#bratsummerchallenge25

summary: semi enemies-to-lovers, but make it high, horny, and full of regret.

warnings: drugs (in the words of nm: dOnT Do IT ZoNt ZoO It)

a/n: sooooo it's been a while. but good news! i'm graduating - yay! so let's continue this brat summerrrr. thank you to @gdinthehouseee for organising this event! and to everyone taking part, readers, writers and more - i love you all

"You lied to me."

Dressed in tight leather and heels that already numbed your feet, suddenly all the effort you’d poured into your appearance felt like a waste.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Chae-rin slid closer to you in the booth, placing a warm hand on your thigh as she pushed a shot of tequila into your hand. “But I knew you wouldn’t come otherwise.”

You knocked it back, knowing you'd need something to dull your nerves if you were going to survive the night.

it's officially summer so you know what that means !! me and @flymetothexmoon had this idea at the same time, what originally stemmed from me trying to think of title ideas for my thanos smut fic xd

from 1-16 of july, fics based off the brat album will be posted by all these lovely writers for various fandoms like: squid game, bigbang, 2ne1, stray kids, aespa, and bts.

360 — T.O.P (BIGBANG), @peachesclose 

Club Classics — G-DRAGON (BIGBANG), @currentloser 

Sympathy is a Knife — G-DRAGON (BIGBANG), @jiyongsangel 

I Might Say Something Stupid — T.O.P (BIGBANG), @moonqz

Talk Talk — BANGCHAN (SKZ), @breakmeoff 

Von Dutch — G-DRAGON (BIGBANG), @mashtatosworld

Everything is Romantic — HYUNJIN (SKZ), @emmiesoverthemoon 

Rewind — G-DRAGON (BIGBANG), @steponupbabe 

So I — JUNGKOOK (BTS), @petersasteria 

Girl So Confusing — WINTER (AESPA), @makeitworse

Apple — THANOS (SQUID GAME), @flymetothexmoon

B2B — G-DRAGON (BIGBANG), @loveesiren 

Mean Girls — G-DRAGON (BIGBANG), @moontabi 

I Think About It All The Time — G-DRAGON (BIGBANG), @jiuwaves

365 — G-DRAGON (BIGBANG), @ikwon1c

Guess — CL (2NE1), @gdinthehouseee

apart of @gdinthehouseee’s brat series

kwon jiyong x fem! reader

summary: jiyong clings to the hope of saving you from yourself, even if you tear him apart again and again in the process.

warnings: angst, jealousy, swearing, drinking, drugs (one mention), smoking, sexual content/smut. just ouchies all around, self destructive reader, jiyong is painfully inlove with her anyway

a/n: so thrilled to be part of brat summer!! especially with one of my wonderful wives being the one hosting this event <3 be sure to check out the rest of the series!! there are so many talented writers involved

It’s 2 am when Jiyong finds you.

He’s been blowing up your phone for over an hour. Texts, calls, voicemails, one after another, all unanswered. The longer you stay silent, the more reckless he gets. He’s already looped half the city, stopping at every place you’ve mentioned in passing—clubs, bars, rooftops, all the places he hates. His fingers are frozen from the rain, hoodie soaked to the hem, phone slippery in his hand. His heart’s been beating in a slow, tight panic for so long it doesn’t even feel real anymore.

And then, there you are.

Propped against a graffitied brick wall, skin aglow under a flickering streetlamp. Your dress is white and nearly translucent in the rain, clinging to your body in a way that would’ve made his knees weak if he wasn’t so sick with worry. Your makeup’s ruined, mascara trailing in streaks and glitter still stubborn at the corners of your eyes but you don’t seem to care. You’re chain-smoking, eyelids heavy, laughing too easily at something some random guy is saying beside you. He’s holding your waist with a confidence that makes Jiyong’s throat close.

Jiyong sees red fast. Not the kind that burns, the kind that freezes. The kind that makes his lungs feel lined in ice.

He crosses the street in silence. He’s shaking, but not from the cold.

You don’t even notice him until he’s a breath away. You blink, unfocused, and your lips part with mild surprise.

“Oh…It’s you.” you murmur flatly, barely sparing him a glance as you hand the cigarette off to the stranger beside you.

He hates how that lands. As if he wasn’t supposed to show up. As if you’re not secretly glad he did.

“I’ve been calling you.”

You look down at your phone, screen dead in your hand. “Phone must’ve died,” you say with a shrug, disinterested. “You worry too much.”

Jiyong doesn’t answer. He just looks at you, really looks and his stomach twists. You’re tipsy. He can smell the vodka on your breath, see it in the glossy, unfocused haze behind your eyes, in the way your knees barely seem to hold your weight. There’s a lipstick stain on your lips, half smeared across your neck, a crooked flash of glitter still clinging to your collarbone. Your hair is damp, your dress straps are slipping and your skin is flushed. You look unbothered. Almost ethereal.

The fucking devil in a saint’s body.

He turns to the guy still standing beside you.

“I’ve got her.” Jiyong says, monotone.

The man backs off with an annoyed expression. “Didn’t realize she had a handler.”

Jiyong ignores him. He moves to your side and steadies your elbow when your heel catches on the curb.

You flinch at the contact, pulling away too sharply. “Fuck off, ‘m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Don’t start that bullshit with me, Kwon Jiyong.”

