#yonghoon x reader

Yet you know that while that might be so, it’s only in the best way. That you’re safe and living a wonderful reality. All it takes is one sneaky look at Yonghoon bouncing on the spot after you gave him a taste of his own medicine to know he’s in deep. A simple you steal my heart more every day and your boyfriend turns into an excited puppy. The resemblance is uncanny as he turns all around to spot you and when he does, he makes a beeline towards you to envelop you in the most bone-crushing hug yet.

“I love you,” he breathes into your ear. You feel the smile on his lips as they brush against your skin. You sacrifice the last bit of air in your lungs to return the confession.

“I won’t lose to you,” he warns you right after - finally giving you enough space to breathe in.

“I don’t-” you’re promptly shut up with a kiss. All this just because of a silly note. Just one. Butterflies swarm in your stomach as you think about all the happy memories you could make returning his gesture in the same way he does it. No - bigger, better. You will beat him at his own game. A decision is made.

Well, you’ll get to it once you’re not breathless. Once you can focus on more than Yonghoon’s hand in your hair, the other on your waist. His lips finally part with yours, only to come back for one more kiss. 

“I really love you,” he whispers. He stays so close you could get lost in his eyes. 

“And I really really really love you too,” you don’t hesitate, “But I want you to know that if we’re turning this into a competition, I’ll definitely win.”

He grins, dangerous and wolfish, while he leans closer and cups your face. He doesn’t even need to kiss you to take your breath away, the anticipation is enough.

“You’re on,” he says before leaving a quick peck on your nose and running off. You almost forgot he had places to be. 

You watch him throw his bag over his shoulder and carefully maneuver the guitar case through the door and slip your hands into your pockets. The pockets that should be empty. The pockets, one of which is not. You laugh in disbelief.

You’ll always be mine. I hope you’re prepared to spend the rest of your life with me. 

Honestly, you’re not sure. Because this really is too good to be true. Because maybe he deserves better.

It used to scare him, how you encouraged him to drop the bravado. Sure, confidence runs deep in who he is, but you’d seen right through the cocky front he sometimes puts up like a fence. He usually can tell when you’ve had enough though, like now. 

Muttering out a soft apology, he leans his head back against the headrest of his chair to look at you, taking in your tired, glassy eyes from staring ahead, teeth biting at your already sore lips, the sag of your shoulders and fidgeting hands, index fingers picking at the cuticles of your thumbs. 

He’s not sure what goes on in that pretty head of yours, as it often goes, but he reaches out a hand to rest on the table between you, palm up in silent invitation. Your eyes blink drowsily at him, mirroring him in leaning back against the back of your chair and he watches as a weak smile tugs the sides of your lips shakily and how you crawl back into the little nook you created for yourself when you’d moved in months ago, nodding your head in invitation to join you instead. 

The breath you release as his knees crack when he stands up can only be classified as teasing, even in your sadness. 

He mutters a petulant, “be nice to your elder,” only to coax a smile. Your eyes twinkle in the fairy lights strung throughout your living room, bathing you in a warm glow. 

It’s a tight fit, but you make do - him anchored to the chair by the legs resting over his lap, your bum almost on his hip and your sides pressed together. His hand finds the nape of your neck, running his thumb over the warm skin before he brings your head to rest on his shoulder, cushioned by his hoodie, warm and smelling like him. 

He shivers when you shift to press a kiss to his shoulder before relaxing against him, taking his hand in yours to fidget with the rings adorning his fingers. Every touch spreads warmth through his bloodstream, and he leans his head onto yours, never taking his eyes off where your smaller hands touch his with such gentleness, so in touch with who you are. 

Where he’s explosive, you keep things locked up inside. 

It used to piss him off. 

He’s the waves of a storm, always open about the current and how it’ll wash over everything in its wake, where you... 

You’re a charged, dark sky - brewing silently and swallowing everyone in your building tension until a whip of lightning strikes with scary precision, the crack of thunder booming dangerously. 

You’re far gentler with others than you are with yourself and it makes him want to shake you by the shoulders more often than he cares to admit, but he knows you’re trying. It has to be enough, and in moments like this, where you allow him to take care of you, it is. 

Perhaps it’s instinct to hold you close every chance he gets. Or maybe it’s selfish, pressing his nose to your hair to inhale deeply before pressing his lips there when he feels you nuzzle into the crook of his neck with a smile. 

Whatever it is, it doesn’t scare him. Not like it scares you, always looking for flaws in your actions and behaviours, no matter how many times he tells you he’ll never look for them, that he wants you close. 

It’s a work in progress. The small wins don’t feel small to him, he just hopes you feel it in everything he does. 

