dream

❪ はじめまして ❫　　fluff childhood friends to lovers celeb au mutual pining　dohoon x celeb!f!reader　1798　cw ノ dohoon has social anxiety and is very shy, reader is described to be more extroverted and confident, reader's job isn't stated but acting/singing/dancing/performing are all mentioned, they're at an event, kissing 〃 @loserlvrss　⸝⸝⸝　i will truly never get enough of shy dohoon x popular reader like idk it just fits him so well !!!!! also love childhood friends to lovers w him its such a sweet trope :(　/　𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

Dohoon isn't used to so many eyes being on him. It makes his heart race in his chest and his stomach swirl with anxiety. It feels like everyone is looking at him, judging him with their stares, and for the seventh time tonight he wonders why he agreed to be your plus one for this event.

He doesn't belong in this room—not with all these Instagram models and influencers with millions of followers, not with the B-list actors roaming around the room just casually, and certainly not with the insanely famous singer he caught a glimpse of talking in the far corner. He wonders how he was even allowed entrance to it in the first place? You pulled him in as your special guest, and the venue staff didn't even question it. Of course, they wouldn't question you.

marble kisses

[ author’s scribbles ! ] kind of changed it <//3 hope u still like it hehe!!! hes so cute:(

[ extras ! ]@kstrucknet. wc 389. kissing.

jungsu felt like a fool. idiotic, dumb, (love-struck) fool.

he was not not listening to a single word that just left your pretty lips. your beautiful, plump, red-tinted lips—

"and this one! look at her face. she looks so… sad." you sighed, features softening.

you were so immersed in the painting in front of you that you you failed to observe jungsu's distracted self. you squeezed his hand, feeling a rush of emotions taking over you. the painter really did a good job portraying the young woman's sadness.

you swallowed hard and looked at jungsu, wanting to ask him how he felt about the painting. but his eyes were focused on you.

clearing his throat, he blinked maniacally, as if woken up from a trance.

"sad, yeah, even i got… sad" he nodded, quickly averting his gaze. you bit your lip gently.

you shouldn't have taken him on a museum date. your relationship is still fairly new and here you are, babbling about paintings. he must be bored to death.

"that one is pretty" jungsu pointed at a painting and you swallowed hard.

"su, if you're bored we can just leave. no need to force yourself" you forced a smille and his eyes just widened, shaking his head.

"no! i mean, i'm not bored. the thing is…" he took a deep breath and you saw blush creeping on his cheeks. gaze avoiding yours, he mumbled: "this is embarrassing… but i just can't focus"

"oh! do you have a headache or something? should've said so! hold up, i have some medicine…" you let go of his hand and started digging through your back.

other visitors passing by were focused on the breath-taking paintings. jungsu, however, just scoffed. eyes on you, he smiled gently reaching to grab your hand.

"you, y/n. i can't focus because of you" he breathed out, observing your confused face. "despite all those paintings and art around us, you're the only masterpiece i care about"

your heart fluttered against your ribcage, blood rushing to your face. jungsu just grinned, looking away shyly. you leaned in and pressed a soft, feather-like kiss on his lips. the marble eyes of sculptures would look away if they were alive. so would the characters from the paintings; only to reverse the roles and capture this sweet, intimate gesture on canvas.

masterlist <3

(no cause imagine you're like watching him fill up gas, and he starts rambling about science related to petrol 😭 him and science walk together guys)

gas stations

[ author’s scribbles ! ] ash im no science genius excuse me and my knowledge </3 i hope u like it tho hehe!! gas stations r so nostalgic to me :")

[ extras ! ] @kstrucknet. wc 284.

the smell of gasoline is heavy, almost suffocating. but you don't mind one bit: the scent being one of your favorite ones. the quiet hum of the gas machine blends with nearby cars riding past on the highway.

you're leaning against the car, gazing into the sky. it's one of those sunsets that remind you of yin and yang. dark, creeping navy shade slowly overshadowing the pure orange on the horizon. it's calming and somehow unsettling at the same time.

"you know, benzene, so like, a part of of gasoline was used in perfumes." jiseok spoke up suddenly, seeing you take a deep whiff.

"that's nice. i like the smell" you reply lazily, letting the atmosphere of the gas station surround you.

"well, it's a shame it's not healthy." he giggles and slowly finishes filling up the tank. "also, i heard some people like the smell simply because it's associated with good memories. be right back, i'll go pay"

you hum and stare at the stars with a smile. it makes sense. you and jiseok often go on road trips and you love them. it became a part of your routine that you wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

in those moments it's just him and you against the world. sunsets, sunrises, gas stations and adventures. two interlocked wild spirits, running wild through cities and roads.

"ready to go?"

you blink and see his face, dimly lit by the neon lights. jiseok scans your face with a small smile. his leather jacket hugs your shoulders, your hair tie loosely holding his hair.

you just grin and place a tender kiss on his lips as a 'yes'. who knows you will go to next?

masterlist <3

cookbook

[ author's scribbles ! ] im clawing at the walls of my enclosure ash im feral. ALSO this is a req from this promt list, feel free to send some icymi <3

[ warnings ! ] hes shirtless. and a husband. and a father (bc my baby fever is fucking insane). food.

[ extras ! ] wc 274, @kstrucknet

the delicious smell of food woke you up, causing a smile to form on your face immediately. you took a deep breath and inhaled the tempting scent of something familiar yet unknown filling the air. deciding to check it out, and also because your stomach kept churning, you stood up. duvet falling, pajamas rustling, you strode off.

you entered the kitchen and just leaned against the wall, silently enjoying the view in front of you. and if you had to be honest, the view was as delicious as the smell of food in the room.

your husband's back was facing you. the honey color of his skin even more highlighted by the morning light incoming through the window, marking every muscle. he was humming or murmuring, you couldn't quite tell.

in his left hand was held open a cookbook. the pages slightly crumpled and stained.

in his right hand — or more so, arm — was held your son. he was babbling to himself, smacking gently his dad's arm.

"i can't decipher what it says…" mingyu grunted and shifted, turning his head to look at his baby. in the process he must've saw you with the corner of his eye because he turned around, now exposing his chest to you.

"well hello there handsome" you grinned. "oh, gyu, you too!"

he scoffed when you walked up and smooched your son. giggles bubbled up from his tiny lips.

