About me: Adult, lover of music and pasta. I love to write. Been writing fic for many years for different fandoms and now I'm here. VIP since 2016.
About this blog: I'm going to keep all my writing here, with little content of any other type. So if you're here, please know it's just G-dragon x reader fics. I might one day write something else, but it will still involve G-dragon. I will focus on oneshots, but I have a couple of series I want to write. Most fics will have explicit sexual content so 18+ is a must!! Adults only, please.
FIC LIST
Oneshots
â Treat Her Right | You've never had someone go down on you. Jiyong is determined to change that. (oral, focused on the f!reader)
â Pink Neon Lights | Jiyong wants attention. After a playful exchange, you end up locked inside the barâs bathroom. (public bathroom sex)
â Good Boy | Jiyong is struggling before an awards show. You help him relax. (dom/sub, degrading talk, collar&leash)
â It Feels Like I'll Die Without You | You know this is wrong. Youâve known it for two years. You tell yourself this is the last time you will meet Jiyong. (18+, explicit sexual content, rough sex, toxic relationship between Jiyong and reader, infidelity [reader has a bf], there is also a brief physical altercation between Jiyong and reader)
Series
â Serendipity | In Seoul for a work project, you unexpectantly meet G-Dragon. What begins as an instant connection slowly unfolds into something deeper before a misunderstanding threatens to pull you apart. Part One, Part Two, Part Three... (misunderstandings, angst, slow burn, mentions of past struggles, different povs but focused on reader)
â Just A Little Closer | Just when you feel you can finally let your guard down with Jiyong, who has been patient and loving, an accidental discovery forces you to confront that the pain you carry hasnât disappeared. Part One, Part Two, Part Three (three part series - trauma around sex, nothing noncon though, just talk of unpleasant experiences. Explicit sexual content.)
If you want to be added to the permanent tag list, go here.
â Yellow Is A Happy Color | G-Dragon as a dad from the readerâs pov. Because this is different from everything else I've written and plan to write, this has its own masterlist + taglist. Just click on the title.
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ARE YOU GOING TO HAVE TABI APPEAR IN YELLOW IS A HAPPY COLOR???? I SCREAMED AT THE PHONE CALL
Yes! He's going to appear at some point. It's either going to be a long chapter or I'll divide it in two, not sure yet. It's going to be a while before he appears though. But he'll be there! During an important moment! So please be patient.
This is how much I have yet to post for Yellow Is A Happy Color
Title:Â A Smiley Face
Summary: Ji-na's first Instagram post. An important call happens.
Pairing: G-Dragon x f!Reader (established relationship), but this focuses more on him as a father rather than the relationship.
Word Count: 3,997
Warnings:Â I feel not much happens in this one, but it's important because it's setting up two future chapters. I said that because I wasn't feeling this chapter, but I ended up all up in my feels about it.
Note:Â This series will just be about him as a dad, so if thatâs not your thing you can always blacklist the tag -> #s: yellow is a happy color. Because this series is different from everything else I've written and plan to write, it has its own masterlist and tag list. If you want to be tagged for this series, please go here.
<<prev
Jiyong comes to you one morning after youâve fed the baby and says: âHey. Iâve been thinking about posting something. About Ji-na.â
You look at him, at the careful way he takes her from your arms and settles her against his chest, her chin resting on his shoulder. She still looks impossibly small in his arms, partly because she still tucks her knees up toward her chest, the way she spent all those months in your belly. Jiyong begins to rub her back in slow circles, then gentle pats to burp her. Sheâs awake for now, her dark eyes moving as she tries to focus on the shapes in front of her, but you know sheâll be asleep within half an hour.Â
You think youâre being quite objective when you say Ji-na is a perfect baby. She really only cries when sheâs hungry or when she needs to be changed. She is curious about the world in that way babies this young are about the shapes and the limited colors they see, even if itâs only during the few minutes she spends awake. She studies the faces she gets to see up close with a seriousness that makes her look, Jiyong insists, exactly like you. She is fascinated by faces in general, but no one holds her attention the way Jiyong does, a fact he tells anyone who will listen, including you, multiple times a day. Iâm her favorite person, he says at least five times daily.Â
âWhat would you post?â you ask.Â
Because hereâs the thing; you kept your pregnancy a secret. It was a difficult endeavor, harder than keeping your marriage to Jiyong a secret those first few months before it all exploded across headlines. Once it was out in the open, more eyes were on you, and the internet had done what the internet does, which was speculate and produce rumors at a steady rate that you have done your best to ignore. Itâs been easier lately, with Ji-na here and this new, strange, exhausting, extraordinary life you have now, but you can understand why itâs been on his mind.
âI donât know yet,â he says and looks down at Ji-na. âBut not her face. I just wantâŚâ
You smile. âYou want to show her off.âÂ
He laughs softly, the small movement making Ji-na stir against his chest with a tiny sound of protest. He immediately lowers his voice. âMaybe. Honestly itâs a miracle I havenât gone up to the roof to scream Iâm a father now.â He pauses, then repositioning Ji-na again, he continues to pat her back. He then looks up at you. âBut I wonât do it if you donât want to. I know that posting something opens the door to everything.â He pauses again to press his lips to the side of Ji-naâs head, a brief and unconscious gesture, the kind that has become almost a reflex in just a few weeks. âI suppose I also want to do it on my own terms. Most of my life has ended up in the news whether I wanted it to or not, even private moments I didnât want anyone to see.â
You know this, heâs told you how for most of his life he felt like everyone was watching him everywhere he went. How heâd look at social media and find clips of his own private outings, how at his lowest moments, heâd be paranoid that his own phone and home werenât safe. Heâd been extra careful for some years now, especially with you. I donât want any of that touching you, heâs said once.Â
âI trust you,â you tell him. âI know you will protect her, so post whatever you feel is right.â
You lean forward to press a soft kiss to the top of Ji-naâs head. Jiyong puckers up his lips and you smile as you comply, giving him a kiss too. After, when Ji-na is sleeping against his chest, you rest your head on his shoulder and you look at her, at this tiny person who is completely unaware of how much sheâs about to change with just one picture.Â
********
You forget about this conversation for most of the day.Â
This is the thing about the first few weeks postpartum that no one fully prepares you for: the way hours dissolve. Time no longer moves the way it used to. Itâs now measured in feeding intervals and nap windows and the small victories of a shower taken or a full cup of coffee consumed while itâs still warm. Whole hours go by before you even notice. Youâre always either exhausted or feeding Ji-na or watching her breathe like itâs the most important thing in the world, which it might be.Â
Jiyongâs parents arrive around noon. There is food, lots of it, neatly packed into containers that fill the fridge so that you and Jiyong don't have to worry about dinner for the rest of the week. His mother sits you down and feeds you seaweed soup and tells you how it helped her after Dami and then after Jiyong, and then she takes Ji-na so you can sit on the sofa and do absolutely nothing. Jiyong tolerates this for fifteen minutes, which is five minutes longer than last time, and then approaches his mother to take Ji-na back. Heâs rebuffed, and then he proceeds to pace around his mother for another ten minutes before his father eventually takes himby the arm and steers him to another room.Â
Ji-na gets her first proper bath with his motherâs guidance. The hospital had given you instructions for this moment, a pamphlet that Jiyong had immediately taken for his collection, but having someone show you in person is something you are very grateful for. Ji-na makes her feelings known with cries so loud that Jiyong abandons his father in the living room to stand behind you both with his hands locked behind his neck, the very vision of a man stressed beyond reason, as he does his best not to intervene.
âDo we have to do this now?â he asks. âIs this hurting her?â He paces behind you and his mother. âEomma, I thinkââ
âSheâs overstimulated,â his mother says without looking up from Ji-na. âNew sensations, new experience. Of course this is upsetting her. And youâre not helping hovering like this.â
âIâm just sayingââ
âJiyong! Watch and learn. Youâll need to do this yourself to help your wife,â his mother says and that makes Jiyong shut up. He moves to the side and watches, talking to Ji-na in a low, calming tone throughout the whole ordeal, and at some point her cries stop.Â
âIâm her favorite person,â he tells you and his mother.Â
Afterward, when Ji-na has been fed and wrapped and handed back to Jiyong, his father takes her. Jiyong sits beside you on the sofa and leans close to whisper.Â
âHow rude would it be to tell them to leave?â
âVery,â you say. âSo donât.â
You then watch him pull out his phone and type a message to his sister. You need to have another baby. PLEASE. New baby needs to exist by tomorrow if possible. I havenât been able to hold my baby today.
You press your lips together to keep yourself from laughing as you lean against his shoulder, watching his parents coo at Ji-na across the room.
********
You wake up to Ji-na whimpering.
âSorry.â Jiyong is already walking towards you. âSheâs hungry.âÂ
You push yourself upright on the sofa, still half asleep but your arms already reaching for her. You have one eye open. âYour parentsâŚ. Did they leave? Did I fall asleep while your parents were still here?â
âYeah,â he settles Ji-na in your arms. âI was given strict instructions not to wake you unless it was feeding time.â
âWere they offended? I didnât mean toââ
âNah,â he says, sitting beside you, his arm coming around your shoulder. âMom was glad you were relaxed enough to sleep. She left happy knowing she helped her daughter in law and grandchild today.â Ji-naâs whimpers quiet down the moment she latches. âFridge is full but she also made food for today. Want me to heat it up while my princess eats?â
My princess. You smile at that.Â
He nudges your shoulder with his, smiling too. âYah. Donât make fun. She is my princess.âÂ
âI didnât say anything,â you say. âAnd yes, please. Dinner sounds good.âÂ
He gets up and then pauses. âOh, by the way, I posted something.âÂ
âOh?â You look around, looking for your phone, before remembering you left it somewhere in the bedroom.Â
âHere,â he says, and hands you his before heading to the kitchen.Â
You settle Ji-na more comfortably in your left arm before opening the app, You navigate to his profile.Â
The thumbnail on the grid is small so you cannot see all the details clearly. Itâs compressed into its square, sitting alongside other squares, pictures of events and selfies and behind the scenes pictures of the tour that just ended. You tap it.Â
It fills the screen and then you see it.