But he doesn’t stop, he still walks you to his car and opens the passenger door, hand hovering behind your back as he helps you into the car.

The drive is quiet. The city rolls past in watery streaks, streetlights casting pale flashes over your bare, rain-slicked thighs, the back of your hand, your tangled hair. You hum faintly along to the music playing through the speakers—something slow and melancholy. Lana Del Rey, to be exact. He’s kept a cd of hers in the car ever since you left it there, swearing to him it was essential. “A staple,” you told him one night. “Like a pack of ciggies or lip gloss — every car needs one.” Always Lana. A doomed girl, listening to another doomed girl, singing about doomed love.

You haven’t spoken in ten minutes, and the quiet between you presses heavy in the car. Jiyong’s knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel tighter, the tension in his shoulders stiffening. The silence gnaws at him.

“I was worried.” he says finally, his voice strained.

You exhale slowly, the breath fogging up the window beside you. “You always are.” you reply, voice dry but carrying an edge of tiredness.

“You vanished.”

Your eyes flicker briefly toward him, then drift back to the blurred city lights racing past. “I didn’t vanish. I went out.”

“Out doing what exactly? Drinking? Getting high? With strangers who don’t give a damn if you make it home or not?”

You tilt your head against the glass, the city bleeding color and movement on the other side. Your gaze stays fixed on the blur of lights, distant and unbothered. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

Those words hit hard—a familiar wound reopened with the same soft cruelty you always deliver. It’s a knife; dull from use, but still sharp enough to hurt.

He presses his tongue to his molars,“Guess not.”

A pause.

“You mad at me?” you ask, voice featherlight.

He doesn’t answer. Not right away.

He is. Of course he is.

He’s mad that you keep doing this. Mad that he keeps letting it happen.

Mad that you call him baby when you want something and Jiyong when you want distance.

But mostly, he’s mad at himself—for caring so much, for not being able to walk away, for making room in his chest where you only ever leave mess.

“I’m not mad, Y/n.” he says eventually.

It’s a lie. But one that Jiyong tells so well now, it barely stings to say it anymore.

Ever since you first started seeing each other, Jiyong always brought you flowers almost everytime he saw you.

Whether it was gas station or grocery store daisies, he always had them in hand along with that beautiful smile of his you refuse to admit that you love.

You always wrinkled your nose when he handed them over, pretended not to be phased. Even called them cheesy. But you kept them. Left them on your windowsill until they browned and curled. He thought it meant something. That maybe you didn’t hate the idea of being loved.

Now he wonders if you kept them out of guilt or if you just like watching special things decay.

When you reach your building, you still don’t move to get out.

The rain has slowed and there’s just the whisper of it now, brushing across the windshield in slow streaks.

“I’m sorry.” Jiyong says quietly. “For getting upset the other day.”

You say nothing.

“I was being…too much.”

Still nothing.

His voice tightens. “You were with another guy. You didn’t tell me where you were.”

You blink slowly, head still resting against the window. Your reflection stares back at you — glassy-eyed, lips slightly parted. You shrug one bare shoulder lazily.

“So?”

Jiyong breathes through his nostrils.

“So I didn’t know if something happened to you. I didn’t know if I should be worried…or jealous—” He stops himself, jaw tightening as he drops his voice.

“And I don’t even know if I have the right to be either. But I care, Y/n. I care so fucking much. And it hurts—watching you do this to yourself. Why won’t you just let me love you?”

That gets your attention. Your head turns, eyes finally meeting his—distant, but deliberate. Your tone is spiteful when you speak.

“You’re always trying to turn this into something it’s not, Jiyong.”

He lets out a hollow laugh, tired and bitter. “Then what the fuck is it, Y/n?”

You don’t say jackshit.

You just tilt your head back, lashes fluttering as your eyes close for a moment. When they open again, there’s something unreadable behind them—something hollow. Cruel.

It makes Jiyong want to scream.

The silence between you stretches. Then your voice cuts through it, sharp and soft all at once.

“You want me to be good for you but I’m not even good to myself, Ji.”

He swallows hard. “I’m not asking for perfect. I just want real. I want you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you really don’t.” You look back out the window. “You want the girl in the dress. The fucked-up party story. The one who lets you play the savior.”

He stares at you, throat tight.

“No I want you,” he says again, quieter this time. “The real you. Even when it hurts.”

A bitter smile ghosts across your lips. “Hurting’s the only thing I’m good at.”

You say it like it’s a joke. He hears it as a confession.

Silence floods the car, thick and heavy and wet with things that don’t get said.

Then you sigh and close your eyes again, done with the conversation.

But Jiyong? He just keeps looking at you. At the curve of your shoulder in the dim light, inhales the cigarette scent still lingering on your skin, wants to wipe the mascara smudge at the corner of your eye.

He wants to kiss you. To hold you.

“I just wish you’d let me in.”

“I let you in all the time,” you reply.

It’s not true and it is at the same time.

Sure you let him kiss you. Let him see you naked. Let him clean up your messes and read between the lines you never say out loud. But you never let him in. Not in the way that counts.

“You know thats not what I mean.” he whispers.

Your mouth opens. Closes.

And then you lean forward.

He doesn’t move. Just watches you come closer, eyes on your mouth.

It’s you who kisses him first. It always is.