"i was making (dish name) but… mind helping me? your grandma really loved that book" mingyu chuckled. you glanced at the recipe: your childhood favorite breakfast. your heart filled with warmth, whether it was nostalgia or your husband's gesture.

masterlist <3

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,,

@weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,,

@eternalgyu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,,@mine-gyu ,, @nonononranghaee

@gyuwrites ,, @callisrecords,,@jvkeslvr ,, @loserlvrss ,,

[ author's scribbles ! ] this is for @gyuwrites my pookie <3 sorry its short but i hope itll bring u some joy after the tough exam session <3 inspired by the one and only's top song !

[ extras ! ] wc 314, @kstrucknet

jihoon is a righteous person. does his job precisely, not half-assed. never. helps the elderly and doesn't litter. pays his taxes and doesn't break the law. maybe he doesn't agree with some politicians and their views but it would never cross his mind to ever hurt them. he believes that politics and religions are topics that should be omitted. mostly.

but right now…

his grip on the steering wheel is so tight, it turned his knuckles chalk white.

he's looking at the road, jaw clenched. he turned the music in the aux down, despite it being his favorite song. but he wanted you to sleep better, uninterrupted.

you fell asleep in his car and he kept on driving. you had a rough day and you were just going to the countryside for a moment before he left in order to execute his duties as a proper civilian would. you were supposed to switch at the nearest station but your eyes just closed for a second and… here you were, snoring softly.

your head was resting against the window and jihoon did all in his might to avoid the holes so you could just sleep fine. but here he is, cursing the government for not using his taxes to fill the holes with more cement.

a small bump caused you to jerk, head banging gently against the window.

jihoon curses once again and glances over, checking if you're okay. considering the small smack of your lips, he assumes you are.

and despite him being tired and irritated, he keeps on driving and doing all he can to keep you asleep. a smile forms on his lips as he sees you shuffle and reach your hand out just a little closer to where his is resting on the gear stick. he lets it go and interlocks his fingers with yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

m.list <3

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,,

@weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,,

@eternalgyu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,,@mine-gyu ,, @nonononranghaee

@gyuwrites ,, @callisrecords,,@jvkeslvr ,, @loserlvrss ,,

this is completely up to you, whether you want it to be angst or not. how about chef jihoon 😼 or or a school teacher etc like a different job :D that'd be kewl, also hope you have a great day ahead :]

A RECIPE FOR US

(Chef!Lee Jihhon x FemReader)

*slice of life, romance, drama, Emotional Connection*

You never thought cooking could be such an adventure until Jihoon stepped into your life. Not just as your best friend, but as an unexpectedly talented chef who somehow managed to turn every simple meal into a moment worth savoring

Jihoon wasn’t flashy in the kitchen. No grandiose techniques or fancy ingredients just pure, sincere passion. The kind that made even burnt toast feel like a masterpiec

It had been a draining day. Your body felt heavy, and your mind was foggy as you dragged yourself through the door. The usual plan was to eat something quick, something easy or maybe nothing at all, just collapse into bed.

But instead, you were met with the faint sound of sizzling, the sweet smell of garlic and herbs wafting through the air. You blinked, confused. Jihoon stood by your stove, apron tied around his waist, concentrating hard as he chopped onions with precise, deliberate motions.

“Surprise!” he said, grinning sheepishly when he noticed you.

You leaned against the doorframe, eyes wide. “Since when do you cook?”

He shrugged casually, but you caught the nervous spark in his eyes. “Since I wanted to make you dinner.”

Your exhaustion lifted just a little as you took a seat at the small kitchen table. The next hour was a blur of flavors, laughter, and stories shared over a steaming bowl of homemade soup.

That night, you realized that food was more than just fuel it was love served on a plate.

Over the next few weeks, Jihoon’s cooking became a constant in your life. Sometimes it was a carefully prepared meal; other times, an experimental dish that went hilariously wrong like the time he forgot to set the timer and your kitchen filled with smoke.

But it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way he looked at you when you smiled, the way he reached out to hold your hand across the table, and how even his mistakes felt like little love notes.

One afternoon, while you were helping him stir a pot of sauce, he confided, “I’ve been taking cooking classes.”

You nearly dropped the spoon. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He laughed softly. “Because I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to get better, for you.”

Your heart melted. You wrapped your arms around him, grateful for this quiet, unassuming kind of love.

The kitchen was their favorite place sometimes more than the couch, the park, or anywhere else.

There were nights when the music was low, but their laughter was loud. Jihoon would pull you close between stirring pots and chopping vegetables, spinning you around in a goofy kitchen dance.

You’d bump into counters, knock over bowls, but neither of you cared. You were alive, present, and everything felt perfect.

Between stolen kisses and shared smiles, you realized you were falling not just for the delicious meals, but for the man who made them.

One evening, after a long day, Jihoon surprised you again.

He set the table, lit candles, and served a dessert he’d spent hours perfecting: a delicate chocolate mousse with fresh strawberries.

As you savored the sweetness, he reached across the table, taking your hand in his.

“You’re my favorite recipe,” he said quietly. “One I want to keep perfect forever.”

Your cheeks flushed. The moment was delicate, a mixture of hope and fear, but you found yourself whispering, “Me too.”

Of course, it wasn’t all easy. There were days when Jihoon’s perfectionism in the kitchen spilled over into his patience with himself and sometimes with you.

You learned to support him through his doubts, to remind him that imperfection was part of the beauty.

And he learned to trust you to let his guard down and share his dreams, fears, and the little secrets he’d never told anyone else.

One chilly winter night, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights in your tiny apartment, Jihoon pulled out a small box from his pocket.

Inside was a simple silver ring elegant, understated, just like him.

“I don’t need a fancy restaurant or a perfect dish to tell you this,” he said, voice trembling with nervs. “But I want to spend every meal, every moment, with you.”

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, heart bursting with love.

a couple months back you started kissing jihoon on the cheek a lot.

like, not on the cheek directly, but under his eye on the cheek. it's been random, usually when you've “felt like it”, and it's caused many flushed cheeks and red ears on jihoon. he always returned the kiss though, a small chaste peck back.

and recently, you've noticed that he has a new mole. it started small, like they usually do, and slowly got bigger and… it's where you usually kissed him on the cheek. huh.

