#jihoonxreader

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.

am i even making sense? 😭 (i personally think the longer the better (like it doesn’t have to be just one scenario haha)…but please do write it how long or short you want it to be)

ps I love your writing and I love fluff💗

Thanks!

Sunshine & Sunshine protector

(Lee Jihoon x FemReader)

*Slice of life, fluff, Romance, Soft, Comfort, Gentle Intimacy Emotional support, vunerability, Emotional Drama, Healing, Intimate Domestic*

The first time Woozi met his partner, he already knew they were different. Not in a flashy or striking way but in the quiet, unshakeable gentleness that surrounded them like a soft glow.

They had a heart too big for this world.

It was a Sunday morning, sunlight slipping softly through the thin curtains, dappling the small apartment in warm gold. Woozi stirred, blinking awake, and immediately felt the familiar weight of his partner curled against him, breath soft and steady on his chest.

her fingers lazily twined, a silent communication that said more than words could. Slowly, his partner’s eyes opened, still heavy with sleep, and she smiled at Woozi, sleepy and sweet.

“Good morning,” Woozi whispered, voice thick with affection.

“Morning,” she replied softly, voice like a lullaby.

she shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Woozi’s waist as if they never wanted to let go. Woozi breathed in their scent something fresh, like morning rain and lavender and smiled.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind their ear.

“Better now,” she murmured, resting their head on his shoulder.

For a while, they just stayed like that a tangled heap of limbs and warmth letting the quiet fill the room. The small things mattered most here: the gentle squeeze of a hand, the brush of a nose, the peacefulness of shared silence.

His partner’s kindness wasn’t just a trait; it was a force of nature. And sometimes, that force pulled them into trouble.

One afternoon, Woozi was in the studio, scribbling down melodies, when his phone buzzed insistently.

It was a message from her: “Please come home. Emergency.”

His heart immediately tightened. He grabbed his jacket and rushed home.

When he arrived, he found his partner sitting on the porch steps, clothes smudged with dirt, a scrape on their elbow, and a small, frightened kitten clutched in their arms.

“I found her stuck under the dumpster,” she said quietly, eyes shining with concern. “I couldn’t leave her there.”

Woozi sighed, half exasperated, half amused.

“You’re going to wear yourself out with these rescue missions,” he said gently.

“I can’t help it,” she whispered. “How could I leave her?”

He knelt beside them, taking the kitten into his hands to check it. “You have a heart too big for your own good.”

she smiled weakly.

“And that’s why I have you,” they said.

Their mornings were rarely dull, especially when they cooked together.

One rainy Saturday, the two of them decided to bake cookies, the smell of rain tapping against the windows and the warm scent of vanilla filling the kitchen.

But true to form, their partner’s sweet nature caused the usual chaos.

They insisted on sharing cookies with every delivery person who passed by their door.

Woozi chuckled, watching as their partner bundled up a small bag of treats, waving goodbye to the courier outside.

Inside, flour was everywhere on counters, on their noses, even in their hair. Their partner giggled as Woozi tried to catch flying dough balls, slipping and almost falling.

“Be careful!” Woozi warned, laughing.

“Where’s the fun in being careful all the time?” they teased, nudging him with a flour-covered elbow.

Despite the mess, Woozi loved these moments the way her laughter bounced around the small space, how her eyes lit up with joy at the simplest pleasures.

But beneath her bright smile and boundless kindness lay a vulnerability Woozi rarely saw.

One night, as the city’s lights flickered below their balcony, Woozi found his partner sitting alone, knees drawn to their chest, gaze distant.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked softly, sitting beside them.

They hesitated before whispering, “Sometimes I wonder if I’m too much. If my kindness just makes me weak.”

Woozi’s heart clenched.

“You’re not weak,” he said firmly, turning to face them. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“But I keep getting hurt… and I’m afraid I’ll break.”

He reached out, taking her hand gently. “Then let me be your strength. You don’t have to carry the world alone.”

Tears shimmered in their eyes, and Woozi pulled them close, holding them until the fear faded.

Woozi’s love was in the details the way he always made sure his partner had a warm cup of tea after a long day, the soft hand on their back when they needed comfort, the quiet presence beside them during sleepless nights.