Your lips are warm, your tongue tasting of bitter alcohol and desperation. He kisses you hard, pouring all his frustration and pain into it—but he’s still gentle with you. That’s all he could ever be. Both hands cradle your face, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, trying to memorize every shape, every sigh, every way you come apart.

You crawl into Jiyong’s lap, thighs tight against his sides, and he welcomes the weight.

He feels like a drowning man.

His breath hitches when you grind down against him, and his fingers slide down your arms.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” he gasps into your mouth.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The answer is in the way you roll your hips again, slower this time, and let your head fall to his shoulder.

He palms your thigh and pushes your dress higher. The lace of your underwear is soaked through, warm against the seam of his jeans. It’s maddening. And you’re moaning in his ear like this means something. Like you love him back, even if you’ll never say it.

“You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You hum softly, almost a laugh, breath warm against his ear. Your teeth catch the lobe and tug. “I know exactly what I do.”

And you do because he’s hard under you, twitching against the soaked fabric between you. You rock your hips again, slow and mean, watching his jaw go slack, his eyes gloss over.

He’s already unraveling.

“Y/n…” he breathes your name, pleading.

But you just reach between your rain soaked bodies, undoing his belt with slow, practiced fingers. He hisses when you palm him through his boxers hot, swollen, aching—and you drag the fabric down just enough to free him.

Your underwear stays on. Deliberately, you grind down again, the wet lace dragging over the length of him, and he shudders.

“Baby,” he groans, “please, I can’t—”

You love him like this. On edge. Shaking. Still trying to be good even as you ruin him.

“Hush,” you coo softly, almost sweet. “You said you wanted the real me, right?”

You shift just enough to pull the lace aside, and then you’re sinking down, the stretch slow and aching. Both of you gasp. His hands fly to your hips and grip tight.

You feel too good. Too warm. Too much.

“Oh, Ji…” you exhale, voice cracking slightly.

He can’t even form words—breath ragged, staring up at you. He’s never seen anything more devastatingly beautiful. His hands tremble where they hold you, trying to let you set the pace.

You start to move, slow and deep, hips rolling with bruising intent—and he groans, the sound raw. You feel every inch of him. He feels every drag of your walls around him.

It’s obscene how wet you are. How easy it is to ride him like this, soft whimpers leaving both your mouths, breaths getting faster.

“Ji,” you whisper his name again, dazed, dragging your nails down his chest through his drenched sweater. “Don’t fall in love with me.”

He chokes on a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. “Too fucking late.”

Your hand cups his cheek, guiding his face back up to yours, and you kiss him again sloppy, messy, full of every word you’ll never say to him.

The tension coils tighter and tighter, your thighs trembling, and he feels it in the way you clench around him. He’s close too, can barely hold back, hips jerking up to meet yours.

“I can’t be what you want me to.” you gasp, forehead pressed to his.

Your teeth graze his skin. You fuck with your eyes half-lidded and cruel and quiet.

He closes his eyes. “I don’t want you to be anything but here.”

You don’t respond, not with words. Just a soft sound in the back of your throat as your hips roll a few more times, Your lips brushing his cheek, his jaw, his adam’s apple.

You fuck him to forget. You swear it’s not love. But it’s something. As fucked up as it is—and Jiyong’s too starved to refuse it.

When you finally slide off his lap catching your breath and flushed you don’t say goodbye. You don’t say thank you for the ride home. You just fix your dress and step out into the night barefoot, heels in one hand and his spare jacket draped around your shoulders.

You don’t look back.

Jiyong stays frozen in the driver’s seat. The taste of you lingers in his mouth. His zipper’s still open. His hands are shaking.

He watches your silhouette disappear into the building. He knows this warmth in his chest won’t last.

You’ll break something else tomorrow. Maybe him again. Maybe yourself, if you could even do that anymore than you already have.

But for now, you’re home. You’re breathing.

And Jiyong? He’ll be back again.

Daisies in hand. Hope in his throat. Letting you break him down, one kiss, one silence, one smile at a time.

Because everything beautiful with you withered long before it could bloom.

But no matter how toxic, how wild or how damn impossible you are—he’s already too far gone.

Too in love with the mean girl to ever let go.

challenge tags: @gdinthehouseee @peachesclose @currentloser @jiyongsangel @moonqz @breakmeoff @mashtatosworld @emmiesoverthemoon @steponupbabe @petersasteria @makeitworse @flymetothexmoon @loveesiren @jiuwaves @ikwon1c @szonyix6277 @velvetmoonlght @keiraryan @sternilei @lilshu65 @smokingblossoms

💽 ── brat summer track #10

★ f!reader x minjeong (winter). toxic yuri. jealous & possessive. repressed feelings. suggestive. denial is a river… 18+

if there’s one thing you’re sure of about MINJEONG, it’s that you can’t be sure of anything at all.

pairing: kwon jiyong x fem! reader

summary: at the height of fame, in a city that never sleeps, two people used to being untouchable collide. she doesn’t go home with anyone. but with seoul’s most notorious idol? suddenly, rules don’t matter anymore.

tags and warnings: 18+, smut, usage of drugs, model!reader, idol!jiyong, public sex, degradation kink, praise kink, emotional detachment, dom-sub dynamic undertones, cursing

note: so, here we are with track 15 of @gdinthehouseee’s brat summer challenge 💚 so happy to be apart of this. by far, my favorite fic rn!

YOU had one rule.