“ji, do you believe in soulmates?” you asked one night, randomly, while laying on the couch in his studio.

he didn't react to your question— from what you could see at least— but after a beat or two he turned around and took his headphones off.

“what do you mean by soulmates— like someone you're destined to be with?” he stands, stretching, before sitting next to your waist.

“like, i dunno… yeah, someone you're made for i guess?” you look up at him. “something like that i think?”

“not soulmates, in that sense no… but i think you can make a soulmate. like us— we had to work for our relationship,” he smiles at you, caressing your face. “why?”

“...y’know the mole theory?”

he shakes his head. “explain?”

“like… you get moles where your past lover kissed you most, and i realized you got a new mole where i keep kissing you… do you think we were past lovers?”

he smiles, eyes turning to crescents as he laughs. he leans into you, kissing you under the eye. “yes, i do think so. i bet we’ll be future lovers too.”

genre fluff , established relationship , timestamp , beomgyu x fem!reader   cw none   wc 364   request yes    note i love soft moments like this :( the kind of love i need   net @kstrucknet

23:41 . . . Beomgyu’s messy hair covered his forehead and eyes, but you could still feel his gaze on you.

His body relaxed completely, head resting on his arm outstretched on the table, fingers in your hold. You were laser-focused on his hands, a small nail polish applicator in your right hand applying another thin layer across the nail on his thumb. Your boyfriend always let you paint his nails in the evenings before bed, even if he had to remove it a few days later for work. It was more about the moment than the end result. He would keep whatever you painted on, even if you claimed you messed up, or the design wasn’t as pretty as you wanted. On days he wasn’t filming, he liked the little reminder of you, even if it was only expressed through a shiny black polish. 

Your careful fingers rubbed a spot where the polish had gotten on his finger before moving to the next nail. You had already completed the first two coats of black on his right hand, and Beomgyu was nearly falling asleep already. He couldn’t really help it when your touch was so soothing. He had to keep completely still for you anyway, and drowsiness set in quickly whenever that happened.

“I’m gonna add stars to your ring fingers,” you announced as you finished painting his left pinky finger. He hummed in acknowledgement. You had been practicing your stars recently on your own hands. Beomgyu remembered noting the pastel star design of your nails last week. They were a bit blob-like as you were still struggling a bit with the smallest detail brush, but you were quickly improving. He was more than willing to be your practice subject.

“Do you want white or silver stars?”

He lifted his head at your question as you held out two different bottles of polish. Beomgyu nudged the white one silently, smiling when you picked up his hand again. Your fingers tapped thoughtfully against his knuckles as you rummaged for the right nail art brush. He let his head fall again, eyes blinking shut. You’d have to wake him up once your masterpiece was finished.

Even the Moon Let Go

Non-idol!Lee Jihoon x Non-celebrity!Reader

*Angst, Domestic Life, Tragedy, Slow Burn, Emotional Miscommunication, emotional distance, breakdown of a relationship, quiet grief, subtle heartbreak*

🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️

There was a time where mornings felt like poetry. You, in his hoodie, humming softly in the kitchen. Jihoon, curled up at the edge of the bed, one eye barely open, calling out:

“You’re burning the eggs again.”

“Shut up and get the plates.”

That apartment was small, the tiles chipped, the curtains uneven but it was yours.

And Jihoon? He loved it. He loved you.

He was just… bad at saying it.

Jihoon wasn’t a man of grand gestures. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t flood your phone with ‘I miss yous’ or whisper sweet things in public.

But he showed love in quiet ways.

Always checking if you had water by your bedside.

Downloading your favorite movies before you asked.

Fixing the Wi-Fi in the dead of night so you wouldn’t stress about your remote work.

That’s how he loved. Silently. Devotedly.

But the silence? It grew.

It started with late replies.

“Sorry, I was working.”

It continued with skipped dinners.

“The guys dragged me out.”

And then one day, you were eating alone again. Three nights in a row.

You asked, voice unsure, “Jihoon… are we okay?”

He blinked. Looked up from his laptop. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t we be?”

You wanted to scream. But instead, you nodded.

Because you didn’t know how to tell him:

“I feel like I’m living with your ghost.”

You stopped sharing playlists.

He stopped kissing your forehead when you fell asleep.

You started walking home alone. He stopped asking if you got home safe.

You still loved him. He still loved you.

But it was buried under work, stress, routine, pride.

You fought once. A real fight. The kind with broken mugs and broken hearts.

“Why are you always on my case?” he shouted.

“Because you stopped acting like I matter!” you yelled back.

He didn’t answer. Just stormed out.

That was the first night he didn’t come home.

He came back. Eventually.

With tulips. And silence.

You forgave him.

But something stayed broken.

The “I love yous” were mechanical. The kisses brief. The laughter gone.

You weren’t lovers anymore. Just… cohabitants clinging to a memory.

You cried one night beside him. He pretended not to hear.

And that, in some cruel way, hurt more than any argument could.

Jihoon stayed up late, as usual.

You had fallen asleep on the couch in one of his shirts, face smushed into a pillow.

He watched you from the hallway.

And it hit him.

You were the same person he used to write songs about. The same girl he once ran through the rain with, barefoot, laughing like a child.

But now?

He hadn’t touched your hand in two weeks.

He hadn’t told you you were beautiful in three months.

He hadn’t made you laugh in what felt like forever.

Jihoon bit his lip.

And for a moment just one he wondered if he was still the man you fell for.

You knew it was ending before he did.

You folded his laundry. Left his favorite tea on the table.

And then

You packed your toothbrush.

He came home early that day, a rare thing.

“You’re going somewhere?” he asked, voice unusually soft.

You didn’t look up.

“I think… we forgot how to love each other.”

He didn’t say anything. Not even “don’t go.”

You waited.

A whole minute.

Nothing.

So you zipped your bag.

And walked past him.

“I would’ve stayed,” you whispered, “if you had asked.”

The door shut behind you.

And Jihoon stood there.

Alone.

He didn’t cry. Not then.

Not when he saw your coffee mug still in the sink.

Not when he found the note you left a song you once wrote together, folded into the back of his journal.