It is a simple black and white photograph. Thereâs enough light that you know he took this earlier in the day, perhaps when you were taking a shower before his parents showed up. Itâs a close crop. Close enough that the whole frame is just hands.Â
His hand, large and familiar. The hand you know the way you know your own, the softness of it, the small rough patches he gets on his fingers when he spends long hours in his art studio. And there, on the back of it, the small tattoo. The smiley face. The one thatâs been there for years, the one youâve looked at across tables during dinner dates and when he holds your hand.Â
And beside it, just an inch or two away from his, Ji-naâs hand. Small with perfect skin, soft in the way only babies have.Â
Her whole hand is just barely the width of his thumb. And on the back of her hand, positioned with great precision over the exact spot where his tattoo is placed on his, is a small yellow sticker.Â
A smiley face.Â
Under the picture, in the caption section, six words and a hashtag.Â
The light of my whole universe. #matching
You look at the whole picture of it. At the fact he had thought of this, had found the sticker somewhere, had placed it deliberately so that it would match the placement of his tattoo, and had then taken this picture in the early morning to announce the birth of his daughter.Â
You read the caption again. The light of my whole universe. No name, no gender reveal. Just his hand and Ji-naâs hand, the smiley face tattoo and its small yellow mirror, and six words that tell you everything about who Kwon Jiyong is turning out to be as a dad.Â
You look down at Ji-na who is nursing with her eyes half-closed, her tiny hand resting flat against your chest, directly over your heart, and you wonder if she knows how loved she is. You hope she knows.Â
âI love you,â you say it in case she hears the words and understands them. âWe love you so much.â
Then you look at the phone again, because you are only human and curiosity sometimes wins, and you scroll down to the comments.Â
There are already thousands of them, some of them posted just seconds ago. You scroll slowly, reading:
_youngbae_: welcome to fatherhood, brother đÂ
famnation: THE SMILEY FACE STICKER I AM GOING TO NEED A MOMENT
kwonjinetwork: DAD REVEAL đ đ SO HAPPY FOR YOU
d_lable_official: Hyung! A bit late (like a year) but thank you so much for promoting my song. Stream #Universe
You laugh out loud at that one, loud enough that Ji-na startles slightly before settling again. âSorry, sorry,â you whisper before looking back at the phone. You see that Jiyong has already replied, also laughing at Daesungâs comment.Â
jiyongdaily_official: he put a sticker on his newbornâs hand to match his tattoo I have to go lie down on the floor
vipfam: No filters to kill my eyesight. Thatâs how you know this is serious!!Â
usergdbaby: I canât believe this is how he chose to reveal that he went and made a whole baby. We have two dads in BIGBANG now đĽ˛
damikwon_: Canât wait to hold my precious baby again. Tomorrow â¤ď¸
And underneath, Jiyongâs reply. xxxibgdrgn: đŤđŤ Wait a month or four. Need to hold my child for more than five minutes.Â
You snort.Â
dolgoraebap: this is the same man who refused to hold the parasol on zip daesung because taeyang and daesung were already holding it and he said he wonât do what everyone else does. he was just waiting to match with his baby đĽšÂ
fam4ever: The light of my whole universe. Gonna go cry now.Â
You scroll a little longer and you see comments from his friends, your family, and what must be thousands of people celebrating this new adventure Jiyong is now part of.Â
Jiyong comes back a few minutes later. âFood is almost ready. Want me to take her to theââ His phone buzzes on the cushion beside you where you left it. He picks it up. âânursery so you can eat?â He glances at it, just to check whoâs calling. Heâs been letting most calls go to voice mail these days. âWe canâŚ.âÂ
You look up from Ji-na when he trails off. Heâs staring at his phone.Â
âWhat is it?â you ask.
âItâs uhâŚâ He looks at you, then back at his phone, like heâs making sure. âItâs Seunghyun.âÂ
âPick up!â you tell him. âGo. Go on.âÂ
âDinnerââ
âForget dinner. Go. Talk to him.â
He walks towards the bedroom and you watch as he brings the phone to his ear, his voice soft as he speaks. You canât hear the words and you donât try to.
You know itâs been a long time since they last talked. Too long, perhaps. Itâs something that pains Jiyong in a way he rarely talks about. Youâve learned to notice it in the way he sometimes trails off when heâs talking about the early years, about the way he goes quiet sometimes when certain songs come on. You hope this is the first call of many.Â
After a while you get up, settle Ji-na against your shoulder, and go turn off the stove yourself. Then you come back to the sofa and sit with Ji-na the way you do multiple times a day, every day: watching her, talking to her, bringing your face close so she can study yours.
Thatâs how Jiyong finds you twenty minutes later.Â
He sits beside you and you notice that his eyes are red rimmed. âEverything okay?â you ask.
He smiles. âEverything is perfect.â He looks at Ji-na. âHe saw the picture and she now has another uncle who wants to meet her.âÂ
You look at him, and you notice his eyes are shiny in that way they get when there are tears heâs trying to hold back. âJiyong⌠thatâs wonderful.âÂ
 âHe said he couldnât miss this milestone.â He laughs softly. âHeâs also already appointed himself her art mentor.â
You smile and you donât ask for more than that. You know thereâs more that was said, twenty whole minutes of conversation, but you know Jiyong will tell you when heâs ready.
âLet me get dinner,â he says. He leans down to press a kiss to Ji-naâs forehead, then to your temple, and gets up to go to the kitchen.
You look down at Ji-na, milk drunk and already asleep, her small chest rising and falling with each soft breath, completely unaware of what sheâs just done.Â
âGood job, baby,â you whisper.Â
********
Later that night, Ji-na decides to cry her little lungs out.Â
Itâs not the crying that happens when heâs hungry or when she needs changing. This is something else, a sustained, inconsolable crying that started somewhere around nine at night and hasnât really stopped since.
You know because everyone told you, from your mother to Jiyonâs mother and the nurse at the hospital whoâd handed you the discharge papers, that this is completely normal. That there are times when babies cry and itâs difficult to understand why. That there is no amount of reading or preparing that gets you ready to witness this at one-fifty in the morning.
You know this, but it still doesnât make it easy.Â
In the last five hours, Ji-na has been fed three times, changed twice, once in a way that required a full outfit change and a brief crisis, and then was held by both of you in every position the internet had suggested. Sheâs been swaddled and unswaddled and re-swaddled when the absence of her blanket was met with contempt so strong she turned red from the effort. She has cried for what feels like the last five hours, but you know that in reality there were brief intermissions where she settled and you both got your hopes up before another whimper that quickly turned into crying extinguished them.Â
Nothing seems to be wrong. She has been fed. She is dry. She is warm. You had called the pediatricianâs after hours line around midnight, feeling slightly ashamed of needing to, and had been told in a calm voice that babies have these moments where they cry because theyâre still adjusting to the world. That this is normal, that youâre doing everything right.Â
Knowing that itâs normal does not make it less upsetting to hear. There is something about the sound of Ji-naâs crying that bypasses every rational thought and lands somewhere deep in your chest, and by two twenty-six you are standing in the nursery with Jiyong, Ji-na against his shoulder still crying, and you feel your own eyes beginning to sting.Â
Jiyong, looking just as upset, notices. âGo lie down,â he says.Â
You shake your head. âIâm fineââ
âYouâre not. Youâre still recovering.â He adjusts Ji-na, his hand moving in slow circles on her back. âThereâs no point in both of us being awake right now. Go to sleep. Iâll wake you up for feedings. Iâve got this.â
âJiyongââ
âSweetheart.â The word is quiet but firm. âIâve got her. Go. I want you to rest.â
You look at him, then at Ji-na. âOnly until a feeding,â you say. âAnd if anythingââ
âIâll come get you, I promise.â
You step closer and you kiss Ji-naâs cheek, then Jiyong, and you go to bed.Â
********
You are not asleep.Â
You lie down, which is the most you can do to comply with Jiyongâs request, and the bedroom is dark and your body is exhausted, but youâre still awake. Youâre holding the baby monitor you usually have on the nightstand. You told yourself you were going to check it once to make sure the picture was clear, so that you could see both of them properly in case Jiyong needed your help.Â
That was fifteen minutes ago.Â
The nursery in night vision is that sort of greenish tint but you can see everything clearly. You watch Jiyong as he paces around the room, Ji-na against his chest, one hand gently cupping the back of her head, his head bent slightly toward her as he whispers to her.Â
Sheâs still crying. You can hear it through both the monitor and through the open door.Â
You watch him unswaddle her only for Ji-na to make her feelings about this known with even louder, piercing cries. He swaddles her again and tries a different position, her head at his shoulder and his chin just touching the top of her head. She doesnât stop crying. He tries giving her a pacifier and she rejects it with furious contempt.
"Ok, I'm sorry. Bad idea, huh?" he whispers.
You watch him pace for a couple of minutes. Then he starts to sing. Itâs a lullaby, an actual childrenâs lullaby that you remember your mother singing to you when you were a child. Itâs something old and traditional, gentle and meant to soothe.Â
Ji-na cries through all of it.Â
He tries another one, something softer and slower. He walks and sings and pats her back, and when she continues to cry, you watch him wipe his free hand across his face. Not frustration. This emotion has never existed when it comes to Ji-na. He is feeling what you are feeling. There is anguish in knowing Ji-na is upset and not knowing how to fix it.
He tries a song from a popular childrenâs program next. You canât make out the words, but you recognize the rhythm from the many times you heard it while shopping for baby clothes. You watch and you know Jiyong performing a song from a toddlerâs television show at almost three in the morning is something you will remember for the rest of your life.Â
Ji-na, however, remains unmoved.Â
He walks, then sits in the rocking chair in the corner, then stands up to pace around the room again. At three fifteen, he stops in the middle of the room, Ji-na still crying in his arms, and he tips his head back briefly toward the ceiling. You sit up, intent on going back to the nursery to give him a break, to help.Â
But then he looks down at Ji-na again, adjusts her in his arms, and begins to rap.Â
You recognise the song immediately. Something from years ago. One of his own, and Seunghyunâs. Knock Out. Jiyongâs verse. His voice drops into that register he uses when heâs rapping, the one that belongs on stages and studios, and now, apparently, in Ji-naâs nursery.Â
The crying softens.Â
You smile.
Jiyong keeps going, finishing the whole song, as if heâs afraid that stopping early will undo this tiny miracle. When it ends, he starts the song again, this time he sings all of it, Seunghyunâs verse and his own.Â
The crying softens more until itâs just a few hitching breaths, the kind that come after a long crying session. Jiyong pauses when the song ends. And then he starts Doom Dada. He has fun with this one, moving a bit more now. Performing the song.Â
Ji-na makes a small sound and settles, her head turning toward his chest, a gesture youâve come to recognize as Ji-na feeling content enough to sleep. He continues, but his voice lowers, softens until itâs barely sound at all. He comes to a stop and just stands there, looking at her. Ji-na is not quite asleep yet, you can see it in the way her tiny hand curls against the fabric of his shirt, but she is quiet now.Â
Jiyong laughs, you hear the sound through the monitor. Soft. Delighted. You cannot see his face from this angle, but you know heâs smiling. You can hear it in his voice when he speaks again.Â
"You have excellent taste in music."
In the bedroom, you laugh softly. And you cry a little, too. Hormones and exhaustion, a combination that always seems to hit harder at night these days.
Through the monitor you watch as Jiyong starts moving again. "That first song, I performed it with your uncle Seunghyun. Want me to tell you about him?" You watch as he walks, Ji-na still awake but quiet and settled comfortably against his chest.Â
You lower the volume, just enough to make sure her crying will wake you up if needed, but low enough to make Jiyongâs voice a soft murmur. You give this conversation the privacy it deserves. This conversation belongs to them, to the father and his daughter and the uncle sheâll meet soon.
You put the monitor down on the nightstand and you close your eyes. You let the dark and the quiet settle over you.Â
In the nursery, Jiyong is smiling as he tells Ji-na stories about the days before he was G-Dragon and Seunghyin was T.O.P. Â
next>>
Have you guys seen that video of GD with the lamp and Soohyuk takinf it away? GD's reaction? That's him when someone takes Ji-na away from him. Here's the video. And here's the video of GD singing Doom Dada.
Tag list:
@daesungsleftnostril @hex-girls-stuff @bunnygirlgonewild @missleezylou @chocomintlatey
@nessas-archive @coffea-16 @itsonlyskye @aemrsy @idkkpop
@bearleez @jiyongsraven @bitchynightkitty @valkeryiexx @stacyyyystami
Might not be posted in this order. Honestly this is just to put a little pressure on myself to post more often.
Title:Â A Date For A Week [Part 1]
Summary: Jiyong is attending a wedding in France. His ex will be there, so he asks you, his best friend, to pretend to be his girlfriend for the week. To make his ex jealous? To show her he's moved on? You're not sure. The problem is this: you've been in love with him for the past four years.
