#sorry to break it to everyone but after by anna todd will never be the new crime and punishment. bad writing is bad writing is bad writing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl · 5 years

Text

Now 2~Gdragon Pt.30

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:7,138

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book!

Y/N POV

Nine days. Nine days have gone by without a single word from Jiyong. I didn’t think it was possible for me to go a single day without speaking to him, let alone nine. It feels like one hundred, honestly, though each hour does hurt microscopically less than the prior one. It hasn’t been easy, not even close to that. Ken made a call to Mr. Vance asking that I be allowed to take the rest of the week off, which only meant missing one day anyway.

I know I’m the one who left, the one who walked away, but it kills me that he hasn’t even tried to get in touch with me. I have always given more in the relationship, and this was his chance to show me how he truly feels. I guess in a way he’s showing me—it’s just that what he feels is the opposite of what I had desperately wanted. Needed.

I know that Jiyong loves me, I do. However, I also know that if he loves me as much as I thought he did, he would have made it a point to show me by now. He said he wasn’t going to let this go, but he did. He let it go, and he let me go. The part that scares me the most is that the first week I was walking around completely lost. I was lost without Jiyong. Lost without his witty comments. Lost without his crude remarks. Lost without his assurance and his confidence. Lost without the way he’d sometimes draw circles on my hand while holding it between his, the way he’d kiss me for no reason and smile at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I don’t want to be lost without him; I want to be strong. I want my days and nights to be just the same whether I’m alone or not. I’m beginning to suspect I may always be alone, as dramatic as the thought seems; I wasn’t happy with Noah, yet Jiyong and I didn’t work. Maybe I’m like my mother in that way. Maybe I’m better off alone.

I didn’t want it to be over this way, so cut-and-dried. I wanted to talk about everything, I wanted him to answer my calls so we could come to some sort of agreement. I just needed space, I needed a break from him to show him that I’m not his doormat. It backfired on me because he obviously doesn’t care as much as I thought he did. Maybe this was his plan all along: get me to break up with him. I’ve known a few girls who go that route when leaving their boyfriends.

During the first day I did expect a call, text, or hell, I really expected Jiyong to come bursting through the door screaming at the top of his lungs and causing a scene while his family and I sat in the dining room in silence, no one quite sure what to say to me. When that didn’t happen, I lost it. Not crying-in-the-corner, feeling-sorry-for-myself lost it. I mean I lost myself. Every second I lived in anticipation of Jiyong coming back to grovel for my forgiveness. I almost gave in that day. I almost went back to the apartment. I was ready to tell him to hell with marriage, I don’t care if he lies to me every day and doesn’t respect me, as long as he never leaves me. Thankfully, I snapped out of that and salvaged some respect for myself.

Day three was the worst. Day three was when the realization really began to hit me. Day three was when I finally spoke after three days of near silence, having only muttered a simple yes or no to Taeyang or Karen during their awkward attempts to engage me in conversation. The only sounds that actually came out were a strangled sob and a choppy explanation through tears of why my life would be better, easier, without him that even I didn’t believe. Day three was when I finally looked in the mirror at my dirty and bruised face, my eyes swollen to the point of barely opening. Day three was when I fell to the floor, finally praying to God to make the pain disappear. No one can handle this pain, I told Him. Not even me. Day three I called him, I couldn’t help myself. I told myself that if he answers we would work it out and both come to a compromise, apologizing profusely and promising to never leave each other again. Instead, I got his voicemail after two rings, proving that he rejected the call.

Day four, I slipped and called him again. This time he had the courtesy to let it ring to voicemail instead of pressing ignore. Day four was when I realized how much more I actually care for him than he does me. Day four was when I spent the entire day in bed reliving the few times he actually told me how he felt about me. I began to realize that most of our relationship and how I portrayed his feelings for me in my mind was just that . . . in my mind. I began to realize that while I was thinking we could do this, we could make this work forever, he wasn’t thinking about me at all.