But the next morning?

When he made two cups of coffee out of habit, then realized you weren’t there to drink it?

He sat down.

And wept.

People asked him if he was okay.

He smiled.

“Yeah, just tired.”

They asked about you.

He’d nod, say you were doing fine.

They never noticed how hollow his voice sounded.

At night, he played old voice notes.

On repeat.

Your laugh. Your humming.

Once, you had said,

“Even if we fall apart someday… I hope you remember me kindly.”

And he does.

Every day.

With regret.

He never moved your mug.

Never threw away the tulips.

Never deleted your number.

You never came back.

And he never really let go.

Because when Jihoon loves…

He loves once. He loves hard. He loves forever.

Even if it breaks him.

DISAPPEARING ACTS

(Lee Jihoon x Fem Reader)

*heavy angsr, emotional, slice of life, drama, slow-burn, tension, emotional unraveling*

I used to think I understood people well. I study them for a living, after all criminology demands it. Profiling minds, decoding motives, understanding why people do the things they do... But somehow, with Jihoon, everything I’ve ever known felt completely inadequate.

He wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t hiding anything sinister. He was just... a boy who slowly began to slip away without realizing it.

We met on a rainy night cliché, I know at a small café near the university. I was buried in notes about victimology while nursing a cold Americano, and he walked in, drenched from head to toe, looking like something that had just escaped a dream and got lost in the wrong reality. I didn’t recognize him at first not as the famous Woozi, producer of hits, member of SEVENTEEN. I just knew he had kind eyes, and that he asked the barista for two sugars and no cream, just like I did.

He sat across from me, headphones on, tapping away at his laptop. For the next few hours, we exchanged glances and shy smiles. When he left, he said, “Good luck with whatever you’re studying,” and I replied, “You too, with whatever you’re making.”

Fate or maybe something more mundane, like routine brought us back to that same café the next week, and the week after that.

Soon, he was watching me underline textbook passages, and I was watching him tweak vocal tracks. I didn’t know it then, but I was falling. Slowly, then all at once. And when he asked me out awkwardly, like it was a song he hadn’t finished writing I said yes, because I already knew that nothing had ever felt so right.

We became each other's safe place. On days when autopsy reports made me sick to my stomach, he held me until I could breathe again. On nights when a deadline kept him in the studio, I brought him dinner and reminded him to sleep. He'd say things like, "You're the only person I want to see after 16 hours of mixing," and I'd pretend I wasn’t already in too deep.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with missed texts.

At first, they were just delayed responses hours late, simple things like "Sorry, was recording," or "Didn't see this." I understood. His job demanded focus, long nights, chaos. Mine did too. I once spent 48 hours analyzing a serial offender's pattern for a term paper, so who was I to judge?

But then came the missed calls. The forgotten dates.

My birthday. Our anniversary.

He always apologized. Always looked genuinely sorry. Hugged me like he meant it and whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And I believed him. Every time. Because Jihoon wasn’t careless just consumed. I told myself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

He wasn’t fading because he stopped loving me. He was just... overwhelmed. Right?

But how do you explain the ache of eating dinner alone again? Or the way your heart sinks when you walk past the old café and realize it’s been months since you shared a moment there?

How do you hold on to someone who’s still there but no longer with you?

One night, I stayed up until 3 AM studying forensic pathology. My phone was silent. Jihoon had promised he’d call after practice, but I knew better now. I’d stopped holding onto promises like lifelines.

Still, when I heard the soft knock on my door, I ran.

He looked tired. Pale. Overworked.

“I missed you,” he said.

“You always say that,” I replied, voice colder than I intended.

He stepped inside, taking in the open books and messy desk. “You’re still studying?”

“I live in this apartment more than you live in yours, so yes.”

The words hung in the air like a slap. I wanted to take them back. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. “You know I am.”

But trying isn’t enough when it’s one-sided.

I wanted to scream at him. Shake him. Beg him to just see me again.

But I didn’t. Instead, I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared at my palms red from gripping my pen too tightly. I didn’t even realize I’d been crying until Jihoon walked over and wiped a tear with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to miss your birthday. The studio-”

“The studio always needs you,” I cut in softly. “Everyone always needs you, Jihoon. Except me, I guess.”

He froze.

“You think I don’t need you?” he asked, disbelief washing over his face.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I think you don’t notice when I need you.”

That silence that followed was heavier than anything I’d studied in all my classes. He looked at me like he was seeing me through a fog like maybe, somewhere along the way, he’d gotten lost.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I know you do,” I whispered. “But love isn’t supposed to feel like I’m always waiting for you to come back.”

He sat beside me. Close, but not close enough. His hand hovered near mine, like he didn’t know if he had the right to hold it anymore.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” he said. “I got so caught up in deadlines and concepts and schedules that I forgot I had something someone who doesn’t see me as work. Just as Jihoon.”

I blinked back fresh tears.

“I used to love how hard you worked,” I admitted. “It made me feel safe. Like I was dating someone who never gave up. But now... I just feel like I’m last on your list.”

“You’re not,” he said quickly. “You’ve never been.”

“But it feels like I am.”

He reached for my hand then, cautiously, like he thought I’d pull away. I didn’t.

“I don’t know how to be in a relationship while also being... me,” he said. “I’m scared I’ll never figure out the balance.”

I finally looked at him. Really looked.

“I’m not asking you to change, Jihoon. I’m just asking you to try. Really try. Because I’m scared, too. Scared that one day, I’ll stop waiting. That I’ll stop hoping you’ll choose me over another late night.”

He flinched.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, voice breaking. “I’ll slow down. I’ll try harder. Please... don’t give up on me yet.”

And there it was the part that shattered me. Because despite everything, I still loved him more than anything else. But love, no matter how deep, couldn’t survive on apologies alone.

I didn’t answer right away. We sat there, hand in hand, hearts bruised but still beating in sync barely.

I knew the road ahead would be rough. I knew he wouldn’t magically become the perfect boyfriend overnight. But part of me still believed in him in us. Maybe that made me naïve. Or maybe it just made me human.

“I’m not giving up yet,” I whispered finally. “But Jihoon... don’t make me regret staying.”

He nodded slowly, eyes glassy. Then he pulled me into his chest, arms wrapping around me like he was trying to memorize the shape of my sorrow.