Never let a man take you home.

It was a promise. A line drawn in red lipstick and reinforced every night as you slipped past the velvet ropes of every club that mattered. You were the girl who could outdrink everyone in the room, throw her head back in laughter with a glass of Moët in hand, dance like she didn’t give a damn and yet, by 3 a.m., you’d always disappear alone.

A tease, they’d call you. You were deemed as untouchable and cold. You knew your worth and you’d seen what happened to girls who let men break their rules.

Tonight was no different. The club was glowing, pulsing with deep bass and the occasional camera flash. Cakeshop in Itaewon was packed wall to wall. The bass inside hit like a heartbeat out of control—low, loud, and completely inescapable.

Every surface glistened under deep purple and blue lights, fog machines working overtime to blur outlines and blur judgment. Bodies danced with drinks held high, sweat-soaked hair clinging to temples, everyone moving like it was the last night of their lives.

You stood just left of the bar, your silver slip dress clinging to every curve, a chilled glass of champagne pressed to your lips. You weren’t drunk yet, just comfortably detached, high on the rush of stares and synths and that tiny white pill you tucked under your tongue twenty minutes ago. It made the lights shimmer harder, the crowd feel weightless, the beat feel deeper in your ribs.

A guy tried to touch your waist once but backed off when you looked him dead in the eye. You never needed to say no, your stare always said it first.

“Y/N!” came a familiar voice, sharp and thrilled over the noise.

You turned, grin tugging at your glossed lips when you spotted Chaerin, all black eyeliner and leather, standing on a couch inside a roped-off booth. She waved you in with manicured fingers, mouthing, Come. You moved through the crowd like water, ignoring the gazes that trailed you like heat behind your heels.

Inside the booth, it was smoky and dim, lit mostly by the flicker of bottles sparking on trays and the low orange glow of the tabletop lighter. Someone handed you a joint. You took it without blinking. “You look bored,” Chaerin teased, slinging an arm around you. “Let me fix that.”

And that’s when you noticed someone. Sitting across from you, legs spread wide, cigarette perched on his lip and eyes already locked on yours. Kwon Jiyong. G-Dragon. One of the most watched men in Asia, and tonight, he was looking at you like you were the only person in the room. His eyes glinted mischievously, like a predator hunting its prey.

Sunglasses indoors. A half-buttoned black shirt that exposed his collarbone tattoos. Cigarette balanced between ringed fingers. Black painted nails tapping a beat on the low table as he sipped from a crystal glass of something expensive.

He exhaled smoke like punctuation. “So this is the one?”

“She’s trouble,” Chaerin grinned, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t let the pretty face fool you.”

He leaned in slightly, smirking faintly. “I like trouble.”

You didn’t blink. You knew your power. “Too bad I don’t do easy,” you said, taking a drag off the joint and blowing the smoke into his direction. “And I don’t do famous.”

But that was a lie. Everyone in this scene was famous. You just didn’t fuck them.

You scoffed. Not unless they earned it.

THE night stretched, melted. You were seated back in the booth now, drink in hand, surrounded by familiar faces. Chaerin beside you, a few others sprawled lazily across the velvet seats. Laughter echoed over the music, bottles clinked, someone passed you a cherry from their cocktail with their fingers and you took it with your lips, no hesitation.

It wasn’t about the fruit. It was about being watched.

And you knew exactly who was watching.

You didn’t look at him right away. That would be too easy. Instead, you bit down on the cherry slowly, lips parting just enough, teeth sinking in until the red skin broke, juices spilling onto your tongue.

Your gaze stayed forward, eyelashes low as if you weren’t aware of the heat crawling over your skin. But you felt it.

The weight of his stare. Kwon Jiyong, across the table, a half-empty glass in front of him, his arm thrown lazily over the backrest, legs spread like he owned the entire damn club.

He was talking to someone—a friend, maybe a stylist but his eyes hadn’t left you.

You finally turned your head, sucking the cherry’s pit into your mouth, tongue pushing it to the inside of your cheek. Your gaze met his. You innocently smiled.

Then, with your chin slightly tilted down, you slid the cherry stem between your lips, slow and deliberate, and worked it. Not a word spoken. Not a single blink. His jaw clenched. That twitch in the corner of his eye? You caught it.

“Oh my god,” Chaerin muttered beside you, clearly amused. “You’re evil.”

“I’m bored,” you replied sweetly, the stem now on your tongue, already half-knotted.

It was stupid and childish and absolutely calculated but it worked. Jiyong leaned forward now, lazily draping his hand over his mouth, fingers dragging across his lower lip, watching you with that amused, warning gleam in his eyes.

You finally popped the pit into your hand and set it gently on a napkin. Stuck out your tongue to show him the tied cherry stem. Perfect, tight and neat.

Chaerin snorted beside you, covering her mouth. Someone whistled from the other side of the booth. Jiyong just smiled. A tight, crooked little smirk that promised a hundred consequences. You bit your lip, hiding your grin. You looked up at him, lazily licking a drop of juice from your bottom lip. You almost laughed, seeing his tilted expression.

Eventually you felt too hot, too wired. The ecstasy kicked in fully, swirling in your blood like syrup and static. You moved toward the back hallway, lips slightly parted, the lights bending at the edges of your vision.

You didn’t even glance at him when you walked past his booth, just tilted your chin and brushed your fingers down your thigh.