Pairing:Â G-Dragon x f!Reader
Warnings: 18+, unrequited love (đ¤), multiple povs, rich people being rich.
Note:Â I'm laughing at the pictures I chose for this. Lee Soohyuk is not the ex. Or the fake date. But he's important to this story! So I'm including him.
Title:Â Serendipity [Part 2]
Summary:Â In Seoul for a work project, you unexpectantly meet G-Dragon. What begins as an instant connection slowly unfolds into something deeper before a misunderstanding threatens to pull you apart.
Pairing:Â G-Dragon x f!Reader
Warnings: 18+ (eventually), misunderstandings, angst, slow burn, mentions of past struggles, different povs (but focused on reader).
Note:Â I know absolutely nothing about art galleries and all that, but I tried my best. I chose to go with Min Hyo-rinâs real name and not her stage name because it makes sense for the story. This will be a slow burn kind of story so please be patient.
[Part 1 is here]
Title: Just A Little Closer ⥠[Oneshot sequel to the 3 part series]
Pairing:Â G-Dragon x f!Reader (established relationship)
Warnings:Â 18+!!! Basically just smut. Enjoy!
[Series starts here]
Title:Â It Feels Like Iâll Die Without You [Oneshort sequel]
Pairing:Â G-Dragon x f!Reader
Note:Â I'm just beginning to draft this one so haven't decided on the header pictures/title (if it's going to change or not). Will update once I have more of it.
[Oneshot prequel to this is here]
Title:Â Swag Check [Part 6]
Summary:
Pairing: G-Dragon x f!Reader (established relationship), but this focuses more on him as a father rather than the relationship.
Warning:
Note: This series will just be about him as a dad, so if thatâs not your thing you can always blacklist the tag -> #s: yellow is a happy color. Because this series is different from everything else Iâve written and plan to write, it has its own masterlist and tag list. If you want to be tagged for this series, please go here.
[Part 5 is here]
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
I just realized that since I started writing here (February) I only update with actual stories 3 times a month, with April getting 4 updates. I'm sorry I'm slow with updating đĽ˛I'm going to try and update faster this month.
My current problem is that I have so many things I want to write that I... haven't done anything. If that makes sense. I will try for an update later today though! đ¤
Hello! I absolutely LOVE your works đ After reading your toxic/asshole jiyong fic I couldn't stop thinking about it. You capture emotions so beautifully and so raw, it feels so human it took suck me in đ So im (asking) wondering if there are any plans for a part 2, I am an absolutely sucker for happy endings (somehow stories that have a bad/open ending always feel so incomplete to me! its almost like I have to see them happy for me to be happy đ) so I really REALLY! hope there will be a continuation. Thank you very much! Wishing you a great day! đđ
Hi! First of all, thank you for taking the time to write this! I always want the characters in the stories I write to sound like real people do, because it's easier for readers to connect/be there in the moment. Sometimes I even say the dialogue out loud while I'm writing to make sure it sounds good lol.
Little fun fact: This is actually the story that made me make a blog here. I just never post in the order I finish the stories.
As for how you feel about open endings... ME TOO. I'm actually not a fan of open endings haha. I HATE them. But I don't hate endings where no one is happy. If it's done well, I don't mind a story ending in misery.
I do understand wanting this particular story resolved though because I also feel the same way. I actually didn't intend for this story to have a second part when I started it, but I ended up adding a few details of their backstory that made me realize I could write a second part. Wasn't sure if I would, but then I couldn't stop thinking about these two messy people, so I've been trying to draft a second part whenever I have time. I have other stories to write, but I'm definitely coming back to this one! Thank you for reading the story! đŤ°
Anon who just sent a request, I hope you see this!
Could you give me a few more details, like a general idea of how you want this to go? If you dm me (I will not post your name), that'd be ideal as I have questions that could help me write what you want, but if you want to remain anonymous that's okay too! :)
I have another request in the works but I'll definitely do this!
Hi hi, just here to say you should seriously consider becoming a writer because oh my lord. Your writing fills my head with images! I'm not even into BigBang lmao no hate, I'm more of a 5th gen kpop listener, but someone sent me one of your fics and I'm here hooked đ
Hello! Haha, this is a huge compliment to me, so thank you for taking the time to send it <3 And to whoever sent you one of my fics: đ
You should give BIGBANG a try though. Come on 𦹠Just one song 𦹠You know you want to 𦹠Did my hypnotic powers work?
And I'm actually a writer :) In my native language (not English), but I am!
Pairing: G-Dragon x f!Reader (established relationship), but this focuses more on him as a father rather than the relationship.
Word Count: 3,771
Warnings:Â Baby is here!
Note:Â This series will just be about him as a dad, so if thatâs not your thing you can always blacklist the tag -> #s: yellow is a happy color. Because this series is different from everything else I've written and plan to write, it has its own masterlist and tag list. If you want to be tagged for this series, please go here.
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In hindsight, you probably should have realized you were in labor last night.
There had been some cramping, but you had chalked it up to Jiyong being in charge of dinner, a decision that had seemed reasonable at the time and less so by the time he had put a plate in front of you full of questionable contents. Youâd also been told that cramping late in the third trimester was normal, so youâd simply put it out of your mind and gone to sleep. Youâd woken up a few times during the night because of the cramps and back pain, but that had been happening for weeks, so you didnât think too much about it. Besides, your due date was still a couple of weeks away.Â
Despite the restless night, youâre up early and in the kitchen when Jiyong finds you half an hour later. His face is damp, probably from splashing cold water to wake himself up, but his hair is sticking up to the side. He shuffles towards you, grunts as a greeting, and wraps his arms around you from behind, his face tucked against your neck.Â
âWhy are you up if youâre still half asleep?â you ask.
He grunts again, face still pressed against your neck.Â
âGo back to sleep and come back when you feel human and have developed speech, please,â you tell him.
You feel him smile against your neck. Then he presses a kiss there and pulls back just enough to look over your shoulder.Â
âLooks good. But how about⌠we go back to bed and we cuddleââ
âNo.â you snort. âI know exactly what you mean by cuddle now. I want to have breakfast in the next half hour if possible.â
He laughs. âOkay, okay.â He puts a hand on your belly. âAll good?â
âYour child has been moving all night. Having a party in there it seems.âÂ
He smiles at that, and you watch him for a moment, the way his eyes go down to his hand, waiting. The baby obliges and Jiyongâs expression changes into that dopey smile he gets whenever he feels the baby move.Â
âThat smile on your face right nowâŚâ you say, one hand coming up to trace it with the pad of your thumb. âItâs really cute.â
He looks up, moves closer again. âOh? Cute enough to cuddle?â
You roll your eyes, hiding a smile. You mean to tell him no, absolutely not, when a full contraction hits at seven fourteen in the morning.Â
You know the time because the clock on the stove is right in front of you and your eyes go straight to it. The noise you make has Jiyong stepping back immediately, both hands raised. Â
âWhat did I do? Did I do somethingââ
You breathe through it, one hand on the counter, the other held out towards him in some gesture thatâs meant to say donât touch me but also donât go anywhere.
He stares at you. âIs thatââ
âYes.â
âRight now? Right now?â His eyes have gone very wide. âBut your due dateââ he stops. Looks at your belly, then up again at you. âAre you sure? Becauseââ
âJiyong,â you interrupt. âI think Iâve been in labor since last night.âÂ
âYou think?â The words come out at a slightly higher register than his normal speaking voice. âWhat do you mean you thinkââ He looks down at your belly. âOkay,â he breathes in and out. âOkay, weâre doing this. This is happening. Okay.â
And then he crouches down and holds his hands out in front of him.
You stare at him. âWhat are you doing?â
âThe babyââ he says.
You laugh because thereâs absolutely no way you cannot laugh at him right now. âJiyong⌠the bag. Go grab the bag so we can go to the hospital.âÂ
âThe bag. Yes,â He straightens up and is already moving. âThe bag. I know where the bag is.â
You turn off the stove. You make your way toward the main door to grab your jacket and your purse. You put your shoes on. You do all these things slowly, talking yourself through it, because you told yourself you would remain calm. And you manage to remain calm until another contraction comes and you have to lean against the wall and close your eyes and breathe. Forty seconds. When it passes, you think to yourself that you really should have paid more attention last night.Â
âThe bag, Jiyong!â
âComing!â
The hospital bag has been packed for three weeks.Â
You packed it together going through a checklist youâd found online, adding things, removing things, going back and forth on others. Jiyong had contributed suggestions that werenât on the list, including a framed photo of Iye and Zoa. You had tried not to laugh as you watched him tuck it carefully under the little set of clothes his mother had knitted for the baby. The bag has been in the same spot for three weeks: the bedroom closet, right side, on the floor, in front of everything else so that it cannot be missed.Â
You hear him in the kitchen. In the living room. Somewhere further in the penthouse.Â
Another contraction. You grit your teeth before you remind yourself to breathe, in and out, in and out, then you check the time, note the gap between the last one and this one, and you breathe again. You know this baby is coming soon. When it passes you straighten up from where you were leaning against the wall and call out: âDid you find it?â
âGot it!â
He comes running and stops in front of you. Heâs holding a reusable grocery bag.
You look at it. You look at him. âJiyong.â
âIâm ready. Letâs go. Jaeho is downstairs with the others. The carsââ
âWhy do you have a grocery bag?â
He looks down at it. âThereâsâit has snacks,â he says. âI put snacks in it. Rice crackers. Chocolates. Popsicles. Youâve been eating a lot of those lately, soâI also broughtââ
âWhere is the hospital bag?â
He looks at you. âOh.â A pause. âIâll be right back.â
âLeave the popsicles!â
He returns thirty seconds later with the hospital bag in one hand and the grocery bag still in the other. âLeft the popsicles like you said.â
You do not ask what else is in the grocery bag. What you want is to get to the hospital.
Jiyong walks beside you, holding both bags, and with one arm stretched out towards you like in the kitchen. Like heâs ready to catch the baby in case it drops right then and there. In the private garage below, Jaeho is already waiting. He opens the rear door as you approach, taking one look at the two of you: you, breathing like they told you in those classes you took, and walking slowly, and Jiyong, holding both bags and one arm extended, with the obvious energy of a man losing his mind, and is professional enough to keep a neutral expression.The other bodyguard bites his lip and looks away.Â
âIâm driving,â Jiyong says.Â
You donât argue. You get inside the car with his help and grab the bags from him before watching him walk around to get in the driverâs seat. The car pulls out of the private garage at seven twenty-five and joins the morning streets of Seoul. You watch the buildings pass. Slowly. As if you were sightseeing.Â
Another contraction arrives and you grip the front seat and breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. When it passes you check your phone and make a mental note of it.Â
âHow was that one?â he asks. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
âBad.â
âOkay,â he says. âIâll slow down.â
âOh my god, Jiyong. You cannotââ You stop. Breathe. âDrive faster.â
âOkay, okay, Iâm driving faster,â he says, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he leans forward.Â
He does not drive any faster.Â
Or at least, not as fast as youâd like him to, and when the next contraction happens, itâs significantly worse. You make a sound that, judging by Jiyongâs reaction, is alarming enough to cause him to slow down the car even more so.