One evening, when his partner was exhausted from helping a friend in need, Woozi noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the tremble in their voice.

He cooked her favorite soup, carrying the bowl to the couch where she sat, wrapped in a blanket.

“Eat,” he urged, spooning the warm broth into their mouth.

she smiled gratefully. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

“I just want to take care of you,” Woozi replied.

Not every moment was tender; sometimes they teased each other mercilessly.

One afternoon, Woozi found his partner attempting to fix the sink with absolutely no plumbing knowledge.

Water sprayed everywhere, soaking Woozi’s shirt.

“Seriously?” he groaned.

she laughed, water dripping from their hair. “I’m trying!”

Woozi shook his head, grabbing the wrench. “Leave it to the professional.”

she pouted, but the sparkle in her eyes was unmistakable.

“You’ll always have to rescue me, won’t you?”

“Every time,” Woozi said, pulling her into a playful hug.

After a small concert, Woozi surprised everyone including his partner by publicly acknowledging their relationship.

Taking the microphone, he spoke softly but clearly.

“This is my partner. The kindest person I know, who teaches me every day what love really means.”

His partner blushed deeply, hiding in his side, while the audience cheered.

Later, Woozi teased, “See? I’m not so shy when it comes to you.”

she laughed, squeezing his hand.

Sometimes, when the world was quiet, they shared their deepest thoughts.

One night, wrapped in blankets on the balcony, Woozi asked, “What scares you most?”

his partner hesitated.

“Losing myself. Or losing the people I love.”

Woozi kissed their forehead.

“You’ll never lose me.”

“And I’ll never stop trying to be better, for us.”

He smiled, heart full.

One lazy Sunday, as they lounged in bed, Woozi asked, “Where do you see us in five years?”

she thought carefully.

“A home filled with laughter, music, maybe a few cats.”

Woozi grinned. “Cats, huh?”

“Yes, definitely cats.”

He laughed, pulling her closer.

“We’ll build that life. Together.”

Their life wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real, filled with love, tenderness, and the kind of kindness that changed everything.

And through it all, Woozi promised to be the steady hand, the safe place, the unwavering love that their partner deserved.

Because sometimes, being too kind for this world just means needing someone who will never let you fall.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Woozi's partner, Y/N, decided to take a leisurely stroll through the bustling city park. The laughter of children and the chirping of birds created a harmonious backdrop. As Y/N walked, she noticed a small boy, no older than four, standing alone near the fountain, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Y/N approached gently, kneeling to meet his gaze. "Hey there, are you okay? Where's your mommy?"

The boy sniffled, "I can't find her."

Concerned, Y/N took his hand. "Let's find her together, okay?"

They began walking through the park, Y/N asking nearby adults if they recognized the child. After several minutes, a frantic woman spotted them and rushed over, her face a mix of relief and fury.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, pulling the boy into her arms. Then, turning to Y/N, her expression darkened. "What were you doing with my son? Were you trying to kidnap him?"

Y/N's eyes widened in shock. "No! He was lost, and I was helping him find you."

But the mother wasn't convinced. She called the police, accusing Y/N of attempting to abduct her child

Within minutes, police officers arrived, separating Y/N and the mother to hear both sides. Y/N explained the situation calmly, emphasizing their concern for the child's safety. Witnesses corroborated Y/N's account, noting their efforts to find the boy's mother.

After reviewing the evidence and speaking with all parties, the officers concluded it was a misunderstanding. They advised the mother to be more vigilant and apologized to Y/N for the distress caused.

Later that evening, Y/N recounted the incident to Woozi, tears welling up in her eyes. "I was just trying to help, but she thought I was a kidnapper."

Woozi pulled them into a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry you went through that. Your heart is pure, and you did the right thing. Don't let this change who you are."

He held them close, offering solace and understanding, reinforcing his unwavering support.

In the days that followed, Y/N grappled with the incident's emotional aftermath. Woozi remained by their side, encouraging her to continue being kind but also to be cautious.

"Your compassion is one of the things I love most about you," he said. "But it's okay to set boundaries and protect yourself too."

Together, they navigated the complexities of kindness in a world that sometimes misunderstood it, emerging stronger and more connected than ever.