We stayed that way until the sun started to rise.

And even then, I didn’t know if we’d make it..

Things were different after that night.

Not better. Just... different.

Jihoon started trying in the small ways he left sticky notes on my desk that said, “Good luck on your midterm ♡,” or brought home my favorite takeout when I worked late on my thesis. He sent me voice notes when he couldn’t come home for dinner. He’d text me good morning and goodnight like clockwork, even if he couldn’t call.

But even with all that, there were still days I sat on the couch waiting for him to come home until the food got cold. Days when I’d pass out on the floor in front of my laptop, eyes blurry from analyzing crime scene data for hours, and he wouldn’t be there to help me into bed.

It wasn’t his fault. Not really.

He was trying. I could see it in how he reached for me more often, how he’d kiss my forehead before rushing out to the studio and whisper, “I’ll make it back early tonight, I promise.”

But early became 2 a.m.

Tonight became next week.

And promises?

They started to feel more like hopeful guesses.

One night, I was up grading mock forensic reports for my TA job. I’d brewed coffee three times already, and my neck felt like it was fused to my spine. I looked at the clock: 1:41 a.m.

Still no Jihoon.

I stared at my phone, my finger hovering over his contact.

But I didn’t call.

What was the point?

If I called, he’d answer, apologize, say he was on his way. Maybe he even meant it. But I was tired of hearing “I’m sorry.” I wanted to feel it.

Just as I closed my laptop and buried my face in my hands, the front door creaked open. Soft footsteps, the rustling of his coat, the quiet shuffle of someone trying not to wake the house.

Too late.

“Hey,” I said without looking up.

He froze. “You’re still awake.”

“I had work.”

He stepped into the kitchen awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I brought bread from that bakery you like…”

I didn’t respond.

He set the bag down slowly. “Did I forget something again?”

“No,” I said, standing. “You just forgot me again.”

“YN…”

“Don’t.” I finally looked at him, really looked. “You say you’re trying, and I believe you. But Jihoon, I’m exhausted. I’m drowning in assignments, exams, autopsy reports, case studies hell, I’ve barely slept. And the one person who’s supposed to be my calm in the storm is never here.”

“I’m here now,” he whispered.

“But for how long?” My voice cracked. “Until your phone rings? Until the next beat hits you and you forget I exist?”

“That’s not fair—”

“What’s not fair is I keep giving and giving, and you keep... not showing up. Not in the way I need you to.”

He looked like I’d punched him. “So what now?”

I took a long, shaky breath.

“I don’t know.”

And that was the truth. I didn’t know.

Because I still loved him. But I also loved me. And I was starting to realize I couldn’t keep bleeding for someone who didn’t even realize I was cut.

He crossed the room then, slowly, like I might vanish. He took my hands.

“I know I’m failing you,” he murmured. “But I don’t want to. I’m scared. Scared that I don’t know how to be everything you deserve. That I’m too far gone in my own world to love you properly.”

I swallowed, eyes brimming with tears.

“I don’t need perfect, Jihoon. I just need you to show up. Really. Not just physically emotionally. I need to know I’m still a part of your world.”

He nodded, tears trailing silently down his cheeks.

“I’ll prove it,” he whispered. “Not with words. I’ll prove it with actions. Please… give me time.”

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no either.

And for now, that was enough.

Three weeks later.

I hadn’t heard his voice in twenty-one days.

It wasn’t because we were angry. There were no screaming matches, no broken plates, no one storming out. That would’ve been easier, I think. Something to blame. Someone to point fingers at.

But we were just… tired.

He stayed at his studio the night I told him I needed space. Packed a duffel bag and left without protest. His eyes were glassy, jaw tight, but he didn’t try to stop me. Maybe that was the worst part how easily he let go.

I moved in with a friend near campus. Her place was smaller, a bit messier, the walls thin enough to hear her laugh when she FaceTimed her boyfriend. But it felt warmer, somehow. I could breathe again.

I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d lost until I was no longer orbiting his world.

For once, my mornings weren’t rushed. I woke up with sunlight in my hair instead of bags under my eyes. I drank coffee that wasn’t cold. I read chapters without rereading the same line ten times. I went on solo walks, bought myself flowers, smiled at strangers, and cried a little when no one was looking.

I missed him.

Of course I did.

His hoodie still hung in my closet. His laugh still echoed in my head when something dumb happened. I still reached for my phone when I saw something I knew he’d love before remembering there was no message to send.

But I also missed me.

The version of me that dreamed of working on criminal cases, of writing policy reform, of standing in a courtroom defending justice. That girl had started dimming her light for someone who barely noticed she was fading.

That couldn’t happen again.

I wasn’t sure if I still believed in fate. In timing. In people “meant to be.” Because if Jihoon was really my person, why did love feel so damn lonely?

Then… a text.

[Jihoon] I hope you're okay. You don’t have to reply. Just wanted to say I’m thinking about you. And I’m sorry again. For all of it.

I stared at the message for five minutes.

Then ten.

And I didn’t respond.

Because the thing about time is when you finally give yourself some, you start to realize what you deserve. I deserved more than just love. I deserved effort. Attention. Consistency. And I was starting to believe I didn’t have to beg for it.

Jihoon’s POV Three Weeks Into the Separation

I still park outside her campus sometimes.

Not to stalk. Not to be weird. I just… like knowing she’s okay. Seeing her walk out of the lecture hall with her messy notes and oversized tote bag. Watching her tuck her hair behind her ears when she’s focused on her phone. I’ve even caught her laughing with her friend once, and for a moment, I let myself believe she was still mine.

She looked lighter.

I should be happy about that. But it crushes me.

Because I made her heavy.

I didn’t mean to.

I didn’t realize love could feel like a burden until I became one. It started with missed dinners. Ignored calls. Me saying “just five more minutes” and turning that into hours. Her cooking dinner for two and eating alone. Her dressing up for a date I forgot. Her eyes watering and me too tired to ask why.

I didn’t mean to be absent. I was just… stuck in a cycle of needing to make something of myself. Every song I worked on, every melody that slipped through my fingers, felt more important than rest, than sleep, than her not because she didn’t matter, but because I thought she'd always be there.

She was the one constant in my chaos.