When you reached the bathroom door, you leaned against the wall, one knee bent, boot pressing to the tile. You let your dress slide higher up your leg, just enough for curiosity. You waited thirty seconds, maybe less, before footsteps echoed behind you.

“You always leave men breadcrumb trails to the bathroom?” he asked from the shadows.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze. “Only when I want them to follow.”

The second the lock clicked behind him, it was like the room shrunk.

He leaned against the wall like he owned the space, arms crossed lazily. The dim bathroom light flickered above you, casting his cheekbones into sharp, cinematic shadows.

Your reflection looked wrecked already. Eyes glassy, pupils blown wide, your lip gloss smudged from the joint and champagne.

“You gonna tell me what I’m doing in here,” he said, eyes dragging down your legs, “or just keep standing there looking like a Dior ad with a death wish?”

You cocked your head, toeing off your heel with the edge of his boot. “That depends. You know how to behave in a public restroom, or are you just good at pretending you’re not filthy?”

He laughed, low and wolfish. “Sweetheart, I am filthy.”

Then he stepped into your space. No hesitation. Your back hit the sink. His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up. His rings were cold and heavy against your jaw.

“You always bring idols into bathrooms?” he murmured, breath brushing your lips. You didn’t answer him.

He grinned wider now, baring his teeth. “You think you’ve got that kind of power over me?”

“I think you’re here, aren’t you?”

He smirked. The kiss was brutal. His mouth hot and fast on yours, tongue sliding against yours like he’d already tasted you before. Just heat and teeth and tongue, tasting of nicotine and something bitter under it like the ghost of a pill. Your hands pulled at his shirt, fingers running over the ink and heat of his chest. His hands were already under your dress, greedy, fast.

You could still smell the weed and cologne on him, all expensive and dangerous. His hands went to your thighs, gripping tight, fingers digging in like he needed proof you were real.

“You get off on being watched, don’t you?” he murmured, lips dragging down your jaw. “The model. The icon. The girl no one gets to touch.”

You gasped as his fingers slid your panties to the side. “Don’t pretend you’re not the same.”

He chuckled darkly. “Maybe we’re both addicted to attention.”

“And to sin.”

When his fingers found your slit, he paused.

G-string.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“Surprise,” you muttered, breath hitching.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Already soaked. Did you come out here wet for me?”

“Keep talking,” you breathed, hips grinding. “Maybe I’ll let you finish inside.”

His rings grazed your folds as he dragged his fingers up, slow, teasing. The pressure was light at first. Just a circle over your clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch. You reached down and grabbed his wrist.

“You’re not scared of messing up your jewelry?”

He smirked. “These?” He slipped two fingers inside you—rings and all. “They’re part of the experience.”

You gasped.

Fuck.

He twisted them slow inside you, and the cool metal dragged against your inner walls, setting off a shockwave that left your legs trembling. “You like that,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You want me to ruin you with these fingers first?”

You bit your lip, hips pushing back onto his hand. “Thought you were famous. Don’t you have… PR to worry about?”

He snorted, dropping his mouth to your throat as he pumped into you harder. “Baby,” he drawls. “I’m not G-Dragon right now.”

“Oh no?”

“Just some fucked-up guy who can’t stop thinking about you with your legs spread.”

You hissed at the pleasure and slight pain. The drugs in your system made it all feel underwater, syrup-slick, like time didn’t matter and neither did names. His rings caught at your entrance with every thrust of his fingers. Your hips bucked as his thumb pressed against your clit again, sharp and steady. You clutched his arm, nails digging into the tattoo near his elbow.

“Fuck,” you gasped, breath fogging the mirror. “You’re—fuck, you’re good—”

He groaned into your neck. He slipped a third finger in and your body jerked. You nearly screamed.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Let ‘em hear you through the walls.”

He held you open like he owned you, hand between your legs, rings soaked, tongue flicking along the shell of your ear. “You’re so tight,” he whispered, like he was drunk off it. “Fuck, this pussy’s addictive. No wonder every man in Seoul wants you.”

You smiled teasingly, nails raking down his chest and whispered, “But they’re not you.”

That made him freeze just for a second. He scoffed. You saw it in the mirror, something flickering behind his eyes. Something smug but also something that almost looked like jealousy. But it passed.

“Such a fucking tease.” He spun you around without warning. Bent you over the sink, dress bunched around your waist.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he said, voice dropping to a growl. “Keep those pretty eyes on your reflection.”

You whined, pressing your cheek to the cold mirror. “Why?”

He shoved his jeans down just enough and lined himself up.

You heard the rip of foil, the sound of him rolling it on, the sharp inhale as he slid into you. Your mouth opened in a silent scream. “So you remember who made you look like that.”

The first thrust knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“Fuck—Jiyong, slow down!”

You tried to stay quiet but your moans were high and desperate, echoing in the tiny room. His hand slid from your ass to your neck, holding—not choking, just enough to keep you grounded.

“I could fuck you all night,” he panted, thrusting into you like he meant it. “But we’d burn this whole building down.”

“Yeah?” You moaned and clenched around him.

He cursed, hips stuttering. “Fuck—you like that? You like when I talk to you like a whore?”

Your reflection nodded before you did. Your mascara was smudged. Lipstick wrecked. You looked like everything you tried not to be.