The sun was shining softly through the wide city streets, casting warm golden hues on everything it touched. Y/N loved days like these quiet moments when the world felt calm, and even in the chaos of everyday life, there were little chances to help others. She wandered through the park, her heart always open to the small things: a stray cat needing water, an elderly person struggling with their bags, a lost child looking for comfort.

As she walked past a bench near the flower garden, Yn noticed an elderly woman shuffling slowly, a knitted bag hanging loosely from her arm. The woman’s steps faltered, and in the bustling movement of a passing crowd, the wallet she clutched slipped from her grasp and tumbled onto the sidewalk, landing with a soft thud on the concrete.

Yn’s heart immediately leapt. She crouched down quickly and picked it up, holding it carefully in both hands. “Excuse me, ma’am! You dropped this,” she called out, her voice gentle and warm.

The old woman turned sharply, eyes narrowing as she saw Yn holding the wallet. “What are you doing with my wallet?” she snapped, the tone icy and suspicious.

Yn smiled softly, trying to calm her. “I picked it up right away. I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

But the woman’s expression didn’t soften. Instead, it twisted into a scowl. “I don’t know who you are, girl, but you best not be trying anything funny.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She could feel the sting of distrust, something she rarely encountered, especially when all she meant was to help. “I’m not trying anything,” she said quietly, stepping closer and extending the wallet toward the woman.

But the woman waved her off with a sharp motion. “Keep your hands to yourself,” she growled. “I don’t need some meddling young girl making my day worse.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed in confusion, but she kept her composure. “I just want to give this back. You dropped it.”

“Don’t ‘just want’ me, don’t ‘just want’ me, don’t come near me!” the woman spat suddenly, her voice rising and attracting the attention of nearby pedestrians.

Y/N’s heart sank. “Please, I’m only trying to help,” she said, taking a small step back, trying not to escalate the situation.

But the woman’s face was twisted with anger. “You think you’re better than me? Coming here with your fancy attitude, trying to play the hero? You’re nothing but a nosy troublemaker,” she hissed. “You don’t belong here, and I want you gone.”

Y/N blinked, shocked by the harsh words. The woman’s voice cracked as she continued, bitterness and frustration bubbling to the surface. “Who do you think you are, trying to fix everything? You’re just a foolish girl who thinks the world owes her something. But let me tell you nobody wants your help. Nobody needs you.”

Tears pricked Y/N’s eyes, but she swallowed them down. She wasn’t used to being spoken to like this especially by someone she tried so hard to care for. But the woman wasn’t done.

“You’re just another spoiled kid with your bright eyes and soft heart, thinking you can save everyone but yourself,” the woman sneered. “Maybe if you spent less time interfering and more time minding your own business, you’d get somewhere in life.”

The crowd around them grew uneasy. A few people glanced over, but no one stepped forward to stop the verbal attack.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she clutched the wallet tighter. Her throat felt dry, and a quiet ache settled deep in her chest. She had never wanted anything more than to be kind, to make a small difference in someone’s day, but here she was facing sharp words and cold rejection.

“I... I just wanted to help,” she whispered, voice barely audible, fragile like a glass ready to shatter.

The woman sneered one last time and turned away, muttering curses under her breath as she shuffled off down the street.

Yn stood there for a moment, stunned and hollow. The weight of those words pressed on her like a stone, heavy and cruel. Yet, somewhere deep inside, the part of her that always saw the good the hope still flickered quietly.

She looked down at the wallet in her hands, still hers to return, and sighed softly.

Helping sometimes came with pain, but it never stopped being worth it.

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of the insult sinking deep inside her. “I only wanted to help,” she said again, voice breaking.

The woman turned abruptly and began to walk away, muttering curses under her breath, leaving Y/N standing alone with the wallet in her hands.

For a moment, Yn just stood there, numb. The bright sunshine felt too harsh, the crowd’s eyes too heavy. She looked down at the wallet and then out into the street, wondering why kindness so often felt like a burden.

One man in the crowd a middle-aged passerby shook his head sadly and muttered to his companion, “That poor girl. Just trying to do the right thing.”

A young woman nearby clenched her fists, clearly upset by the scene. “Some people just don’t deserve kindness,” she said softly, tears in her own eyes.