âWhat happenedâare youâshould I stopââ
âJiyong.â You say through your teeth, before taking a breath. The contraction crests and you ride it out until the pain ebbs away so you can speak again. âI need you to listen to me carefully. If you donât let Jaeho drive this car, Iâm going to have the baby right here. Youâre going to have to help me deliver the baby in the backseat of your car. Do you understand what Iâm saying to you?â
He drives for a few more seconds. Then he pulls over on the side of the road..
The handover takes forty-five seconds and it happens with an efficiency that suggests Jaeho has been waiting for this moment since you left the garage. He says nothing, he simply gets out, gets in, adjusts the seat, and starts to drive. The second car follows.
Jiyong sits beside you and he takes your hand and kisses it. His hands are cold and clammy. âIâm sorry Iâm freaking out.â
âItâs okay,â you say, shifting to find a more comfortable position. There isnât one. âItâs kind of funny.â You laugh a little at the face he makes. âCome on, itâs a little funny. How many pamphlets did you read? How many hours spent online reading how to prepare for this moment? And look at you.â
He sulks for approximately three seconds, then goes back to worrying when you grimace. He doesnât speak as your hand closes around his with a grip that is probably painful as another contraction starts.
âBreathe,â he says,âIn and out. Iâve got you.â And then to Jaeho: âA little faster, please.â
You think Jaeho is extremely gracious for not pointing out Jiyong had been driving like a grandfather just moments ago.
âHow are you not freaking out?â Jiyong asks when the contraction passes.Â
âWho says Iâm not?â you ask. âBut Iâm keeping track of the contractions.â
âOh.â He realizes he hasnât. âI should have been doing that, Iâm sorryââ
âItâs fine,â you say and then redirect him before guilt can take root and have him spiral. âTell me what you brought in the grocery bag.â
Jiyong grabs the bag, opens it to peer inside. âRice crackers. Chocolates.â He pauses. âThe TV remote control.â You stare at him. âI grabbed it off the coffee table. I donât know why. I was moving fast.â
You let out a laugh. âIs that all?â
â...And a scented candle.â
********
You arrive at the hospital at seven forty-one.
Jiyong is out of the car the moment it stops and he comes around to your side with both bags, the hospital bag, and yes, the grocery bag, which is apparently going to make the entire journey to the inside of the hospital. He helps you get out of the car, and Jaeho comes around the back of the car carrying a duffel bag. Jiyong looks at it, then at Jaeho,Â
âA change of clothes for you,â Jaeho answers the unspoken question.Â
Itâs only then that you get a proper look at Jiyong. His hair is a mess, from sleep and from running his hands through it approximately nine times on the way here. Heâs wearing a Saint Laurent jacket, and underneath⌠mismatched pajamas. He looks down at himself like heâs just realizing what heâs wearing too.Â
âThank you,â he says to Jaeho, sounding genuinely grateful.
âYes, thank you,â you add. Then to Jiyong: âMy babyâs first impression of you cannot be that youâre a fashion disaster.â
âAish, now itâs not the time for jokes,â Jiyong says and with a hand at your back, he steers you toward the entrance.Â
You start walking because if you stand on this pavement for one more second youâre going to laugh and you cannot laugh right now because everything hurts. Jaeho takes both bags from Jiyong so he can focus on helping you.Â
What follows is, despite the pain and the fear, remarkably fast.Â
Not easy, you will never use that word for pregnancy labor and all that entails, but fast in a way that you are deeply grateful for because you know it could have been worse.Â
One moment youâre being ushered into a private room, Jiyong helping you change, and doing what he can to make you comfortable, which for Jiyong means putting up the framed photo of Iye and Zoa on the bedside table next to the scented candle. And the next moment the doctor comes, checks, looks at you and says: âItâs time.â
Jiyong holds your hand through it all, still in his Saint Laurent jacket and mismatched pajamas, and he tells you that he loves you over and over again, his lips on your temple and then on your hand. His voice is low and steady, and heâs calm right now, when it truly matters and that helps you focus as you follow the doctorâs instructions.Â
There is a moment, a single suspended moment as you move from one world to another, where everything goes still and quiet.Â
And then there is sound.Â
Small and enormous at once. A baby crying, and youâre laughing and crying at the same time, and beside you Jiyong making a sound that might also be a laugh or it might be a sob, but itâs definitely something thatâs been lodged in his chest since a Friday morning several months ago when a pregnancy test changed everything.
********
Sheâs swaddled in a hospital blanket with a small hat on when they place her on your chest for the first time.Â
You donât have words for what you feel, so you just hold her, this impossibly small person, and you feel the warmth of her and the weight of her, and the way she seems to be exactly the perfect size for the space in your arms. Like she was always meant to fill it.Â
Jiyong is close. His hand moves to your hair, then your shoulder, then hovers somewhere near the head of the baby without quite touching, like heâs still working up the courage to do so. Like heâs trying to comprehend what heâs seeing.
âHi,â you hear yourself say.Â
The baby blinks. Her eyes are dark and unfocused, and you know itâs too early to tell, everyone has said itâs hard to tell right away, but you look at her and you think: you look like your appa.Â
You laugh softly. Jiyongâs fingers come up to wipe the tears from your face.Â
âHi,â you say again. âMy tiny love.â
After, when the baby has had her first feeding, which is its own adventure, the nurse asks Jiyong if heâd like to hold her for skin to skin contact so you can rest. He nods before she finishes the sentence.Â
He sits in the chair theyâve pulled beside the bed, and you watch the nurse settle the baby against his chest, adjusting his arms, explaining how to hold her, and Jiyong is still and careful in a way that doesnât come naturally to him. He is, in most situations, someone who moves, who fills a room with his presence, who finds it impossible to share his thoughts without moving his hands. But right now he is very still and his hands are steady as he supports her small body and her small head with so much gentleness that it makes you want to cry.
The nurse steps back and checking that you are both good, she leaves the room to give you two a moment. The room is quiet as you watch Jiyong look at his daughter.
He takes his time looking at her. But as you watch him, you realize itâs not the look of someone cataloguing features or searching for resemblance or doing any of the things people say they do in these first moments. He is simply looking at her after imagining her for a very long time and realizing that the real thing has made every version he imagined pale in comparison.Â
His daughter looks back at him, or more like in the direction of him, with the tiniest of frowns on her face.
Jiyong exhales, like heâs finally allowing himself to breathe since this morning when the first contraction hit at seven fourteen.
âHi,â he says softly.Â
She shifts, a tiny movement, her fingers spreading against his chest.Â
âHello, Ji-na.âÂ
Her name in his voice, for the first time.Â
His jaw moves. He presses his lips together as he blinks rapidly, holding back his tears. Ji-na, for her part, makes a small sound and turns her face slightly toward the warmth of his chest. Something in Jiyongâs expression breaks apart completely. He smiles, lets out a soft laugh, and his expression fills with a tenderness so pure you donât think you have ever seen it on him before.Â
âMy Ji-na,â he says. âDo you like your name?â
********
When you were four months pregnant, Jiyong came to you one evening and said, âI have a short list of names we can go through.â
The short list was three pages, front and back, with additional names written in the margins in a different color, suggesting heâd checked these pages multiple times before deciding to show you.Â
You went through them together, marking each one as a maybe or no.
âHow about this one?â he asked, pointing with the pen. âOnyx.â
You looked at him.Â
âWhat?â he asked, immediately defensive. âItâs distinctive. Youâre not going to have four Onyxes in the same classroom, whichââ
âNo.â
âWhy?â he asked. âYou canât just say no without a reason.â
âWe are not naming our baby after a gemstone.â
âItâs also, technically, if you change the spelling, the English name of a Pokemon,â he said.Â
You stared at him for a long moment.
â...Okay, okay. We will not be naming our baby after a Pokemon.â He made a note, which you caught a glimpse of: vetoed unfairly. âWhat aboutââ
âWhatâs that one?â you asked, pointing with your own pen.
There was a name, near the bottom of the third page, written in red ink and circled.Â
Ji-na.
âAh.â He looked down at it too. âIt came to me one night and I kept thinking about it.â He traced the circle with his finger. âKwon Ji-na. It has a nice ring to it, doesnât it?â He smiled, a little self-conscious. âI mean, we donât even know the gender yet, butâŚâ
You looked at him, at the smile on his face, the way his finger traced the name on the paper.Â
âI love it,â you told him. âIf itâs a girl, I want this one.â
********
You keep watching him from the bed even as exhaustion creeps in.Â
You are so tired you feel it in your bones, and the lights are too bright, and there are things that will need to happen soon. Calls that need to be made to people who have been waiting for Ji-na too, your family, his family. Friends. But right now, in this room, there is only you and Jiyong and Ji-na resting on his chest. He barely blinks, as if just a fraction of a second of not looking at her is too much for him to handle.Â
He is talking to her in a low voice and you close your eyes and it reminds you of those conversations in the dark that he used to have when she was still in your belly. You only catch fragments.
ââwaited so long for you. A lifetimeâÂ
âballet? Piano? What do you wantâÂ
âZoa and Iye are waiting, youâre going to love them andâ
âyour grandmother is going to lose her mindâ
âaunt, your momâs sister, she is flying across the world for youââ
You donât interrupt. You just watch him, this person you know better than anyone, the one who highlighted pregnancy pamphlets and brought the TV remote control to the hospital in a panic, and you witness him melt completely because of someone who weighs barely four kilograms and has been in the world for under an hour.Â
His hand cups the back of her head. And when she makes another sound, neither happy nor unhappy, Jiyong answers it like it was a complete sentence, like heâs been learning her language for months and itâs only now that he gets to use it.Â
âI know,â he says softly. âI know. Iâm here.â
********
Later, when calls have been made and Ji-na has been fed again and is settled in the bassinet beside you, Jiyong sits on the edge of bed. He takes your hand and brings it to his mouth and holds it there for a moment with his eyes closed. Then he opens them.Â
âThank you,â he whispers. He presses another kiss to your knuckles. âThank you.â
You smile, then you pull him close, and he goes easily, fitting himself next to you on the bed. He looks at you, then leans forward to press a soft kiss to your lips.Â
âYou look like a mess,â you say when he rests his head on the pillow. âBut I probably donât look so great either.â
He shakes his head. âYou look beautiful.â His smile turns mischievous. âIâd call you a MILF butââ
âUgh. You had to ruin the moment!â you say, fighting back a smile. âHow long have you been saving that line?â
âNine months,â he says without an ounce of remorse.Â
âTsk⌠bring me the grocery bag. I want snacks. I didnât even get to have breakfast.âÂ
He gets up and when he brings over the grocery bag, he sits down and pulls out the rice crackers. Then he pulls out the TV remote control, and he holds it up, and you both look at it, then at each other. You both start laughing and shushing each other at the same time, with the slightly hysterical edge of two people just coming down from an adrenaline-packed morning.Â
And then, still laughing, Jiyong leans down and rests his head against your chest, and a moment later you realize his shoulders are shaking not from laughter but because heâs crying.Â
âIâm a dad,â he says. âIâm a dad for real.âÂ
You laugh a little, your own eyes filling with tears. You look over at the bassinet, at Ji-na who is sleeping, who doesnât know yet how lucky she is to have a father who has waited, a lifetime he said, for her.Â
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I'm hooked on your Yellow Is A Happy Color series. It's so precious đĽšđĽšDo you know when you'll be updating? I don't mean to pressure you!!! But I seriously check your blog first thing in the morning for an update đŤŁ
It's no pressure! I love knowing people are excited about this series :) I wish I could say I'll be updating tomorrow, but I'm not sure if I'll finish on time. I have so many chapters already done, but I'm proofreading/editing as I post and that often ends with me adding another thousand words/rewriting entire paragraphs. Not to mention I got distracted drafting another series.