That was the day I decide to join the ranks of normal teenagers and had Taeyang show me how to download music onto my phone. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Over one hundred songs were added, and headphones were put in my ears and barely removed for almost twenty-four hours. The music helps a lot. To hear about other people’s pain reminds me that I’m not the only one to suffer in life. I’m not the only one who loved someone who didn’t love them enough to fight for them.

Day five was when I finally showered and attempted to go to class. I went to yoga, hoping that I could handle the memories it would evoke. I felt strange walking around in a sea of cheery college students. I used all the energy I had in hoping that I wouldn’t run into Jiyong on campus. I was past the stage of wanting him to call. I managed to drink half of my coffee that morning, and Taeyang told me that the color was coming back into my cheeks. No one seemed to notice me, and that was exactly what I wanted. Professor Soto assigned us to write down our biggest fears when it comes to life and how they relate to faith and God. “Are you afraid to die?” he asked us. Aren’t I already dead? I answered silently.

Day six was a Tuesday. I began to speak in sentences, broken sentences that usually didn’t relate to the subject at hand, but no one had the heart to call me out on it. I returned to Vance. Kimberly couldn’t meet my eyes for the first part of the day, but she finally attempted to have a conversation, which I couldn’t bring myself to participate in. She mentioned a dinner, and I reminded myself to ask her again when I can think straight. The day was spent staring at the first page of a manuscript that, no matter how many times I read and reread it, wouldn’t soak in. I ate that day, more than just the rice or a banana I had in the days before. Karen made a ham—I only noticed because it reminded me that she made one for the dinner Jiyong and I had here in the beginning. The images from that night, the picture of him sitting next to me and holding my hand under the table, sent me back into my tragic state, making me spend the night in the bathroom vomiting up the small bit of food I had consumed.

As day seven dragged on I began to imagine what would happen if I didn’t have to feel this pain anymore. What if I just disappeared? The thought terrified me—not because of my death, but because my mind was capable of going to such a dark place. That thought snapped me out of my downward spiral and brought me to the closest thing to reality my mind can handle. I changed my shirt and vowed to never step foot in Jiyong’s bedroom again, no matter what happened. I began to look up apartments that I could afford close to Vance, and online classes at SCU. I enjoy academics too much to close myself off and take online classes, so I ultimately decided against it, but I found a few apartments to look into.

Day eight I smiled, briefly, but everyone noticed. Day eight was the first morning that I grabbed my usual donut and coffee when I arrived at Vance. I kept it down and even went back for more. I saw Trevor, who told me I looked beautiful despite my wrinkled clothes and hollow eyes. Day eight was the shift, day eight was the first day that only half of my time was spent wishing that things had gone differently between Jiyong and me. I heard Ken and Karen discussing Jiyong’s birthday in a few days, and I was surprised to only feel a slight burn in my chest at the sound of his name.

Day nine is today.

“I’ll be downstairs!” Taeyang calls through the door of “my” bedroom.

No one has even mentioned me leaving, or where I would go if I did. I’m grateful for it, but at the same time I know my presence will eventually be a burden. Taeyang keeps assuring me that I can stay as long as I need to, and Karen reminds me how much she enjoys my company multiple times a day. But at the end of the day, they’re Jiyong’s family. I want to make a move forward, decide where I should go and where I should live, and I’m no longer afraid.

I cannot, and refuse to, spend another day crying over a dishonest boy with tattoos who doesn’t love me anymore.

When I see Taeyang downstairs, he’s taking a large bite of a bagel; a dab of cream cheese rests in the corner of his mouth and his tongue darts out to retrieve it. “Morning.” He smiles, his cheek full and eyes wide.

“Morning,” I repeat and pour a glass of water.

He continues to stare at me while I sip my water. “What?” I finally ask him.

“You . . . well . . . you look great,” he says.

“Thank you. I decided to shower and come back from the dead,” I joke, and he smiles slowly as if he’s unsure about my mental state. “Really, it’s fine,” I assure him, and he takes another bite of his bagel, finishing it.