“Ooh–fuck.” You moaned like a bitch in heat, screaming as he pounds into you harder. His hand wrapped around your throat just enough to make your head swim, just enough for your vision to blur further from the drugs. The mirror cracked with the force of your hips meeting the counter.

“That’s it,” he groaned, breath ragged. “Feel that? That’s all me, baby. So fuckin’ tight around me.”

He pulled back slow, hips dragging against every nerve-ending, then slammed back in with enough force to make your ass smack against his pelvis. The rings on his left hand bit into your skin as he gripped harder, the chill of the metal a violent contrast to the heat building between your legs.

Every thrust came sharp, relentless, his pace punishing and addictive. Skin slapping, your breath fogging the mirror, your moans spilling out too loud, too raw to be pretty. He bent over you, cock buried deep, voice a low snarl in your ear, “You feel how deep I am? I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

You cried out when he shifted his angle, hitting that spot that made your knees almost give out.

“Fuck—there?” he panted, fucking into you harder. “Yeah? That’s your spot, huh?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Just kept hitting it, over and over, your pussy clenching around him like a vice, so wet that every thrust sounded obscene. You could barely keep your eyes open—the drugs, the pressure, the friction of him inside you—it all blurred into a high that swallowed you whole.

His hand moved up to your throat again, thumb pressing just enough to cut your breath in half. “Look at yourself,” he commanded. “Look at the way you take my cock like you were made for it.”

Your reflection was flushed, ruined, pupils blown wide. Your mouth was open in a moan. And you didn’t look away.

He kept going.

Fucking you like he hated you, like he needed you, like he wasn’t G-Dragon, king of the stage but just a fucked-up man getting lost inside a girl he wasn’t supposed to touch.

Your body clenched once, then again, and you shattered around him without warning.

Eyes rolled back.

Legs shaking.

Voice breaking on his name.

“Oh Fuck—Ji…”

He kept going through your orgasm, dragging it out until you were crying into your wrist, overstimulated and wrecked. You looked at him, tears forming in your eyes.

“You’re so good,” he breathed. “So fucking good—goddamn.”

Drugs and sweat and Jiyong’s name on your tongue as your legs gave out. He didn’t stop. Just kept going, chasing his own high.

One final thrust and he came with a growl, deep inside the condom, hips grinding against your ass as he emptied into you. His body collapsed forward, chest pressed to your back, breath hot and ragged against your neck.

You stood there, both of you silent. Your thighs were sticky. Your pulse thundering. The mirror was fogged and cracked where your palm had hit it.

He pulled out slowly, almost reverently, like he didn’t want to leave your body yet. His hands lingered on your hips, thumbs stroking your skin in slow circles, as if he’d just realized how far gone he was. He adjusted his jeans, fingers slick with your mess as he tossed the condom into the trash with a careless flick.

You reached for a wad of tissue, wiping between your legs as you glanced at him over your shoulder.

Still flushed. Still hardening again.

Still looking at you like he wanted a round two.

“I told you I don’t go home with anyone,” you whispered, breathless, tucking your dress back down.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, red-rimmed and dangerous. You both stared at each other in the mirror. Panting, ruined, and strangers again.

You fixed your lipstick while he pulled his jeans back up. “Don’t get attached,” you said coolly. “This city’s full of girls who look like me.”

He leaned against the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, but they don’t fuck like you.”

You snorted and opened the door without looking back. Outside, the music swallowed you whole again.

But later that week, you got a text from an unknown number.

“365. That’s how many days I’ll spend trying to fuck you again.”

—J

You stared at the message, jaw twitching, pulse betraying you. You rolled your eyes, the ghost of a smile flickering before you could stop it.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let him.

But, not yet.

Brat summer writing event!

Summary: you’re Jiyongs ex and you find out he’s got a new girlfriend and you can’t help but always compare yourself to her.

Warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, Self hatred, breakup, heartbreak, insecurities, cheating (Ji on his new partner).

A/n: my part of the brat summer writing event! Thank yall so much for having me. I will warn you this will not be as good as any of the others on here because it was rushed and smut is my strong point NOT angst (sorryyy🙏💔). Anyways please go and support these writers, they’re extraordinary.

A/n edit: this was not meant to be a smut fic and I’m completely aware it goes of plot. Just go with it.

You didn’t expect him to move on so fast, especially when your heart still so desperately ached for him. You often laid in bed, bundled in the same sheets you and him shared so many memories in. You hadn’t changed them since he moved out, you knew it was probably seen as disgusting but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The faint lingering scent of his cologne on the expensive sheets was the only thing getting you to sleep at night.

You stared up at the ceiling wondering where it all went wrong, wondering if his mind was filled with thoughts of you like yours was of him. You had hopes that maybe he would come crawling back to you. even if he for some reason looked happier than ever without you.

That hope lasted, until it didn’t. Of course dispatch being their usual selves can’t give idols a single ounce of privacy. So that’s how you found out Jiyong had found a new girl. She was a pretty model, way prettier than you were in your eyes. She was perfect. Slim figure, killer style, prettiest features. You couldn’t help but almost feel happy for him. I mean he was doing so much better probably because he’d found someone a hell of a lot better than you.

You decided to make it worse for yourself and scroll through the pictures dispatch had uploaded. They were caught kissing, holding hands, going on cozy dates. Just like he used to do with you, you didn’t even realise you were crying until a tear had slid of off your face and onto your phone. You quickly wiped it and threw your phone onto the other side of your bed and tried to fall asleep.