I'll try to finish though! You checking every morning is so sweet. Makes me want to post something so there's something waiting for you <3
GURL. THE WHIPLASH I JUST HAD READING YOUR GDAD FICS AND THEN 'IT FEELS LIKE I'LL DIE WITH YOU' I LITERALLY WENT FROM â¸(ď˝ĄË áľ Ë )â¸âĄ to (â _ â )
Ha! Don't worry, I'm a girlie!
But omg hahah I can imagine the whiplash. I actually started writing the Yellow Is A Happy Color series after writing "It Feels Like I'll Die Without You". I needed something cute after that mess, but I started posting YIAHC first. Thanks for reading!
Title: It Feels Like I'll Die Without You
Summary: You know this is wrong. You've known it for two years. You tell yourself this is the last time you will meet Jiyong.
Pairing: G-Dragon x f!Reader
Word Count: 9,714
Warnings: đŠđŠđŠPLEASE READ đŠđŠđŠ 18+ Explicit sexual content. Rough sex. Toxic relationship between Jiyong and reader. Infidelity (reader has a bf). There is also a brief physical altercation between Jiyong and reader (she slaps/scratches him, he shoves her).
Note: Please heed the warnings! This was inspired by GD's Bonamana. I tried my best to portray a toxic relationship between two people that should have let go a long time ago and didn't and now they're hurting each other. Do they still love each other? Was it even love? I think so. BUT PLEASE BE AWARE OF THE WARNINGS, especially the last one. It's brief, but it's there. Thanks for reading!
The kitchen smells like garlic and sesame oil. Thereâs music playing, some random playlist youâd put on with the kind of soft music that exists mostly to serve as background noise. Youâre cooking japchae, one of Minjunâs favorite dishes, while he sits at the kitchen island, laptop open.Â
Every now and then he looks up and says, come here, look at this one, and you go and he shows you an apartment or a house. You notice, the third time he calls you, that the house you liked is already pinned. You hadnât even told him to consider it, you had just spent more time looking at it, at the big garden that youâd imagined yourself spending time in. With a big garden like that, I could grow tomatoes. Maybe some cucumbers. Perilla leaves, since you eat so many of them. Youâd said it laughing a little, just throwing it out there. Just saying it. Heâd pinned the listing anyway. Because he saw you imagining a life there.Â
âYou sure you donât want any help?â Minjun asks when you return to the stove.Â
âNope. Iâm good,â you say. âIf you help, youâll just end up distracting me.â
He laughs. âMaybe thatâs what I want.â
You point a carrot at him. âDonât get any ideas.âÂ
He smiles and returns his attention back to the screen. You go back to blanching the spinach, then move to cooking the carrots. You know the best way to cook this dish is to prepare each element separately. That way everything is cooked perfectly and each ingredient keeps its color.Â
It is, in every way you can think of, a perfectly ordinary evening. You have come to appreciate the ordinary. The peace that comes from quiet evenings that follow a certain routine.Â
You are reaching for the wooden spoon when your phone lights up on the counter with a new notification. You see the name before the phone goes dark again. Grabbing the spoon, you stir the contents in the pan. You stop yourself from picking up the phone. Â
Itâs nothing, you think. It must be one of his usual texts: a link to something heâs been listening to, a meme, a picture of something with no explanation. You see these messages for what they really are. A way to still be a presence in your life, of keeping a door open between you. Youâve gotten good at not responding to these messages. At keeping that door halfway closed.
Minjun calls you over again and you go. He shows you another house with a bigger garden, and you know heâs watching you, you know heâs waiting for you to get excited about it, to list all the things you could grow there. But your mind is somewhere else already and you can only smile and say Itâs good. Do you like it?
He talks as you go back to the stove. Heâs telling you this one isnât as close to his work as the last one, but that itâs close to cultural spots, that itâd be perfect for you and your work. You know heâs thinking of you, of your comfort, of making sure this change is a happy one for you. You smile at him and you think to yourself: See? This is what you have.Â
Then the phone lights up again.Â
This time you pick it up. You know how it goes sometimes when you donât answer his texts. Sometimes he calls. And you donât want him to call right now. You look up at Minjun, heâs focused on the screen.Â
You look down and read the two messages heâs sent.Â
Hey.
I need you.Â
Not How are you? Are you busy? Not even I need to see you. Just this: I need you. Which is worse somehow because you know what he wants. What heâs asking for.Â
âIs everything okay?â Minjun asks.Â
âYes,â you say. âItâs a work thing.â
You turn away slightly, not enough to be suspicious, and you read the two messages again. You think about all the reasonable things you could do. You could ignore it. You could turn off your phone. You could simply silence it and go back to making dinner so that you can sit across from Minjun to eat, have a bottle of wine, and then watch a movie. Go to bed. Make love.Â
You could block the number, which is something you had told yourself you were going to do the last time this happened.Â
You type back: I canât tonight.Â
You mean to leave the phone on the counter, to go back to the stove, but his response comes just a few seconds later.Â
Please.Â
Just one word. Thatâs all it takes.Â
You feel your pussy clench, like some pavlovian response to his texts, because your body knows where they lead to. Itâs humiliating, to realize your body is used to it. It makes you think about the last time, which you had told yourself was the last time, and the time before that. You think about the way youâd driven home afterward and promised yourself, out loud in the car where no one could hear you, that you were done. No more, youâd said. You were going to let whatever this was finally finish dying the way it had been trying to die for two years.Â
Dinner is almost ready when you tell Minjun that something has come up.Â
The words are out before you can stop them. You hear yourself explaining, the lies coming out so easily it is actually concerning. Thereâs something at work, a thing you need to look over, you are sorry. You tell him that if he wants, you will call and say you canât make it. You hear yourself say this knowing full well he wonât ask this of you because Minjun has always been an understanding person. It is one of the things you loved first about him. It is also one of the things that makes this moment so difficult.Â
âAt this hour?â he asks.Â
âI know,â you say. You know heâs not asking that because he doesnât believe you. Heâs asking out of concern for you, at the fact youâre being asked to work so late. You reach for your jacket thatâs hanging on the back of the chair. âI shouldnât be long, but you should eat. Donât wait for me.â
Heâs looking at you in a way that 's simply attentive. Heâs trying to read whether you are stressed, whether you need something from him. You recognize the look because heâs always been open, with his thoughts, with his feelings, never guarding anything. Not likeâ
âWant me to drive you?â Minjun asks.Â
âNo, no, itâs fine. You worked all day today. Just rest.â You walk around the kitchen island to stand in front of him. âIâm sorry about dinner.â
âDonât worry about dinner,â he says. You know he means it. There is no anger, no annoyance, no disappointment. He kisses you and you let him. âDrive safe.â
âI will,â you say.Â
You pick up your keys and your purse and you walk out of your own apartment thinking: this is the last time.Â
You hold on to that thought as you drive. You let the anger inside you fester, you let it go in every direction.Â
First: Jiyong. You let yourself feel anger because he texted you when you had told him the last time, standing in his penthouse, getting dressed, and not looking at him, that you were not going to come if he texted you again. That you were done with this. So now youâre angry because heâs done it anyway. Youâre angry because once again heâs shown an inability to leave you alone. Youâre angry because he said please knowing what it would do to you.Â
Then: yourself. The anger you feel toward yourself has always been stronger, more corrosive, because you know you could have put a stop to this a long time ago. You hadnât blocked his number two years ago when it all had ended. Not when he texted you more than half a year later. Not the month after that. Or at any other time you told yourself you would. You have allowed this to happen. This is not an easy thing to acknowledge. This is the last time, you think. And then you think about how youâve said that before. You have said it and believed it, each time. This is, perhaps, the part that unsettles you most. The fact that each time you resolve to stop, you fully meant it. And yet, it takes one text each time for you to go back.Â
And then: Minjun. You are not proud of the anger you feel at him. You know how unfair it is, but you feel it anyway. He hadnât pushed. At this hour? and then nothing, just Drive safe, and youâre angry at him for this, knowing itâs completely irrational. He is too understanding, you think suddenly, one of the things you first loved about him turning into an inconvenience. He believes you too easily. Heâd let you walk out, didnât think to stop you, didnât ask you to cancel this work thing, and now youâre on the highway driving towards Jiyongâs penthouse.Â
But you know nothing about this is his fault. Itâs yours. His only mistake is that he trusts you completely, in a way you donât deserve.Â
This is the last time. Youâve said it before and you meant it each time, but now you truly believe it. Thereâs something you need to tell Jiyong, something that will make this final. Â
You let the anger settle into something cold, something you try to wear as armor as you pull into the private garage of his building. The doorman greets you with a respectful nod and doesnât ask for identification. You have arrived at all kinds of odd hours enough times that your face is simply expected now. This is a fact you try to ignore, just like the shame you feel every time he watches you leave this building.Â
The elevator requires a code for the penthouse floor. You look at the keypad for a moment. You wonder, the way you wondered last time and the time before that, whether heâs changed it. You press the numbers.Â
03120420
The keypad accepts them. The doors close and the elevator begins to rise. You try not to think about the code. Youâve wondered before if he keeps those numbers so you remember. So that it causes you pain.Â
Heâd been kissing the side of your face, down your jaw. You felt warm. Loved. Happy.Â
âYou smell like me,â heâd said.Â
You were wearing his shirt under your jacket. You hadnât been able to find your blouse, not even after ten minutes of the two of you laughing while you searched his place, genuinely baffled as to where it had ended up.Â
Youâd tried to hide your face against his neck.
âShy? Now?â He was smiling. âBecause an hour agoââ
âJiyong!â
Heâd laughed softly and held you closer.Â
It was in the lobby that the security staff had approached. Theyâd explained, professionally, that the floor codes were rotated every few months as standard procedure, but that residents could request to keep their current one. Jiyong had said he wanted to change it. So youâd stood beside him, his shoulder warm against yours, and watched him type in the new code.Â
03120420
After the staff left, youâd turn to him. âYou donât want to write it down? Youâll forget.â
He smiled and shook his head. âNever.â
Youâd open your mouth to ask what the numbers meant, but then you stopped. They were dates, youâd realized. March 12th. And today, April 20th. The day heâd asked you to be his girlfriend. And today, the first time youâdâ
âJiyong!â Your voice came out high, embarrassed. âOh my god. Change it! Are you insane?â
Heâd already been laughing, had started laughing the moment he saw the realization cross your face. You felt yourself blushing.Â
âYouâre cute,â heâd said.Â
âChange it right now orâ!â
âNo.â Heâd pulled you close again. âI need numbers Iâll always remember.âÂ
And ever since that evening, every few months when security staff came with their politely worded reminder, he had chosen to keep it. For more than three years, he had kept it.Â
The elevator opens to the private foyer and the door to the penthouse is already open. He must have heard the elevator, or seen it on the security panel mounted near the entrance. Or perhaps, you think, and the thought stings, because he knew youâd come. You always do.Â
You take off your shoes in the entry way and slide on a pair of guest slippers before walking inside. Jiyong is standing in the main room. White t-shirt, dark jeans, bare feet. His hair is damp, recently showered. The penthouse is dim, most of the light coming from the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the far wall, Seoul spread out beyond the glass in all its late night brightness, the Han Riven threading through it like a dark ribbon.Â
You remember standing by that window once, his arms around you from behind, his lips near your ear as he whisperedâ
âAre you just going to stand there?â he asks, now in the present, cutting through the memory.Â
You donât move from your spot. You still have your jacket on, your purse still hanging from your shoulder. "What was so urgent?"Â
âI just needed to see you,â he says.Â
âWhat for?â you ask.Â
He doesnât answer. You hold his gaze for a moment, then you look away. You look around and find an empty glass on the console table, another on the coffee table behind him, something amber, mostly finished. A couple of small food containers beside it, half-eaten. The television is off, but thereâs music playing from somewhere, something slow. His jacket is thrown over the back of the couch. Thereâs enough disarray that you know heâs been restless for hours and has tried to manage it alone, which is something you recognize because youâve seen it before.Â
âHow long have you been drinking?â you ask.Â
âIâm not drunk.â
âI didnât ask if you were drunk,â you say.Â
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, like heâs amused. âA few hours,â he says. âIâm fine.âÂ
You look at him and you think: no, youâre not. You think it with the sort of knowledge that comes from knowing him, how he gets during these destructive episodes of his. Heâs strung out in a way that has nothing to do with the drinks heâs obviously had. Thereâs a tension in him that heâs wearing through the casualness of his posture, visible if you know where to look. Around his eyes. The way heâs holding his shoulders. He looks exhausted in a way that sleep wonât fix.