Y/N heard their whispers but felt distant from them, like she was underwater. The sting of the woman’s words echoed louder than any voice around her.

As she walked slowly away, the wallet still clutched in her hand, Y/N’s mind replayed every moment, every harsh word, every glance.

She remembered how much she had always believed that a small act of kindness could change someone’s day, even their life. But now she wondered if some hearts were too closed, too bruised to ever see the light she wanted to share.

Yet, beneath the ache, a quiet resolve began to bloom.

She would keep being kind.

She would keep trying.

Because maybe one day, someone else would need her and she hoped someone would be there for her, too.

With one last glance at the wallet, Y/N took a deep breath, wiped her tears away, and stepped forward into the afternoon sun.

The morning light seeped softly through the curtains as Yn sat curled up on the couch, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her sweater. The memory of the old woman’s harsh words lingered like a storm cloud above her heart. She had only tried to help only tried to do what felt right yet all she’d gotten was anger and humiliation. Her cheeks still stung from the cruel insults, and her spirit felt bruised.

Woozi’s footsteps echoed softly through the apartment, and before she could say anything, he was kneeling beside her, his warm hand covering hers like a silent promise that she wasn’t alone. His eyes searched hers, calm and steady.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly, voice gentle but insistent.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, then exhaled slowly. “I just… I wanted to help. She dropped her wallet, and I tried to pick it up and give it back to her. But she looked at me like I was a thief. She yelled, insulted me… said things I never thought someone would say.”

Woozi’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a soothing hug.

“Sometimes,” he murmured, “people lash out not because of who you are, but because of their own fears and pain. That doesn’t make it okay, but it doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

Yn closed her eyes against the sting of tears. “But what if I’m just… too kind for this world? What if my kindness just invites trouble?”

He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your kindness is your strength, even when it feels like a burden. And I’m here, always, to keep you safe from the trouble that comes your way.”

She leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart and the unspoken promise in his presence. “I don’t want to stop being kind, even if it hurts sometimes.”

“You won’t have to,” he said, voice full of conviction. “Because I’ll be by your side your protector, your partner. No matter what storms come, we’ll face them together.”

For a long moment, silence wrapped around them, comforting and warm. Y/N let the tears fall freely now, the weight in her chest easing just a little.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead, soft and tender. “Always.”

Later that afternoon, the sunlight poured through the kitchen window as Woozi stood behind Y/N, his arms wrapped gently around her waist. She was focused on chopping vegetables for dinner, humming a soft tune, but his presence made her smile without looking.

“You know,” Woozi whispered, brushing his lips against her temple, “you’re probably the only person I know who gets into trouble just by being nice.”

Y/N chuckled, glancing up at him with sparkling eyes. “Well, trouble seems to follow me like a shadow.”

He tightened his hold, pressing a gentle kiss to her neck. “Maybe that’s because the world doesn’t deserve someone as kind as you.”

“Or maybe I’m just too much of a softie,” she teased, pretending to be annoyed.

“Softie or not, I’m lucky to have you,” Woozi murmured, his voice thick with affection. “Let’s make tonight a promise no trouble, just us.”

Y/N nodded, leaning back into him. “Deal.”

They cooked together in perfect harmony her chopping and his stirring, occasional laughter bubbling up as they playfully bumped into each other. The kitchen filled with warmth and the scent of home.

Later, seated at the table, their hands found each other’s across the surface. In that quiet moment, no harsh words or accusations could reach them. There was only love steady, comforting, and true.

The next morning, the gentle hum of the city seeped through the slightly cracked window as sunlight draped the room in a soft glow. Yn was sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a worn-out book while Woozi brewed their morning tea in the kitchen. The faint clink of the teapot on the stove was a comforting background to their quiet start.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Woozi said as he brought over two steaming cups, settling beside her.

Y/N glanced up, her eyes shimmering with a mix of amusement and something tender. “Just thinking. You know, after everything that happened yesterday…I’m glad you’re here.”

Woozi smiled softly, his hand finding hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not while I’m around.”

Yn squeezed his hand, feeling that familiar warmth wash over her. “You’re always so protective.”