And I took that for granted.

I keep her hoodie folded in my room the yellow one she always wore when painting. It still smells like her. Faint lavender and acrylic. I haven’t washed it. Can’t bring myself to. Sometimes I sleep with it under my pillow like some lovesick teenager.

The studio’s been quiet without her humming while she waited for me to finish up. No soft giggles. No late-night snacks. No hand on my back reminding me to eat, to stretch, to exist outside of my obsession with perfection.

I check my phone more than I should.

She didn’t reply to my message. I didn’t expect her to. I said she didn’t have to. But fuck, it still stung.

I wonder if she’s forgetting the little things. How I used to run her bath when she got cramps. How I’d sneak into her classes just to watch her present. How I carried her paint set in my backpack once because she forgot it and cried from stress.

She never asked for much. Just me. Just my attention.

And I couldn’t even give her that.

Now someone else might.

That thought haunts me.

I don’t want to stop her from healing. She deserves peace. But I can’t stop loving her either.

So here I am. Outside the campus library, sitting in my car like a ghost, wondering if maybe just maybe she misses me too.

YN’s POV

It was just a regular café.

At least, that’s what I told myself as I walked in, the bell above the door chiming softly like it always did. I had my headphones in, hoodie up, messy sketchbook tucked under my arm. I just needed to get out of my own apartment, away from the memories that clung to the walls like dust.

I wasn’t expecting to see him.

Jihoon.

He was at the corner table. Same old black hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, fingers wrapped around a chipped mug like it was holding him together. He looked thinner. Tired. His under-eyes were dark, his usually neat hair curling out at the sides like he hadn’t run his hands through it in days.

I froze mid-step. He didn’t see me yet.

My first instinct was to turn around. To pretend I never saw him. Because I wasn’t ready. Not to talk. Not to remember. Not to feel everything again.

But then he looked up.

And our eyes met.

His lips parted slightly. No words. Just that same unreadable, searching expression I’d seen the day I walked out.

The tension hit like a wave. My chest tightened. The air felt too thin. The playlist in my ears faded into nothing as my fingers slowly pulled the earbuds out. He stood up. Slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to scare me away.

I wanted to run. But I didn’t move.

“Hey…” he said softly.

One word. One stupid word. And everything inside me cracked open like glass under pressure.

“Hi,” I whispered.

There was a beat. A silence so loud it made my ears ring.

“You look good,” he said, voice rough. “Healthy. Painting again?”

I nodded. “Trying to.”

We stood there in the middle of the café, like the rest of the world had faded away. Like we were suspended in a memory neither of us could erase.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice trembling. “God, YN, I’m so sorry. For not being there. For letting you go through it all alone.”

I bit my lip, hard. “I never wanted to be alone, Jihoon. I just… didn’t want to feel invisible.”

His eyes welled. And then so did mine.

“I was drowning in work,” he said, stepping closer. “But that’s no excuse. You were always the most important thing. I just forgot how to show it.”

“I used to wait by your door like a fool,” I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks. “You were five feet away from me and still out of reach.”

“I know. I know.”

His hand reached up, trembling as he brushed a tear from my cheek. I leaned into it before I could stop myself, because damn it, I missed his touch like air.

“I still wear your hoodie,” he admitted with a broken laugh. “It still smells like you.”

That did it.

A sob ripped out of me and I collapsed forward not caring that we were in public, not caring who saw wrapping my arms around him tightly, desperately.

He caught me mid-fall, but he was shaking just as hard.

We ended up on our knees on the café floor, clinging to each other like the world would split in half if we let go.

“I missed you,” I choked out, burying my face in his chest. “I missed you so much it physically hurt.”

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered into my hair. “Not for a second.”

I didn’t know if we were ready to fix it. If this meant we’d be okay again. But in that moment, in that fragile embrace on the café floor, we were just two people who had hurt and missed each other too much to keep pretending we were fine.

you have me sobbing at 3am i love it HAHAHAHAH just me and my love for angst.

White Noises

(Lee Jihoon x FemReader)

*slice of life, angst, heavy angst, Emotional manipulation, gaslighting, emotional neglect*

You loved him. You loved him.

And that made it worse.

Because Jihoon wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t neglectful by intention. He didn’t forget anniversaries or raise his voice or flirt with anyone else. He was consistent, gentle even in his silence. And he loved his music the kind of love that burned so bright, it left little space for shadows like you.

He used to invite you in into his studio, his world, his chaos. You’d curl on his small couch, chin on your knees, while he played melodies he wasn’t confident about yet. “It’s not good,” he’d mutter, scratching his neck, but you’d shake your head and smile, hearing what he couldn’t.

Now?

Now he shut the door.

Now, you only saw him in passing hunched over his monitors, headphones on, eyes distant even when you waved from the hallway. A ghost lingering in the home you once shared.

And the hardest part?

You didn’t know when it started.

Maybe it was after that third comeback. Maybe it was the constant pressure to outdo himself. Maybe he just assumed you’d always be there, waiting quietly like a favorite verse in a song he hadn’t played in a while.

Maybe… you’d let yourself disappear for him.

The dinner table sat for two. It had been sitting for two for the past five nights.

You brought him food warm at first, lukewarm by the time he remembered, untouched when he didn’t.

There was a note scribbled on a napkin in front of his untouched soup.

“I don’t want to eat alone anymore.”

You crumpled it before he could see. Threw it in the trash.

Maybe you were being dramatic. Maybe he was just stressed. Maybe this was what loving someone brilliant looked like loving them from a distance, understanding their silence, waiting for slivers of time like gifts.

But love wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

You missed the version of Jihoon who tugged you by the wrist to slow dance with him at 2 a.m. in the kitchen. Who whispered lyrics into your hair as you fell asleep. Who wrote your name in the corner of sheet music like a secret.

Now? He was just… tired.

And you were tired too.

But not from work. From waiting.

That weekend, you packed an overnight bag and left.

No dramatic note. No angry voicemail. Just a message:

“Going to stay with a friend. I need some air.”

You didn’t expect him to reply immediately. He didn’t.

You didn’t expect him to chase after you. He didn’t.

Three days passed.

You checked your phone, irrationally hoping he’d say something.

But silence.