You know his schedule. You shouldnât, not anymore, and sometimes itâs not like you go looking for it, but itâs hard to escape it when his face is plastered all over billboards and every bit of news mentions his name or the band in some way or another. You know they have a few days in Seoul before Japan. The MADE tourâs shadow is still behind them, and now theyâre doing this 10th year anniversary tour that carries its own expectations and pressure to perform on stage and in front of cameras. You know Seunghyunâs military service is coming. You know Jiyong has his solo tour next, then the last stretch with the other three before his own enlistment. That is a particular clock ticking in the background that youâve tried hard not to think about. Â
You know all this and he has never once, not tonight or in any of the nights that came before this, asked you a single thing about your life.Â
Not about your work, not about where youâve been, not about who youâve become in the two years since the relationship ended. He only reaches out to you when he needs you. You have thought about this before. You are thinking about it now, still standing in his entryway with your jacket and purse still on.Â
âI was cooking dinner,â you say. âI had dinner plans with Minjun.â
âThereâs food here,â he gestures toward the containers on the coffee table. âOr we can order something.â
He does this too. He hears Minjunâs name and just steps around it, like he never heard the word. He has never asked about him, who he is, what he does. The only reason Jiyong knows he exists at all is because you told him last year. I have a boyfriend now, I canât keep doing this. Heâd only looked at you for a long moment and then said: are you staying? You had stayed.
âI had plans and you texted,â you say. âWhy?âÂ
âI already told you. I needed to see you,â he says. And then, âThe plans couldnât have been that important. Youâre here.â
Minjun is not important, because look. Youâre here.
You hear it clearly. You turn back toward the door, ready to leave.Â
âWait, wait, fuck. Sorry,â he says. The apology stops you because itâs a first, and because it sounds like he means it. You turn to look at him. âCan you justâLetâs have a drink. It can be coffee or whatever. JustâŚ.â
Youâve tried this before, in the beginning. When he first texted, you had come with the idea you could be civil, that you could recover something from the wreckage. A friendship, at least, because you two had been good friends once. You knew it wouldnât be easy, but youâd tried. Youâd sat with him, a drink in hand, and youâd tried. You know where it leads now. You want to tell him you canât just sit with him. You canât be any of the things he seems to need. Not a friend. Not a lover.Â
âYou look terrible,â you say instead.Â
He laughs softly. âWell, thank you.â
âI mean it,â you say. âWhen did you last sleep properly?â
âDefine properly.â
âJiyong.â
âI sleep,â he says. âOn the plane. Between rehearsals. During car rides.â The way he says this tells you he doesnât register it as a problem. âAre you sure you donât want a drink?â
âNo.â
He watches you for a moment. âYouâre not staying?â
You donât answer, which is a problem, because the answer should have been an immediate no, and he of course knows it.
He crosses the room and stops in front you, close enough that you can smell him. Something warm and familiar, his perfume underneath the faint trace of alcohol. He doesnât reach for you yet, he just stands there and looks at you and you look back. You think about your apartment, your kitchen, the man you left looking up houses for the two of you to move into together.Â
Say it, you think. Tell him what you came here to say and then leave.Â
âIâve missed you,â he says, quietly. Honestly.Â
Youâve heard him say things for effect, have watched him be sweet and magnetic and deliberately, skillfully charming. You know what that looks like on him. This isnât that. This is just him, at the end of a long day telling you something real. You hate him for it.Â
âJiyongââ
âI know what youâre going to say. I know, okay?â He reaches up then, his hand finding the strap of your purse on your shoulder. He doesnât take it, he just leaves his hand there. âI wasnât going to text you. I sat here, thinking about it for three hours before I did.â
âThen you knowââ
âStay,â he says. âJustâStay for a while.â
The city glitters behind him through all that glass. You think about the drive over, the decision that this time would be different. You then think about how many times youâve stood here, different versions of the same moment, and how it has always, without exception, gone the same way. You donât move.
âStay,â he says again, softer this time.
His hand on your shoulder is warm through your jacket. You think about stepping back. You see it in your mind: one step to create distance, then you say what you came here to say, you make him understand why this is the last time. You know thatâs what needs to be done. The gap between knowing and doing it has been the problem all along.Â
âYou look tired,â you say, because itâs true and because itâs easier to say than other things. Up close like this, the exhaustion is more obvious than when he was across the room. Itâs his schedule, all the pressure. You know what the version of Jiyong that the world gets costs the version standing in front of you now.
âI am tired.â
âThen sleep, Jiyong.âÂ
âI canât sleep,â he says. âI havenât been able to sinceâThereâs too much noise in my head. Thatâs why I needed to see you. You always know when somethingâs wrong. I donât have to explain anything to you. You justâYou help quiet my mind.â
You think about telling him that this isnât the comfort he thinks it is. Knowing him well has come at a cost, and his words only make you feel pathetic, to know heâs learned that he only has to text and youâll come. Like some service he only has to order. You donât say any of it. You suddenly feel very tired.Â
âI canât keep doing this,â you say instead. You hear the weakness in your voice and it humiliates you a little. You, who drove here so angry, who had it so clear in the car, who had the words lined up and ready.
His hand finally moves, this time it lifts the strap of your purse off your shoulder. He sets it down on the console table beside you. Then his fingers find the lapel of your jacket and he pauses for a second, like heâs waiting, giving the opportunity to stop him.Â
You donât stop him. Â
He pushes the jacket back off your shoulders and you let him. When itâs gone you feel strangely vulnerable, exposed. The jacket and purse youâd kept on as if to say Iâm only here for a moment, Iâm not staying is now somewhere on the floor behind you. All that cold resolve from the drive. Gone.Â
âStay,â he says for the third time. And then, almost a whisper: âPlease.â
His mouth finds your jaw, your temple, the soft spot below your ear that makes you shiver, and you close your eyes.Â
You think about your car parked downstairs in the private garage, about the doorman who knows your face and barely meets your eyes anymore, who can probably guess what happens between your arriving and your leaving a few hours later. You think about your apartment and the smell of the dinner you didnât get to eat and the man who told you to drive safe. You think about the excuse you gave him and the ease with which the lie came.Â
You think about the last time you said this was the last time and the time before that.Â
And then you think about how his hands feel warm and familiar, and how this part has always felt, underneath everything, underneath the history and the damage, like something true. Despite all the lies told to get here, once youâre here, once his hands are on you, this feels like relief. Youâve realized long before tonight, that this is part of why you keep coming back, and also why itâs a problem. The fact that itâs so addictive has already cost you so much.Â
Later the relief will turn into shame. Later youâll go to your apartment and eventually into your new life in another country with a man who has never given you a reason to lie to him. Youâll carry the shame like youâve carried the guilt.Â
But right now, you stop thinking.Â
You stop thinking and you let yourself have this. That is the only honest way to put it: you let yourself. No one is forcing you. You have never been passive in this, not once. The wanting has always been mutual and the choice to come here has always been yours.Â
His hands know you, which is what undoes the last of your resistance. Thereâs no fumbling, no uncertainty, not the awkward navigation of someone learning what you like. He just knows and so you let him take you to his bedroom where he finishes undressing you before pushing you back onto the bed.
He makes you come twice with his mouth and his fingers. He doesnât draw this part out, he does all the things that get you off fast. His mouth over your clit, his fingers inside you, curled and steady as he fucks you with them. When he finally crawls over you, you pull him down to lick his lips, tasting yourself on them, before opening your mouth for a kiss.Â
Your hands go to his clothes next, quickly pulling off his shirt before going to his belt. Then the button, the zipper, your eyes on him as you pull his jeans and boxers down, letting him help you. Finally undressed you push him back and he goes easily, pulling a pillow under his head so he can watch as you move down his body.Â
You lick a trail down, your tongue tracing the tattoo on his side and then the two small xâs tattooed around his belly button. Heâs breathing hard even before you take his cock in your hand and you look up and hold his gaze. You let your cheek brush against the side of his cock, feeling the heat, the weight of him against your skin. He makes a sound, a choked exhale. Youâve missed this, you realize. His body. His smell, how warm he is.Â
You turn your head and place your lips against the base, just a soft closed mouthed kiss. Then you trace upwards with your mouth, lips slightly parted along the length, until you get to the head of his cock. Still meeting his eyes, you open your mouth and take him inside. Your tongue flattens against the underside, applying more pleasure at the head of his cock, where he is most sensitive. You let saliva gather, wetting him thoroughly, making the glide easier, and because Jiyong has always liked this to be messy.Â
You take him deeper, your lips stretching to accommodate his girth, and then you begin to move. You focus on the rhythm, the in and out motion, varying the pressure on each retreat, sucking firmly, then relaxing so that your mouth is just a soft, wet sheath. You keep one hand on his lower belly, the other gripping the base of his cock, your thumb stroking the sensitive skin there.Â
His breathing becomes ragged, his hips twitch, a tiny involuntary thrust. You take it, you allow him that little bit of control. When you look up at him, his eyes are locked on yours. Still looking at him, you pull back until just the tip of his cock rests in your mouth. You suckle at it, your tongue flicking over the slit. He groans, head falling back for a moment before he forces to keep looking at you.Â
You dive down again, taking him as far as you can until your nose is pressed into the skin of his lower abdomen. You hold him there, letting the stretch of your jaw, the press of him against the back of your throat, become the only thing you can think about. You retreat, almost completely, before taking him all the way inside your mouth once more. You set a faster pace now, the wet, obscene sounds filling the room. Despite coming twice already, your own pleasure rises. Itâs the power of this act, the way you can unravel him with your mouth, the way he tries and fails to keep still.Â
When he pushes his hips up and holds the back of your head to keep you still, you let him. He pushes hard against the back of your throat and you moan until your eyes water and he finally lets you go. You tighten your lips as you pull back, the suction pulling a ragged cry from his mouth.