“I’m just being honest. You’re too precious to me.”

Her cheeks flushed as she shifted closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t say it enough, but thank you for sticking by me.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Always.”

Later that day, they decided to take a stroll in the park, wanting nothing more than simple moments away from the crowded chaos of everyday life. Y/N’s hand nestled perfectly in Woozi’s as they walked beneath towering trees, the leaves rustling softly with the breeze.

“Remember when you first told me you liked me?” Y/N asked, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Woozi chuckled quietly. “I was such a nervous mess. Could barely look at you.”

“Yeah, I remember. You kept hiding behind your notebook.”

He laughed at the memory, eyes sparkling. “Well, I still get a little shy around you.”

Y/N stopped walking and tugged him gently until he faced her. “You don’t have to be shy. I like you just the way you are.”

His smile deepened, and before she could blink, Woozi’s hands cupped her face. “I love you.”

Her heart skipped. “I love you too.”

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped up in the world they had built a world where kindness could exist alongside imperfections, where love was patient and steadfast.

One evening, while cooking dinner, Y/N accidentally knocked over a jar of spices, the pungent scent filling the kitchen. Frustrated, she sighed and started cleaning it up, but Woozi wasn’t having any of it.

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, setting down the cutting board and coming over to wrap his arms around her waist from behind. “It’s just a little spill.”

Yn leaned back into him, letting out a shaky laugh. “I’m just so clumsy sometimes.”

“Not clumsy,” he said, turning her gently to face him. “Perfectly human. And perfectly mine.”

She smiled, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “You make me feel like I’m enough.”

“That’s because you are.”

Days like these were the quiet anchors in their lives small moments stitched together to remind them both of what really mattered. The world could throw all the trouble and misunderstandings it wanted, but here, in each other’s arms, they found peace.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Yn lay curled up under the blanket, her mind swirling with worry and exhaustion from the day’s events. Woozi watched her quietly, his heart aching to see her so tired yet still pushing herself nonstop.

He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Y/N,” he whispered softly, his voice a balm in the stillness.

She blinked up at him, eyes heavy but attentive.

“Please,” he said, his hand brushing over her cheek with the lightest touch. “Put yourself first…Please?”

Yn opened her mouth to protest, but Woozi silenced her with a tender kiss slow and sweet, a promise more than just words. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close until their bodies fit perfectly together.

“You don’t always have to carry the world,” he murmured against her hair. “Let me carry you for a while.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered with tears she refused to shed. She nodded, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Goodnight, my love,” Woozi whispered.

Goodnight,” she breathed, feeling safe and cherished, ready to let go if only for a moment.

Here's a really quick scenario. Apologies that it's short. ~ Admin M

"Ah! Stop! What are you doing?!" Jihoon ducked away from you, almost falling over, but he caught himself against the wall. "Why are you touching me?"

"I'm not touching you, I'm touching your hair!" you giggled.

"Why? The boyfriend plays with the girl's hair, not the other way around."

"But your hair is more fun to play with than mine." You fiddled with his bangs again, swishing them around, parting them down the middle just so he would look funny. Jihoon patiently stood and puffed out his cheeks while you had your fun. You took your sweet time braiding his blond locks, but just as you finished, he shook his head away from you. 

"My turn!" he said quickly, and wrestled his hands into your hair shaking it around. 

"Hey, you're messing it up!" You laughed, trying to push him away, but his arm grabbed back at you, pulling you into a surprise kiss. He pulled away smiling, but you pouted. 

"I made my hair so pretty today just for you and you messed it up."

"There, there, I'll fix it" he offered. He ran his fingers gently through your thick hair, carefully separating the tangles before tucking it behind your ears and kissing you again.

"Thank you" you smiled.

"Now fix mine." He tilted his head towards you and you undid his braids. You ran your hands through his soft, fluffy hair a few more times and smoothed it out.

"Done yet?" He looked up. "I think you just like my hair too much" he chuckled.

"It's just so fluffy! I'm jealous." Jihoon rolled his eyes. "I can't help it!" you laughed. "But promise me you won't let the coordi-noonas dye it too often please? It's already been like, three different colors and you haven't even debuted yet. I just don't want it to lose it's special effect."