On the fourth day, you came back. The apartment smelled the same like jasmine candles and dust and silence. His shoes were at the door. His hoodie still draped over the couch, the one you used to wear.

You walked into the kitchen and paused.

The soup was gone. Plate washed. Counter wiped.

But the emptiness was still there, humming like feedback static through every room.

That night, he came out of the studio.

It was late. You were curled on the couch in your hoodie, scrolling aimlessly, not expecting him to say anything.

But he stood there.

Still in that same black shirt, sleeves rolled, a pencil tucked behind his ear. Tired. Pale. Beautiful in a way that made your chest ache.

“You left,” he said simply.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

Silence.

Then, “Why?”

You almost laughed.

Instead, you met his eyes. “Because I was tired of feeling like a stranger in my own relationship.”

His jaw tightened.

“You’ve been busy. I know that. But there’s a difference between being busy and being absent, Jihoon.”

He shifted, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

That’s what made it worse.

He walked forward, but not close enough. “I thought you understood…”

“I do,” you whispered. “That’s the problem. I understand everything your dreams, your ambition, your pressure. But who’s understanding me?”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp. It was hollow. Defeated.

You stood up. “I’m not asking for grand gestures. I just wanted to matter.”

“You do.”

“Then show me. Not in words, Jihoon. In presence.”

You walked past him.

This time, he didn’t stop you.

That night, you slept in the guest room.

No tears. Just silence.

And a pillow that didn’t smell like him.

In the days that followed, you danced around each other. Polite. Distant. Like roommates rather than lovers.

He left coffee on your side of the table again. You didn’t touch it.

You folded his laundry. He left his charger on your nightstand.

Small things. Habits pretending to be affection.

But no late-night hugs. No forehead kisses. No lyrics murmured into your hair.

You sat on the balcony one night, knees to your chest, watching the city breathe beneath the stars.

You didn’t hear him until he was behind you.

“I wrote something,” he said softly.

You turned.

He held out a notebook. Pages dog-eared. Lyrics scribbled messily. Your name on the first line.

“I didn’t know how else to say it,” he confessed. “So I wrote.”

You didn’t take it.

Instead, you asked, “Do you love me, or do you just love writing about me?”

He froze.

You stood, brushing past him. “Words are easy. Presence is hard. And you haven’t really been here in months.”

For once, Jihoon had nothing to say.

You walked away again.

And this time, he let you go.

The kitchen lights were harsh tonight, humming against the tiles like a second heartbeat. You stirred the tea absentmindedly, barely hearing the spoon clink. Everything felt unreal like you were floating somewhere outside of yourself.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Same tired eyes. Same clenched jaw.

“You’re being dramatic,” Jihoon said, tone flat. “Again.”

The spoon stopped.

You looked at him slowly. “Again?”

He stepped in, voice tightening. “You always do this when I’m working. Suddenly I’m the villain because I’m focused?”

You blinked. “I never said that—”

“You didn’t have to,” he cut in. “It’s the sighs. The walking away. The guilt-tripping.”

You flinched.

He stepped closer. “You think I don’t notice the way you make everything about how I don’t love you right? Just because I’m not sitting on the couch 24/7 doesn’t mean I don’t care, Y/N.”

“I never asked for that,” you whispered. “I just wanted—”

“You wanted what?” His voice rose, sharp now. “For me to drop everything because you’re insecure?”

It hit like a slap. Your breath caught in your throat.

Jihoon shook his head, almost laughing. “This is always how it goes. I get busy, and suddenly you’re packing bags and sending guilt texts.”

“I never guilt tripped you,” you said, but even as you said it, your voice wavered.

He pounced on that. “Right. Because, ‘I don’t want to eat alone anymore’ isn’t emotional blackmail?”

Your heart stopped. You hadn’t even let him see that napkin. How did he know?

“You read the trash?” you asked, voice breaking.

“I live here,” he said coldly. “I saw it. And you knew I would. That’s why you left it.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back. “No. I threw it away so you wouldn’t see it. I was venting, Jihoon. I’m allowed to feel lonely.”

He laughed not loudly, not joyfully, but like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You don’t even realize how much pressure you put on me. You think you’re gentle, but you want me to feel guilty for not being enough for you.”

The words felt like ice in your chest.

“I’ve never asked you to be anything other than present,” you said, quieter this time. “I’ve always supported you—”

He cut in again. “And I didn’t ask for someone who needs hand-holding every second.”

Silence.

That one stung.

Your hands trembled, but you clenched them into fists to hide it.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

“I think you just… make problems when things are fine,” Jihoon continued. “Things were fine until you started acting like I don’t care.”

You stared at him, something inside you cracking like glass.

So this was it.

This was how it turned how the man who once pulled you into his arms without words now stood across from you, arms crossed, acting like you were the problem. Like you were unstable. Needy. Selfish.

Maybe you had been quiet too long. Maybe he thought your kindness made you easy to bend.

But tonight, something shifted.

“I’m not making this up,” you said slowly. “I’m not imagining the distance, Jihoon. You stopped being there. You shut me out. And now you want to blame me for noticing?”

He looked annoyed. “You’re twisting this.”

“No,” you snapped, and it surprised you the fire in your chest. “You are.”

His lips parted, but you didn’t let him speak.

“I have done everything I could to love you. Even when I was being ignored. Even when you forgot what day it was. Even when I sat alone in that tiny couch in your studio like a prop in the background of your life. I stayed. But I won’t let you turn this on me.”

The silence between us was suffocating, yet it wasn’t the kind that begged for comfort. It was thick, heavy, like a storm gathering behind closed doors. Woozi’s eyes, usually so gentle and soft, now held a cold, unyielding edge. The words he had just spat out kept replaying in my mind like a broken record, echoing the disbelief, the hurt.

“You’re imagining things. I never said those things. You’re making this up.” His voice was steady, almost clinical, as if I were a child accusing him of some childish mischief.

I stared at him, my chest tight, eyes burning. “How how can you say that? After everything I told you? After how it made me feel? I trusted you…”

He cut me off with a tired shake of his head, as if my pain was a bothersome interruption in his day. “You’re overreacting. You’re too sensitive. I don’t know why you keep twisting things. Maybe you just want to fight.”