From then you completely spiralled. Your friends noticed and tried to tell you that you were enough and Jiyong didn’t know what he lost. But that voice in your head told you that he knew exactly what he lost and he’s probably happy about it. Probably laughing with his new girl at old photos of you and picking apart every.single.flaw. You don’t say anything about it though, you just smile and nod blinking back tears. You need the fucking sympathy.

The voices in your head were there constantly. Every time you woke up the first thing you’d think about is them. How he was probably waking up tangled together with a girl who is everything you could never be. Everytime you looked in the mirror you saw every single flaw stand out like it was highlighted in bright yellow, constantly comparing yourself to her. The wild voices in your head were slowly but surely tearing you apart.

Everyone was worried about you but you didn’t give a fuck. In your head this was normal, you deserved to feel like this. Every single drop of sympathy you received, you told yourself was a lie, it felt like a fucking knife being stabbed into your heart over and over again. You couldn’t even be her if you tried and it fucking hurt, you were at constant war with your head and it felt never ending. It was so so exhausting.

Your friends had tried to be nice and bought you tickets to Jiyongs first show in Seoul. You weren’t going to go but you were practically dragged. You walked into the venue, hat low, sunglasses covering your eyes so no photographers saw you. You knew what they were like. If they saw you at Jiyongs show they’d assume you were back together or something and you didn’t want to ruin his new relationship Infact you didn’t even want him to see you tonight. You were too insecure now, you felt disgusting compared to his new girl.

You had actually forgotten about everything going on in your head for awhile. The atmosphere was brilliant, energetic crowd, beautiful vocals of course from Jiyong and pretty lights. It was all good until you decided to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and you saw her. The girl who had unknowingly made your life hell. The girl who had completely ruined your confidence even though she didnt even know you. The girl who had been taking over your brain so much, that if anyone could see inside your head they’d probably think you were in love with her.

She walked straight past you, and you were glad. You wouldnt even know what to do with yourself if she had spoken to you. Break down crying? Act nice? You had no clue. Your eyes lingered on her as she walked off, beautiful smile plastered on her Perfect face. God it was like she was made of angel dust. You watched as she headed off to go backstage.

Your stomach turned. That was you once upon a time, happily chatting with security as they led you to see your sweaty, tired but none the less perfect boyfriend after he’d finished performing. And now you were so easily replaced, it almost felt like someone was ripping out your insides just at the thought of it.

You pulled out a pack of cigarettes and leaned against the cold hard wall, lighting the blunt and taking a long drag. As you exhaled you heard footsteps, you thought it was security coming because you were smoking and that wasn’t allowed in the venue. But when you looked up and saw Jiyong, you were shocked.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that but I’m not going to stop you” he said, voice kind of rough after performing but still held that softness that it always had.

You didn’t even know what to say. It had been ages since you and him last spoke and you expected him to be backstage with his girl.

“Shouldn’t you be spending time with your girlfriend? I just saw her go backstage.” Your voice was shaky half because of the cold and half because you were so nervous it was almost humiliating.

“You were always observant.” He said leaning back against the wall next to you. “But no, that’s actually the reason I’m out here because she’s complaining I don’t spend enough time with her.”

He didn’t sound bothered about it at all which concerned you because he would always make enough time for you back when you two were dating.

“So instead of fixing that, you’re out here with your ex? Very convenient.” You scoffed but you weren’t mad, how could you be?

He watched as you took another drag, almost mesmerised.

“Yeah no I actually came out here to find you, I heard you were coming.” He gently took your jaw making you look up at him.

Your breath hitched as his hand made contact with your skin, it felt so right yet so wrong. You leaned closer testing the waters and he smirked cockily.

“So eager hm?” He murmured before connecting his lips with yours. You shivered as he did so, all of the feelings rushing back to you. A wave of nostalgia hit you, he still tasted the same after all of this time. Like mint and cigarettes.

You jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Are you okay with this, Jagi?” His voice was raspy as he said it making you blush. You nodded as you reconnected your lips with his.

He slips a hand under your shirt, his cold ring-decorated fingers making you shiver. You felt him growing hard between your things and every worry about the situation in your head disappears.

When you lifted your arms up he took it as a signal to pull off the shirt you were wearing. His eyes gaze over you like he’d been waiting for this moment, it was making you shudder.

His fingers slide around to the clasp of your bra and he slides it off, your breasts bouncing as he does so. He licks his lips before flicking it over your already hardened nipple. He kisses all of the way up your chest and neck before stopping at your parted mouth.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He whispers, breath hot on your lips. “But I just can’t help myself around you.”

This was the most content you’ve felt since the breakup. It was pathetic really but you had missed this. His lips met yours again, his tongue carefully exploring your mouth while your hips started grinding against him.

“Fuck Jagi I’m not going to last if you keep doing that to me.” His voice was strained and it was so fucking hot.

Your hand reached between you both to hold him through his pants that he had worn on stage. He let out a throaty moan as you rubbed him up and down.

He sets you down and works his way down your body, kissing and licking every part until his mouth stopped at the waistband of your shorts. He slid them off and smirked when he saw the wetness on your panties.

“We won’t be needing these.” He chuckled. He then slid off the Lace material, fingers tickling.