I decide to put one in the toaster for myself and try not to notice Taeyang staring at me like I’m an animal in a zoo.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” I tell him after finishing my breakfast.

“ Y/N , you look so gorgeous today!” Karen exclaims when she enters the kitchen.

“Thank you.” I smile at her.

Today’s the first day that I’ve taken the time to get ready, really ready and presentable. The last eight days I have gone far away from my usual neat appearance. Today I feel like myself. My new self. My “After Jiyong” self. Day nine is my day.

“That dress is flattering.” Karen compliments me again.

The yellow dress that Trish got me for Christmas fits well and it’s very casual. I’m not going to make the same mistake as last time and attempt to wear heels to classes, so my Toms it is. Half of my hair is pinned back, with a few loose curls tapering over my face. My makeup is subtle, but I think it suits me well. My eyes burned slightly as I dragged the brown liner underneath my eye . . . makeup surely wasn’t on my list of priorities during my downward spiral.

“Thank you so much.” I smile again.

“Have a great day.” Karen smiles, clearly surprised but very pleased at my return to the real world.

This must be what it’s like to have a caring mother, someone to send you off to school with kind and encouraging words. Someone unlike my mother.

My mother . . . I have dodged all calls from her, and thankfully so. She was the last person I wanted to speak to, but now that I can breathe without wanting to rip my heart from my chest, I actually want to call her.

“Oh, Y/N , will you be riding with us to Christian’s house on Sunday?” Karen asks just as I reach the door.

“Sunday?”

“The dinner they’re having to celebrate their move to Seattle?” she tells me as if I should know this already. “Kimberly said she told you about it? If you don’t want to go, I know they’ll understand,” she assures me.

“No, no. I want to go. I’ll ride with you.” I smile. I am ready for this. I can be in public, in a social setting, without cracking. My subconscious is mute for the first time in nine days, and I thank her before following Taeyang outside.

The weather mirrors my mood, sunny and somewhat warm for the end of January. “Are you going on Sunday?” I ask him once we get in the car.

“No, I’m leaving tonight, remember?” he replies.

“What?”

He looks at me with a wrinkled brow. “I’m going to New York for the weekend. Dakota is moving into her apartment there. I told you a few days ago.”

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve paid more attention to you instead of making it all about me,” I tell him. I can’t believe how selfish I’ve been to not even pay attention to him telling me about Dakota’s move to New York.

“No, it’s okay. I only briefly mentioned it, anyway. I didn’t want to rub it in your face when you were . . . well, you know.”

“A zombie?” I finish for him.

“Yes, a very scary zombie,” he jokes, and I smile for the fifth time in nine days. It feels nice.

“When will you be back?” I ask Taeyang .

“Monday morning. I’ll miss Religion, but I’ll be there right after.”

“Wow, that’s exciting. New York will be incredible.” I would love to escape, to get out of here for a while.

“I was worried about going and leaving you here,” he tells me, and guilt fills me.

“Don’t be! You already do way too much for me; it’s time I do things for myself. I don’t want you to ever think about not doing something for yourself because of me. I’m so sorry that I made you feel that way,” I tell him.

“It’s not your fault, it’s his,” he reminds me, and I nod.

My headphones go back into my ears, and Taeyang smiles.

IN RELIGION, PROFESSOR SOTO chooses the subject of pain. For a moment I swear he’s done it on my behalf, to torture me, but when I begin to write about how pain can cause people to turn to or away from their faith and God, I’m thankful for this torture. My entry ends up being filled with thoughts about how pain can change you, how pain can make you much stronger, and in the end you don’t need faith as much. You need yourself. You need to be strong and not allow pain to push you or pull you into anything.

I end up going back to the coffeehouse before yoga to acquire more energy. On my way back to yoga I pass the environmental studies building and my mind goes to Seungri. I wonder if he’s in there now. I assume he is, but I don’t have a clue about his schedule.

Before I can overthink it, I go inside. I have a little time before my class begins, and it’s less than a five-minute walk from here.