That hit me harder than any slap could. The sharp sting of being blamed for my own feelings, my own truth, collapsed me inward.

I blinked back tears that threatened to fall. “I’m not lying. You said it. You hurt me.”

“No, I didn’t.” His voice dropped lower, colder. “You’re just too emotional. Stop making me the bad guy.”

It was the ultimate betrayal—not just the cruel dismissal, but the deliberate rewriting of reality. I wanted to scream, to shake him awake, but my voice caught in my throat.

“Why… why are you doing this?” I whispered, the pain raw and exposed.

He looked away, the mask slipping for a split second. Then, with a small, bitter laugh, he said, “Because if I admit it, then I have to face what I did. And I’m not ready to do that.”

That was the cruel truth he was afraid. Afraid to confront his own mistakes, so he pushed me away instead. Left me alone in a room full of shadows.

I wanted to reach out to him one last time, to plead for the man I thought I loved, but the walls I had built to protect my heart trembled and cracked under the weight of his words. Instead, I turned away, retreating into myself.

Days passed like a blur. I spoke less, smiled less, a ghost lingering in the corners of our shared spaces. The warmth between us was replaced by icy distance. Woozi stayed busy in his studio, buried in music and deadlines, barely looking my way.

And I let him because what was left to say? The person I loved had become a stranger who denied my reality.

Late at night, I lay awake, fingers clutching my sheets, haunted by memories of whispered promises and gentle touches that now felt like echoes from a past life. I told myself to be strong, to hold onto the fragments of who I was before this unraveling.

But sometimes, the loneliness crept in like a tide, threatening to drown me in its relentless waves.

One evening, after a particularly silent dinner, Woozi finally spoke, voice tired and distant.

“We should talk.”

My heart thudded with a mix of hope and dread. “About what?”

“About us.” He sighed. “About everything.”

I wanted to believe we could fix this, but the memory of his cold denial made me hesitate.

“I’m not sure if ‘us’ still exists,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes, the exhaustion plain on his face. “Maybe it doesn’t. But I don’t want to lose you.”

His words were fragile, but I wasn’t sure if they were enough anymore. Not without truth. Not without accountability.

I looked at him, searching for the man I once knew in the shadows of his guarded gaze. But all I saw was the pain of two people slowly unraveling, tangled in silence and broken trust.

Write a fake 5-star Goodreads review of your WIP—as if you didn’t write it. Go ahead. Pretend you're a giddy reader who just discovered this masterpiece. Bonus: add emojis, chaotic metaphors, and all-caps screaming. It’s self-indulgent. It’s delusional. It’s delicious.

Give your main character a Pinterest board titled “Mentally Unstable but Aesthetic.” Include outfits, quotes, memes, cursed objects, and that one painting that haunts their dreams. This is not about logic. This is about ✨vibes.✨

Make a “deleted scenes” folder and write something that would never make it into the book. A crackfic. A “what if they were roommates” AU. The group chat from hell. This is your WIP’s blooper reel. Let it be silly, chaotic, or wildly off-brand.

Interview your villain like you’re Oprah. Ask the hard-hitting questions. “When did you know you were the drama?” “Do you regret the murder, or just the way you did it?” Bonus points if they lie to your face.

Host a fake awards show for your characters. Categories like “Most Likely to Die for Vibes,” “Worst Emotional Regulation,” “Himbo Energy Supreme,” or “Best Use of a Dramatic Exit.” Write their acceptance speeches. Yes, this counts as writing.

Write a breakup letter… to your inner critic. Be petty. Be dramatic. “Dear Self-Doubt, this isn’t working for me anymore. You bring nothing to the table but anxiety and bad vibes.” Rip it up. Burn it. Tape it to your mirror. Your call.

Create a “writing comfort kit” like you’re a cozy witch. A candle that smells like your WIP. A tea that your characters would drink. A playlist labeled “for writing when I’m one rejection email away from giving up.” This is a ritual now.

Design a fake movie poster or book cover like your story is already famous. Add star ratings, critic quotes, and some pretentious tagline like “One soul. One destiny. No chill.”

Write a scene you’re not ready to write—but just a rough, messy outline version. Not the polished thing. Just the raw emotion. The shape of it. Like sketching the bones of a future punch to the gut. You don’t have to make it perfect. Just open the door.

thank you so much for the tag @starry-eyed-wild-child @vi0l3tluvsu @strawb3rrystar love y’all !!

STREAM XDINARY HEROES NEW ALBUM BEAUTIFUL MIND !

pairing - lee jihoon x f!reader

genre/warnings - est. relationship, petnames, angst, slight fluff, skinship, anxiety, comfort,

summary - all your past relationships have left you with nothing but an unending fear of things ending too soon. but lee jihoon is different.

wc - 0.9K

author's note - to the anon that requested this, thank you so much for doing so, and i hope this is worth it 🤍

Pairing: Idol Jihoon x Idol Reader Genre: Fluff, Idol romance Summary: Jihoon and Y/N are forced to sit together at an award show, causing endless cheers, teasing, and viral moments. From sneaky glances to Woozi protectively covering Y/N with his blazer, the night is full of heart-fluttering chaos. When Jihoon tears up during his speech and sees Y/N crying too, it becomes clear—no matter how much they pretend, everyone knows. Feel free to make requests || M.list

Jihoon knew this would happen. He saw it coming from a mile away.

Yet, here he was, forced to sit beside you at an award show, and the crowd was absolutely losing it.

Seungcheol had nearly fallen over laughing when Jihoon realized where he had to sit. Jeonghan had patted his shoulder like a proud parent.

And now? Now, he was trapped.

The moment the camera panned over to your table, the cheers hit like a tidal wave. The entire venue shook with the sound of fans screaming their lungs out, and Jihoon could already see the headlines forming in real-time.

"Woozi and Y/N: Power Couple of the Century?"

"Woozi's Reaction to Sitting Next to Y/N is Priceless!"

"Destiny? Fate? Coincidence? We Think Not!"

He sighed, rubbing his temple as Seungcheol cackled beside him. "Hyung, it's like a concert in here," Dino whispered, wide-eyed.

Jihoon glanced at you, only to find you smirking. "Did you plan this?" he accused.

You feigned innocence, sipping your drink. "Me? I would never."

Liar.