As soon as his mouth is on you, your back arching and you grinded onto his face. You let out desperate needy cries as he took his time sucking your aching, throbbing clit into his mouth. The pleasure jolts through your body and he lets out a little grumble that you felt vibrate on your pussy as his tongue worked its way up your folds making you cry his name out.

You thought he would have relented by now due to how much you were squirming and moaning, but it was not. He secured his arms around your legs, pinning you in position, holding onto you tighter when the overstimulation causes you to start squirming. Watching him bury his face in your pussy, devouring you and moaning happily after so long was too much.

“One more baby.” He murmured into your pink flesh.

And uninevitabley your body does exactly what he asks.

“That’s a good girl.” He cooed before climbing back up your body and brushed out sweat-dampened hair from your forehead. Your sweaty palms struggled to un do his pants but when you finally did you pushed his boxers down watching his hardened cock spring free, you moved your hand up and down and watched him as he groaned in pleasure and his eyes rolling back into his head.

You tasted yourself as you pulled him back in for a slow gentle kiss while also feeling him thrusting it into your hand.

“I dont have a condom with me, it’s not something I’d usually bring to me to a performance.” He said with a chuckle. “I hope you don’t mind or we don’t have to do it if you don’t feel comfy without.”

You shook your head softly, “no I don’t mind Ji.” The nickname still slipping out after all this time.

He lines himself up with your entrance and gently slid himself in. You had had one or two hookups since you and Jiyong broke up but nothing too serious and this was ten times more intense. You feel every bit of him inside of you.

He panted into your shoulder as he adjusted to being inside of you after all of this time.

“Fuck y/n you feel so good, all wet and ready for me.” His voice was deep and needy.

He starts thrusting himself into me hard, your skin was ready to burst into flames and every hair on your body was stood up and you wanted more.

“Mm please Ji harder and faster.” You wrapped your legs around him and crossed your feet at the bottom of his back.

“mm shit y/n I won’t fucking last, you feel so good.” His voice was more desperate than ever.

You started to use your feet to lift your hips and slide up and down him and rolled your hips when you got to the tip.

You wanted him to fuck you right into the wall until you both lost your minds but Ofcourse he always wanted to be careful with you.

“I don’t care Jiyong.” You said with honesty. “I’m begging you to give me all you’ve got.”

You see a smirk flash across his lips as he put his arms under you and gripped your shoulders. You were trying to hide your excited expression but he Ofcourse noticed it and his smirk grew wider.

“Right, hold onto me and remember you asked for it.” He said smirk wider than ever.

His hands that were gripped onto your shoulders tugged you down as he rammed himself in and out of your pussy. Each thrust had you crying in pleasure into his mouths and your nails leaving marks on his broad shoulders. Your legs were vibrating and every time he goes deeper your legs tightened around him.

“Jiyong.” You cried.

“I know baby, I know.” He said, resting his forehead on yours and his lips smash onto yours in desperation.

“You’re such a good girl taking it all.”

“Im close Ji” you cried out, grabbing the back of his neck with your sweaty hands.

“Come for me baby let me feel you.”

“Jiyong, mm fuck.”

Your whole body melts as you cum all over his cock. His body collapsed onto yours, both of your body heats mingling together as you felt him throbbing inside of you.

After you two had gotten dressed Jiyongs phone buzzed. He read the message his eyes lighting up slightly before looking at you.

“My girlfriend, or should I say now ex, has left so I can take you backstage and clean you up properly if you want.” He didn’t want to be un gentleman like and just let you go home.

You were quite surprised at this, mostly expecting him to just forget about it ever happening. “Yeah alright if that’s okay with you.” A small smile already forming on your face.

“It would be a dick move if I didn’t do aftercare, it’s the bare minimum baby.” He gently grabbed your hand, his fingers warm and comforting against yours.

Maybe Jiyong really did love you and didn’t see you for just how pretty you were but also you. And given the past few weeks, that alone made you feel better than ever.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

Taglist: @thanosspills @moontabi @steponupbabe @sylviavf @madzzz0797 @nsainmoonchild

Masterlist

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mini-angst, miscommunication, fluff, kisses

word count: 1.2k

synopsis: you were about done and frustrated with chan's antics. so, taking matters into your own hands, you set up a bit of a trap (minor, baby trap) to see if he'd take the bait. and once he did? well. you finally convinced him to see the benefits of talking.

note: this is part of ciara's brat summer 2025 writing challenge and is inspired by charli xcx's collab with troye sivan "talk talk".

as always, thanks for reading. :)

Masterlist

romanticism is his salvation, and also his captor

it is romanticism that stitches hwang hyunjin back together with sonnets and thorn, offering him beauty as both balm and shackle, imprisoning him willingly by soul. 💿 track seven of ci’s brat summer challenge

everything is romantic.

it arrives not as a comfort, but as an exposure— soft and golden, yes, but also too revealing, too exacting in the way it spills across the floorboards like truth.

he stirs to find you still curled beside him, the duvet twisted gently around your waist, hair splayed in disarray against the pillowcase you brought from your own apartment because his were, in your words, “too sterile to dream in.”

he watches you for a moment—barely breathing, barely present—and registers, in that fleeting, devastating way that comes only in the most fragile silences, that this is the kind of beauty that doesn’t ask to be preserved but demands to be mourned preemptively.