Your body sags into his further with every passing minute until you eventually reach over him for the tv-remote on the table, pressing mute with his hand still clasped in your free one. He hums questioningly when you settle back into his side, winding your hand around him to the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, making goosebumps rise and warmth lick down his spine. 

“Sing for me,” you murmur, and he feels you hold your breath before exhaling tiredly. “Please?”

The warmth spreads out from where the tip of your finger has settled to tracing what feels like a heart at the base of his neck over and over. It spills like the heart of a molten lava cake, sweet and sticky, settling into his every crevice. 

So, he sings. 

Every note lingers in the silence of your living room and it’s almost like you can see them in the flickering lights of the movie still playing on mute, colouring the space in guache-like washes.

He likes the feeling of being on stage, thousands of eyes trained on him and ears trained only to him and the way his voice looms over vast spaces, blending into an ocean of sound by his boys excelling in their respective crafts, but he thinks he prefers this - 

Silence filled only by gentle lifts and dips of his voice only for you. Syllables softened by the slight smush of his cheek against your hair, both of you moving in tandem with his inhales, swaying together on melody-filled exhales - there’s no one but you and the cinematic glow of a film, forgotten as your breaths slow entirely somewhere among the gentle murmured lilt of Young K’s Goodnight, Dear. 

Later, Yonghoon thinks, he’ll get to wake up with you in his arms. 

Until then, he’ll hold you, let himself be held, and drift off after you with the words “goodnight, my love” on his tongue.

Thank you so much for reading!

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“You know space isn’t really my thing,” he whines. His hands travel across your body until one settles in your hair and the other holding your own between your bodies. As if to only admit his guilt to your accusation, he plays with your fingers and twirls your hair around his digits. You sigh and shake your head. 

“Count the stars, hm? Get some inspiration - and shut up,” you warn him before he can open his mouth. He still whispers the dreaded you’re my inspiration into your hair, pouting.

The night is warm even though the summer is still young. You had to drive quite a while to get away from the city and the light pollution to see the stars. Maybe it’s better that he’s not feeling as peaceful as you are. He’ll be awake enough to get you home safely.

You stifle a yawn and Yonghoon squeezes your hand in response.

“Should we head home?” he offers.

“No, it’s so beautiful here. I wish we could see the stars in the city,” you yawn again, rolling over to lay on your back. You feel your boyfriend’s displeased gaze, but he stays silent. Perhaps it’s already been too long for his patience to stay calm.

You turn your eyes back to the skies above. Yonghoon probably does the same, albeit from the shelter of the crook of your neck. It’s distracting to feel his slow breathing fan across your skin.  

“It really is pretty,” he murmurs, stealing a kiss to your shoulder. As breathtaking as the milky way, it doesn’t make your heart flutter as much as your boyfriend. Suddenly all you want to do is see the stars reflected in his eyes. You won’t say that, though, knowing well you would never hear the end of it.

“Right? I could stay here and watch the stars forever,” you hum wistfully.

“Forever is a long time. Are you sure you could handle it?” he teases. You feel him smile against your skin and shiver when he kisses you again.

“I promised you forever too, didn’t I?” you turn to look at him at the exact moment Yonghoon is about to argue, “How come you didn’t have any issue with that?”

He pouts and stutters out some indignant noise because that’s what he does best in a lost fight, until he eventually settles on: “So me or the stars?”

He seems dead serious, and while you know he’s just playing around, a wrong answer would hurt him for real.

“I think the answer is pretty obvious,” you smile as you shift and hug him with a kiss to his forehead. 

He laughs, shy all of a sudden. “Say it?” he requests cutely despite the shyness.

“I’d always choose you. Always and forever even though it’s a very long time,” you promise.

“That’s why you’re my inspiration,” he smirks.

“Give me the glass,” he mumbles into your neck, lips spoiling your skin with kiss after kiss that leave the area ticklish and sensitive, but you can’t tell him to stop. Not after you’ve missed the feeling for so long.

You do as told without questioning it, that is until you see Yonghoon trying to carefully balance the glass on the armrest of the couch, leaning it against the wall for more stability.

“Absolutely not, that’s gonna spill all over us,” you hurriedly take the glass from him again and set it back on the table before he can stop you. Not a second later you’re again trapped in his arms before you can even process being pulled back. You feel his pout against the skin of your shoulder. Then a kiss - and another…

“Love, I missed you too,” you sigh, melting into his hug, “Let me see you?” Then you add when he doesn’t loosen his hold: “Please?”   

