’d came back for your car keys, that was all, and instead you'd walked straight into the truth he hadn’t had the guts to tell you to your face.

The volume picked up again in the living room, voices rising and falling with the comfort of friendliness. But for you, it was like the air had turned to water, suffocating and impossible to breathe in.

Bitter heat crawled up your throat, but you swallowed it down before it could burn its way out. Without another glance, you turned around swiftly and walked down the hall. Each step felt heavier than the last, your shoes nearly pounding against the wooden floor.

The laughter followed you all the way to the front door. It should’ve been comforting, that familiar sound—but now it was just hollow, careless. You slipped outside, pulling the door shut as quietly as you could, as if you were the one intruding.

The night air hit your face, icy and sharp. You drew in a breath that stung your lungs, jaw tightening with a force that screamed everything your voice couldn’t.

Bitter, that was all you felt. Not sad, not heartbroken—just resentful that he couldn’t even give you honesty, that you had to hear it from the other side of a wall while his friends laughed like it was nothing.

By the time you slid behind the wheel, your hands no longer shook. You turned the key in the ignition, lips pressed into a flat, emotionless line.

If this was the way he wanted it—fine. He’d made it easy.

You drove away without looking back, music blaring through the speakers. For the past few days you'd been driving yourself crazy about what went wrong, just to find out he'd been lying about the breakup straight to your face.

The next morning, sunlight pressed against your eyelids aggressively, dragging you reluctantly into the day. You rolled over, sheets tangled around your legs. For a fleeting moment, you felt the instinct to reach for your phone and check for that same 'Good Morning' message you'd gotten so used to.

You stopped yourself.

With a dry laugh, you pushed the thought aside. 'He’s probably moved on to someone hotter by now' you told yourself, staring at the cracks in your ceiling. 'Someone who doesn’t ask questions, someone who doesn’t slow him down.'

You expected that same bitterness from last night to return even stronger, but to your surprise, it was gone. You no longer felt angry or confused. If anything, you felt relieved. Not about the breakup itself, but relieved that you wouldn’t have to waste another second worrying about being lied to like that again.

Of course, you still loved him, and part of you probably always would, but another part of you wanted him to feel exactly what he had made you feel.

You wanted someone to come sweep him off his feet, treat him like a king and boost his ego to the heavens, only to burn it all down without warning.

You even hoped everything in his career would go perfectly—that BIGBANG’s new album would skyrocket, his tours would sell out, his fans would go above and beyond—only for him to end up too stressed to enjoy any of it.

With that sharp sense of relief settling in, you decided it was time to be productive. You took a long shower, cooked yourself a balanced breakfast, and slipped into one of your favorite outfits. It wasn’t for anyone else, just you, for the spark you refused to let him take away.

Walking out the door to a nearby café, you felt the morning sun beam warmly against your face, bringing out the richness in your skin. Everything seemed brighter. Maybe it was the weight lifted from finally knowing the cause of your breakup, or maybe it was realizing your own worth. Whichever it was, you were glad you finally felt it.

After ordering and settling at a table by the window, you pulled out your phone and began scrolling through Twitter.

A notification popped up as you scrolled, Jiyong's name bold at the top of a retweet. Someone had posted a photo of him in the studio, head tilted back in laughter, captioned: "we know if GD is happy, this album is about to be AMAZING, literally the reason i believe in true commitment"

Your stomach flipped, but not in the way it used to. Tapping the screen, you zoomed into the picture silently. Not to reminisce, but to prove to yourself you could still look at him without falling apart.

There were things you noticed about him after being so consumed by him these past few months. Like the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, or how the bags in his eyes seemed even deeper than the last time you'd saw him.

Noticing all these small details, a soft smile tugged at your lips. Of course, you hoped his career would soar higher than anyone could imagine, that the world treated him like royalty. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but wish that he’d wake up one morning and find the spotlight too heavy, or that all the praise ringing in his ears felt hollow when he went home at night.

You didn’t want him ruined. Just… rattled. You wanted him to feel the emptiness of being left with everything and nothing all at once.

hii i don’t really have anything in particular i don’t write about except noncon, necrophilia, illegal age gaps, or smut w/ any kind of… feces