You bob your head, keep the head of his cock in your mouth, intent on letting him finish, but with his fingers tangled in your hair he pushes you back. âStopâfuck.,â he says, his voice rough.Â
You release home with a soft, wet pop. âYou donât want to come in my mouth?â
He groans, closes his eyes for a second, then opens his eyes. His hand is gentle on your hair. âI want to fuck you.âÂ
You kiss his thigh, a damp open mouthed kiss, before moving to straddle him. You shift, reaching over to the bedside table to get a condom.Â
He grabs your hand. âCan weâwithout?âÂ
You pause and stare at him.Â
âYouâre on the pill, right?â he asks. You nod. âPlease. I miss you. I want to feel you.âÂ
You are hopelessly defenseless to Jiyong looking at you like this, saying please, wanting something you crave as well.Â
You wrap one hand around his length and then you lift yourself enough to guide him. Your pussy is swollen, glistening, still wet that when the broad head of his cock nudges against your entrance, it meets no resistance, only a silken, welcoming heat. You sink down, slowly, inch by inch, as you watch his face. Your lips part on a shaky exhale, your head falling back at the sensation. You can feel your inner walls stretching to accommodate him, your pussy clutching his cock tightly.
His hands move to your breasts, his fingers toying with your nipples, pinching you gently. The pleasure-pain has you clenching around him.Â
âJiyong,â you gasp.Â
And then you begin to move. A shameless, hungry rocking that is all for your own pleasure. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth slightly open, each breathy exhale a testament to the sensation of having him inside you again. He lets you set the pace, his hands roaming your body, first holding the curve of your waist, then resting on your thighs to feel your movements, before grabbing your ass.Â
Minutes pass in a haze of wet sounds and stifled groans. You can feel yourself getting close again, the pressure beginning to coil low and urgent.Â
âLet me watch,â he moans.Â
You know what he wants. You shift your weight back, planting your feet flat on the bed, bracing yourself on your arms behind you. The new angle makes his breathing falter because like this, he can see everything.Â
Like this, he can see where your bodies are joined. The way your slick folds part around his cock with each slow downward grind. The way your juices have his cock glistening in the low light. Jiyong has always loved how wet you get, the mess that sex can be, messy and loud, and so, so good. The angle drives him deeper. You lose yourself in it, in the slick drag and the way he fills you with his cock with each movement, the way the head of his cock keeps dragging over a spot inside you that has you moaning with every thrust.Â
Your control breaks when a particular thrust hits that spot with enough precision and just the perfect amount of pressure that you let out a loud cry. âYeah,â you moan. âRight there. Fuck meâJust like thatââ
His hands are on your thighs, his eyes between your legs where heâs fucking you, and you feel your inner muscles begin to flutter, a frantic rhythmic pulsing around his cock. Youâre close. âTouch me,â you tell him.
Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he wets it thoroughly, his eyes never leaving where your bodies are joined. Then he brings his thumb to your clit and begins to circle it with firm, insistent pressure.Â
âOh, fuck!â Your hips stutter, losing their rhythm, becoming frantic jerking motions as you chase your orgasm.Â
âThatâs it,â he says, watching your face now. âFuck yourself on my cock.â
Your cries grow louder, uninhibited, as you do exactly that. You know what you must look like, coming apart above him as you work yourself on his cock with mindless abandon. But there is no shame, there are no thoughts about why this is wrong, there is only the mind numbing pleasure he gives you. The way his cock feels as it plunges into your wet, gripping heat.Â
A powerful, shuddering contraction seizes you, so tight itâs almost painful, and then youâre coming. Your pussy clamps down on him, a series of hard, rhythmic pulses that have him cursing under you, one hand between your legs, the other holding you steady as you keep moving. You shift to your earlier position and you keep moving, riding him through the aftershocks, prolonging your orgasm with every grind of your hips.Â
He groans your name and then he thrusts up into you, once, twice, and then he buries himself to the hilt as he comes. Heat floods you as his cock pulses, and you open your eyes to watch him. The sensation of him coming inside you makes you moan and you clench your pussy around him, over and over again, knowing what it does to him, wanting to feel every pulse of it.
âFuck, fuck, fuck.â He has his head thrown back, his eyes closed, completely lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.Â
You rotate your hips, you clamp down on him on every grind, milking every last drop of cum from him until his whole body shudders beneath you. He says your name and finally stills.Â
You shift a little, full of cum, utterly content, and you let yourself collapse forward, your sweat slick body plastered against his chest and your head tucked under his chin. For those blissful moments, you simply listen to the frantic hammering of his heart under your ear, a perfect echo of your own.Â
For a few moments you lie there, his arm around you, and you simply forget.Â
And then he moves his hand to the back of your head, tilts your face up towards his, and he lowers his mouth towards yours. Itâs then the spell breaks. Clean and sudden as a switch. The warmth drains out of the room so fast it makes you shiver.
You move first.Â
You sit up to find your things. The guilt arrives even before you pick up the first piece of clothing. You think of your boyfriendâs face when he said drive safe, the trust in his eyes as you added another lie to the mountain of lies youâve told him. The dinner on the stove. The houses on the laptop he was showing you. You think of all that and how you are here, in this room, putting your clothes on, because youâve been here doing what you said you wouldnât do.Â
You finish dressing. You donât look at Jiyong. You hear the nightstand drawer, then the click of a lighter.Â
When you do look, heâs exactly as you knew heâd be. Heâs sitting up against the headboard, one knee bent, cigarette between his fingers, watching you with an expression you canât quite decipher. The smoke curls up toward the ceiling and he tracks you with his eyes and says nothing. Something about the way heâs watching you without saying anything unsettles you and you turn away.Â
âThis was the last time,â you say.Â
He exhales smoke.Â
âYouâve said that before,â he replies.Â
The tone makes you bristle. Itâs not cruel, which probably makes it worse. Itâs just Jiyong making an observation. Youâve said this so many times that it has lost its capacity to surprise him. To pull any reaction from him. Itâs like he has filed your words away under things she says but doesnât really mean. It makes you feel like you have no real power here, in whatever this thing between you is.Â
Anger and humiliation move through you. You turn and look at him again. He meets your eyes as he takes another drag of the cigarette.Â
âI mean it this time,â you say.Â
He looks at you for a moment. Then he taps ash off the end of the cigarette. âOkay.â
The way he says it like whatever you say only anger you further. You know heâs only acting on what past history has taught him. Youâve stood in this very same bedroom multiple times telling him the same thing and yet youâre here. Just a few minutes ago he was inside you. Â
âThis was the last time, Jiyong,â you say it again. You realize youâre not repeating it to convince him, but because you need to hear yourself say it like you mean it. He only watches you through the smoke, but doesnât say anything.
You go to the ensuite and you quickly clean yourself as best as you can, all the while avoiding looking in the mirror. You donât want to see what you look like.Â
When you come out again, heâs up, having put on his jeans, shirtless, cigarette still in his hand. You donât say anything as you walk out of the bedroom into the expanse of the penthouse. You start moving toward the door, feeling him follow at a distance. You find your jacket on the floor and you pick it up. You retrieve your phone from one of the pockets and you check it with your back to him.Â
One message from your boyfriend. Sent thirty minutes ago.Â
Hope itâs not too bad. Let me know when youâre heading back.
You read it once and you stop yourself from crying. Putting your phone back in the pocket of your jacket, you put it on. You take a breath.Â
âI want you to stop texting me,â you say. Your back is still to him. âNo more calls. No moreââ you gesture at the air. âWhatever tonight was. It needs to stop.â
Heâs silent for a moment and then: âYou always say that too.â
You turn around.Â
Heâs leaning against a doorway, cigarette held loosely between two fingers. You look at him and you think about what youâve been carrying all evening like a stone in your pocket, something heavy and final, something a part of you didnât want to say, but that you knew it would be necessary for him to understand this is over.Â
âHe asked me to marry him,â you say.Â
Jiyong is still. He looks at you like youâve said something in a language he doesnât understand.Â
âWhen?â he asks.
âThree weeks ago.â
Something moves across his expression at your answer. He takes a drag of the cigarette and then, with the absolute certainty of someone who hasnât considered the alternative, he says: âAnd you said no, of course.â
You cannot blame him entirely for the assumption. Youâve come every time heâs texted, every time heâs called. Youâve kept that door open with your own hands. But it also angers you that he sees you as someone who apparently doesnât get to belong to someone else. Youâre just someone he calls when the noise gets too loud, when he wants to fuck. Youâre nothing more than some service he needs.Â
âI said yes,â you say.Â
The cigarette stops halfway to his mouth.Â
The expression that crosses his face is not something youâve seen on him before. Youâve seen Jiyong jealous before, it tends to run hot, and tends to express itself as something close to anger. This isnât that, or at least itâs more than that. He seems, you think, disoriented, like the ground has shifted beneath his feet. For a moment he just looks at you, then the expression disappears. Like heâs shut some door before he can show more of his feelings.Â
âCongratulations,â he says, the word coming out fat.
You turn away.Â
âI mean it.â He doesnât mean it. He pushes off the doorway, moves into the main room, and stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table. He picks up the glass with liquor in it and he drinks it. He doesnât look at you while he does this. âWhere did he propose? Somewhere nice, Iâm sure. Somewhere thoughtful.â Pure disdain drips on the last word. âHe seems like someone who does things properly.â
Something about his words donât sit right with you, but you canât quite pinpoint whatâs wrong until he speaks again.Â
âHis job is very boring, by the way.â
You stare at him.Â
âDid youâwhat the fuck, Jiyong. Did you have him investigated?â
He pours another glass. âYeah.â
âYou had my boyfriendââ
âFiance,â he corrects you.
ââinvestigated.â You feel yourself go hot with anger. âAre you out of your mind?â
âDonât worry,â he says. âHeâs squeaky clean. No record. Nothing that could embarrass you. Just very boring.â He drinks the whole content from the glass in one go. âSo what, likeââ he goes to pour another one. âYouâre moving in together now? Youâre going to be a proper little wife?â
Youâre angry and heâs being purposely mean. You almost donât give an answer. But then you do. âHe got a job offer abroad. Iâm going with him.â
Something tightens in his jaw. âAh, I see why you came here tonight.â
âWhatââ
The smile that appears on his face is one youâve never liked. âThe timeline, I get it now. Three weeks ago he asks you to marry him, you say yes, you agree to move abroadââ He gestures at the air, toward the bedroom. âAnd tonight youâre here. One last visit. Is he that boring in bed?â
âYou need to stop drinking,â you say. âIt makes you an asshole.â
He laughs. âIâm not drunk.â And then, looking at you. âDoes he smell me on you when you get home? You never go home and spread your legs for him after spreading them for me here? I just find it very hard to believe a man canât tell when his girlfriend has spent the evening being fucked by someone else.â
The room goes very still. Very quiet.Â
You look at him and you can see it on his face that he knows what he just said. His expression breaks for a fraction of a second. He almost winces at his own words, but then he holds your gaze and he doesnât take it back. You know him well enough to know cruelty is a reflex. That heâs been shaken, that heâs upset. You know this, but your anger is greater.Â
âThatâs a disgusting thing to say,â you tell him.