His reluctance is very obvious from how slowly he moves and his dissatisfied grumble. You shift your position to sit sideways on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as he pulls you closer again. 

“You know, I’m starting to think you asked the guys to host this just so you can’t be called a bad host,” you tease but the reaction comes in the form of another hungry kiss to your lips. He’s mindful of the people around, though, so he stops before he can get carried away. 

“So?” he whispers against your lips before stealing another kiss.

“Not even denying it?” you laugh, trying to appease him by kissing the corner of his lips. He leans his head on your shoulder and gives you not-so-subtle puppy eyes. You roll your eyes but you still kiss his forehead and move your hand to his hair, gently running your fingers through it.

“You know it was them who offered,” he reminds you, and you do. At the time they said they didn’t want to make you too busy with preparing everything and then cleaning up when you’re supposed to celebrate, some jokes about how Yonghoon won’t be able to keep his hands off you were made, but you suppose they didn’t expect they’d be so right. “We should thank them again.”

“Yeah, we should. But we can go home now if you’re tired,” you suggest, although you’re quite content here, even if you’re taking a break from socializing for the moment. He seems ready to sleep though, seeing how peaceful he looks resting on your shoulder. 

“I’m not,” he shakes his head, “Just want to be with you for a while.” 

“We were together the whole evening,” you point out, “And the whole day, and we’ll be together the whole night.”

He smiles at your words and you wonder if he’s thinking about the evening too. It’s hard not to feel butterflies in your stomach as you think of his hands barely ever leaving your body - always either playing with your fingers or holding your hand, holding you close to his body, stroking your back, your thigh… Good thing everyone’s already used to Yonghoon being affectionate with the people dear to him.

“I’m not letting you go,” he whispers, “You’re stuck with me.”

To stress his words, he pulls you even closer and tilts his head up to get free access to your neck. You tug at his hair lightly when he starts kissing up your neck, smiling at his touch starved behavior. It’s welcomed, it’s needed.

Things like that happen, though. You’re friends and you’re comfortable with each other, and you’re both passionate about the performance. If not on purpose, it might have happened as you get lost in the dance. You wouldn’t cross the line of professionalism, and you know Hwanwoong wouldn’t either. And Yonghoon knows too, if only he could think clearly.

It’s late anyway so you agree to continue the practice tomorrow and you rush out to find Yonghoon before the situation gets out of hand. You can’t find him anywhere in the building, however, so you guess he must’ve gone to the dorms. Sighing, you head there as well.

The dorm is dark when you get there. All the lights are off and it’s quiet and you wonder if you were wrong. Well, you figure, you’d wait here for him - it’d be pointless to blindly chase him through the city. 

Just as you walk into his room, however, someone grabs you and pulls you in, covering your mouth so you wouldn't scream. You’re then pushed against a wall gently, trapped between the cold surface and his warm body. You would recognize him anywhere, too familiar with his body and his scent. Immediately you relax and he drops his hand from your mouth. But before you can say a word, his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. It’s rough, possessive, his tongue invading your mouth. 

You’re too shocked to react, but when you recover, you try to keep up with him, soothe him by submitting to him. That’s until you felt his hands on your hips, pulling you closer and stroking up your body in a dangerous manner.

“Yonghoon-” you try to protest, but he wouldn’t let you, shutting you up immediately with another kiss. He’s relentless, but this isn’t right, this won’t solve anything. You push on his chest lightly, repeating your plea. This time his eyes met yours in the darkness, it’s like there’s a fire burning in them.

“Yonghoon, please,” you say softly, “You’re scaring me.”

It’s as if something snapped inside of him. His face drops, concern fills his eyes and his touch grows soft, careful, before he takes his hands off you. 

“y/n, I...” he looks around, avoiding your gaze, clearly upset by his own behavior. You reach out for his hand, squeezing it gently to calm him down. You turn the lights on, squinting in the sudden brightness until your eyes get used to it. He’s watching you, guilt written all over his face. 

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you sigh, stepping closer to him. He hugs you and holds you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head. 

“And I didn’t mean to upset you. Woong did that to tease you, his hand isn’t supposed to go that high,” you explain with an exasperated sigh. He’s a great friend otherwise, but he really had no way of knowing how worked up your boyfriend could get over something like this.

“I will kick his ass,” Yonghoon grumbles, his hold tightening around you. 

“Please don’t. He’d get hurt and we’d have to postpone the performance and practice even longer,” you whine, nuzzling into his neck. Your attention seems to have a good effect on him as you feel him slowly starting to relax.

“Then at least tell me you’re done for today,” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against your hair.

“Yeah, we are,” you chuckle, “But I need to take a shower, wanna join me?”