That brief moment of awareness, of knowing he should stop, disappears. âItâs just something Iâve been wondering about.â He sets the glass down on the table, then moves toward you, slowly. âSo you leave here, you go back to him, you sleep in the same bed, and he justââ
âStop talking.âÂ
ââdoesnât notice, or doesnât want to notice, maybe he justââ
âI said stop.â
âOr maybe you donât let him touch you on the nights you come to me?â You try not to react to the words, but something must cross your face because you see the change in his expression. He almost looks pleased. âAh, I see.â Heâs close now, enough that you feel the warmth of his body. âYou donât, huh?â And then: âDoes he get you off when you do? Does he know how?â
You should leave. You look up at him.âYes,â you say it to wound him. âHeâs good at it.â
âAnd yet, youâre here,â he says. He lifts one hand to touch your face and you slap it away. He grabs your wrist, keeps you close when you try to step back. âWhich tells me he doesnât know you the way I do. Doesnât make you feel what I do.â A pause. âDoes he know how loud you get when you get your pretty ass fucked?âÂ
You feel anger, but then thereâs also heat. It travels straight to your core. You try to step back, put some distance between you, he doesnât let you. He pulls you against him and you push him back. âI canât do this anymore. I canâtââ
You push against his chest. He doesn't move. You push again, harder, and you struggle and pull and somewhere in the middle of it youâre also gripping his arms, your nails pressing in, holding on instead of pushing away.Â
Then he turns you around, your back to his chest, movements rough and pins your hands to the wall as he whispers against your ear. âThe filth that comes out of your mouth when my cock is inside your assââ
âStop.âÂ
ââheâs never heard it, has he? Heâs never heard you beg for his cock?â
Heâs always pretended not to hear Minjunâs name, has stepped around it like it wasnât there, as if refusing to acknowledge the name kept the man from being real. Now, he wonât shut up about him. It should anger you, the way heâs talking. And it does anger you, it brings you shame, and yet you feel the way your body is reacting.Â
âI canâtâJiyong, we canâtââ you try weakly. You hear how unconvincing you sound.Â
He lets go of your hands and grabs your hips, pulls you against him. Heâs hard underneath the denim and you push back, wanting to feel him.
Thatâs all it takes.Â
You donât know who moves first. You only know that when he works your jeans down you donât fight back. Youâre already bending over, your hands finding the edge of a console table as he pulls your panties to the side. Positioning yourself. Wanting.
You feel him behind you, opening his jeans. Then you feel the head of his cock dragging between your folds, feeling how wet you are. He pushes inside to the hilt and you cry out. Your pussy clamps down on him and he doesnât give you a moment to breathe.Â
Before was need. Before was the relief of having something you both had missed. This is not that. This is fast and graceless and there is something almost punishing in it. Not violence, even if itâs rough. Itâs anger with nowhere to go. Only hunger stripped of everything soft.Â
He tangles one hand on your hair, the other stays at your hip to steady you. He fucks you hard enough that you have to put a hand on the wall to keep from slamming your head against it, the other on the console table for balance. Your jeans are halfway down your legs so you can't spread them to give him more room. It keeps your body tight and it amplifies the pleasure of his cock pushing into you.Â
After a moment with his hand tangled in your hair, he pulls you back. He kisses the side of your face, open mouthed kisses, then finds a spot on your neck and bites. Brief, but painful, and you cry out. He soothes the bite with his tongue, sucks on the red mark, and you try to pull away then. You never allow him to mark you. Never.Â
He pulls you close again, forces you to turn your face towards him. You bite his lip. Angry. And so fucking turned on you hate yourself for it. He grunts against your mouth and kisses you anyway, hard, and you taste blood, his or yours, you can't tell. His hand slides from your jaw to your throat. He doesnât squeeze, just holds, just enough pressure to make your thoughts dissolve. Your body clutches around him like a fist and he groans against your neck.Â
This time, he comes first. You feel it, the shudder that moves through him, the way he presses deep to fill you up. You moan at the feeling, your body already moving to take what it needs while he's still hard. You're close, close enough that another minute would do it, and you brace your hand against the wall and begin to moveâÂ
âMy wedding gift for Minjun.â
The words land like icy water. Before you can react, he pulls back so suddenly you stumble, one hand catching the wall to keep yourself upright. Your body protests, the sharp frustrated ache of being so close and then nothing, and right alongside it, the humiliation. Hot and nauseating.Â
You turn and look at him shocked.Â
Heâs already tucking himself back into his pants, away from you. Your hands are trembling as you reach down to pull your underwear and jeans up.Â
âYouâre fucking disgusting,â you say.
âMaybe,â his tone is flat. âIâm not the one with a fiance and another manâs cum running down my leg, though.â
âFuck you.â
âJust did,â he says.Â
The juvenile answer only serves to fan your anger. You feel, standing there, fixing your clothes with shaky fingers, like something has been taken from you. Not by him, really. By the version of yourself that promised not to come here and still did when he texted. By this horrible, relentless sickness that pulls you towards him even when you want to move the opposite away.
You feel tears burn behind your eyes. From the corner of your eye, you see him wipe a hand over his face. You hear him say fuck under his breath. You know Jiyong. You know him so well you know heâs regretting what heâs just done, the line he crossed with his words. But his regret comes in after the damage like someone arriving late to a fire. It doesnât change anything.Â
âLookââ he starts.Â
You donât listen. You are furious. And underneath the fury you are ashamed in a way youâve never been before, because heâs right. Youâre the one with a fiance. Youâre the one who has been choosing to come here. Again and again.
He might be speaking again, but you tune it out. You pick up your purse. Without looking at him, you start moving again towards the entrance.Â
âWhatââ he is right behind you. âSo youâre just going to leave now? Really? Youâre going back to him.â
You donât answer, you keep walking, thinking: just get to the door. Just get to the door and then youâre done.Â
âDonât walk away from me,â he says.Â
You stop walking. You donât turn around just yet, you simply stand in the middle of his living room, and you breathe. You think about the door which is less than twenty feet away. You could cover that in seconds if you walk fast and donât look back.Â
But his words have somehow hit an old wound. âIâm not the one that walked away, Jiyong.â
You start walking. He catches you, one hand on your wrist that you push away.Â
âWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?â he asks.Â
âIt means,â you start, âthat we are in this fucking mess because of you. You walked away first.â He looks at you and you canât read his expression. âI might have been the one to say we needed to end things back then, but youâre the one who wanted it. You pulled away. Youââ Your voice is steady. Youâre almost surprised by how steady it is. âI barely saw you at the end. You would disappear. You wouldnât talk to me. There was always something going on that needed your attention first. And I tried to understand. I knew you were busy with the album. But even when you had time, you wouldnât see me. You gave me so many excuses until I finally realized what you were doing. You wanted me to end it. Your absurd belief that men shouldnât end things, they shouldnât be the ones breaking hearts.â You laugh, you swallow past the lump in your throat. âWhat did you think you were doing pushing me away?âÂ
He doesnât say anything, he just looks at you.Â
âI ended things. I gave you the freedom you wanted. Then, the next day Youngbae called me. He said you were miserable. He said I should talk to you. And Iââ you stop, but then you decide to say it. âI missed you so much. Just after one day, I missed you so much that I let it get my hopes up. I thought maybe I'd read it wrong. I thought maybe I'd made a mistake, that maybe you stillâ"Â
He knows what comes next. You can see it in his face.Â
âI came to see you. I wanted to fix things. And I walked in here and you were fucking someone else. One day, Jiyong. You didnât even wait one whole day.â
He doesnât say anything. He doesnât deny pushing you away. And you wait. You wait the way youâve been waiting, you realize, for two years, for something that explains it, that reframes it, so that it lessens the hurt. You remember that day. The pain of seeing him with someone. The humiliation.Â
âYou said you were here just to pick up some of your things,â he says, finally.Â
You laugh, mirthless. âDid you want me to tell you I loved you and wanted to fix things while you pulled your pants up?â You pause, then: âDid you even love me?â
He doesnât answer. The silence is enough of an answer for you.
You always thought if you ever asked him this, if you ever brought up the hurt he caused you, that you would feel like something was resolved. Instead, it just feels like wasted years of your life. And you feel smaller, somehow, pathetic.Â
âIâm leaving,â you say. âDonât contact me again.â
His hand closes around your arm.Â
Not violently, not with force. Just his hand on your arm, stopping you, the way heâs stopped you many times before when you tried to leave. Every time, that contact did something to you. It made you pause, it gave him the opening to push, to bring down your walls.Â
Not this time.Â
You are hurt in a way you think you werenât even that night you walked in on him here, on the couch, fucking someone else. You are angry and humiliated.Â
You pull your arm back. He doesnât let go, so you pull harder.Â
âLet go of me.â
âJustââ
âLet go.â
âNo. You canât justââ
What happens next is brief and ugly.Â
You pull your arm free and your hand comes up. It doesnât feel like a conscious decision. Itâs your body reacting, doing something before your mind has caught up. Your palm connects with the side of his face. The sound of it is awful. Your hand stings. He steps back, more from surprise than from the impact. And then he grabs your wrist and you pull away again.
âJust stop. Listenââ he tries to say.
You donât want to hear it. âLet go. I canât do this anymore. I canâtâLet go of me.â
You struggle. He speaks, you donât hear it. Your nails drag down his neck. And then his hands are on your shoulders and he shoves you, not hard but hard enough, and your back hits the wall behind you. Your shoulder catches on the edge of something and it hurts. You almost go down. You catch yourself.Â
You are both breathing hard. The penthouse is completely silent. Even the music that was playing before has stopped, or youâve stopped being able to hear it, the hammering of your heart drowning it out. You look at him and he looks at you.Â
There is a scratch on the side of his neck, a thin dark line. His chest is rising and falling. His eyes areâ
It takes a moment to understand what youâre seeing. His eyes are wet. You think is he doing to cry?, but you donât know, you canât tell if whatâs in them is anger or pain, or both, or something else, and you realize it doesnât matter.Â
What matters is the line that's just been crossed and that you cannot take it back.Â
You stand with your back against the wall and you breathe. Unexpectedly, you think about being happy with Jiyong. You think about the beginning, the months where you were inseparable, when it was good. And it was good. He might not have loved you by the end, maybe he never loved you at all, but he cared. You know this. You cannot be wrong about this. He made you happy. He made you so happy that you understand why you held on to those memories, even after it ended. Why, for two years, you have allowed those memories to pull you back in, time and time again.
Now you understand that those memories happened to two people who no longer exist in the present. You understand what they have cost you. Your ability to be honest. Your ability to look your boyfriend in the eye without shame. A version of yourself that you could respect.Â
You look at Jiyong.Â
âI hate you,â you say. Your voice doesnât shake. The words are quiet and they feel true at this time. âI hate what Iâve become.â You take a breath. âI wish weâd never met.â
The last sentence does something to his face that you werenât prepared for. Not anger, not the defensive cruelty of earlier. He just looks devastated. Like he finally understands that this time is different from all the other times when youâd say this is the last time and still found yourself here after a while.
You force yourself to look away. You pick up your purse from the floor where it fell. You straighten your jacket. Your shoulder aches, but you donât touch the tender spot.Â
You walk toward the door. You put your shoes on.
You donât look back.
He doesnât stop you.
In the small mirrored elevator on the way down you look at your own face and you think:
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Hiii. Why does your series yellow is a happy color have a different tag list? And if I want to be tagged on both, do I like both posts?
Hello! Like I said in the YIAHC masterlist + tag list post, I decided to have a different tag list because I know not everyone is into pregnancy/kid fics. Some people just want to read gdragon x reader focused fics, so I wanted that to be an option. YIAHC is basically just gdragon as a dad, told from reader's pov. I won't be developing the gdragon x reader relationship in that series. They're happy, they love each other, that's basically it lol. Everything will just be gd as a dad.
So yes, please like both posts :) I always check the posts when posting a new fic to see who I need to tag.
general tag list
yellow is a happy color tag list
Also, obligatory psa: if you ever want to stop being tagged, just unlike the post. No hard feelings!