I look around the large lobby of the building. Just like I might have expected, large trees fill most of the massive space. Sticking to the theme, the ceiling is mostly skylights, giving the illusion that it’s almost nonexistent.

“ Y/N ?”

I turn, and indeed, there is Seungri, wearing a lab coat and thick safety goggles on top of his head that push his hair back.

“Hey . . .” I say.

He smiles. “What are you doing in here? Did you change your major?”

I adore the way his tongue hides behind his teeth when he smiles, I always have. “I was looking for you, actually.”

“You were?” He seems astounded.

Jiyong POV

Nine days.

Nine days have gone by without speaking to Y/N . I didn’t think it was possible for me to go a single day without speaking to her, let alone nine fucking days. It feels like one thousand, and each hour is more painful than the last.

When she left the apartment that night, I waited and waited to hear her footsteps rush through the door, and I waited for her voice to begin screaming at me. It didn’t come. I sat on the floor waiting and waiting. It never came. She never came.

I finished the beer in my fridge and smashed the evidence against the wall. The next morning when I woke up and she was still gone, I packed my shit. I got on a plane to get the fuck out of Seoul. If she was going to come back, it would have been that night. I needed to get out of there and get some space. With alcohol on my breath and stains on my white T-shirt, I left for the airport. I didn’t call my mum before I got there; it’s not like she had anything going on anyway.

If Y/N calls me before I get on the flight, I’ll turn around. But if not, then too bad, I kept thinking. She had her chance to come back to me. She does every other time, no matter what I do, so why is this time so different? It’s not like I did anything, really; I lied to her, but it was a small-ass lie and she overreacted.

If anyone should be pissed off, it’s me. She brought Seungrito my fucking house. On top of that, Taeyang comes barging in like the fucking Hulk and slams me into the wall? What the actual fuck.

This whole situation is utterly fucked up and it’s not my fault. Well, maybe it is, but she can come crawling back to me, not the other way around. I love her, but I’m not making the first move.

Day one was spent mostly on the airplane sleeping off my hangover. I got many dirty looks from snobby-ass flight attendants and assholes in business suits, but I could give a fuck less. They don’t mean shit to me. I took a cab to my mum’s and nearly choked the driver. Who charges that much for a fucking ten-mile cab ride?

My mum was shocked and happy to see me. She cried for a few minutes, but thankfully she stopped when Mike appeared. Apparently the two of them have begun to move her things into his house, and she plans on selling hers. I don’t give a shit about that house, so it’s no skin off my back. That place is full of shit memories with my drunk asshole of a dad.

It’s nice to be able to think these things without Y/N’s influence. I would feel slightly guilty being rude to my mum and her boyfriend if Y/N were here with me.

So thank God she isn’t.

Day two was exhausting as shit. I spent the entire afternoon listening to my mum talk about her plans for the summer and dodged her questions about why I’m home. I kept telling her if I wanted to talk about it I would. I came here for some goddamn peace, and all I get is more annoyance. I ended up at the pub down the street by eight. A pretty brunette with the same color eyes as Y/N smiled at me and offered me a drink that night. I declined somewhat politely, my kindness only coming out because of the color of her eyes. The longer I stared at them, the more I realized they weren’t the same as Y/N ’s. They were dull and held no life behind them. Y/N’s eyes are the most intriguing shade of gray that appears blue at first glance, until you really look at them. They’re nice, as far as eyes go. Why the fuck am I sitting at a pub thinking about eyeballs? Fuck.

I saw the disappointment in my mum’s eyes when I stumbled through the door after two in the morning, but I did my best to ignore it, mumbling a shit apology before forcing my way up the stairs.

Day three was when it started. Small thoughts of Y/N kept sneaking in at the most random times. While watching my mum hand-wash the dishes, I thought of Y/N loading the dishwasher constantly, making sure there was never a single dirty dish lying in the sink.

“We’re going to the fair today. Would you like to come?” my mum asked.

“No.”

“Please, Jiyong , you’re here visiting, and you’ve barely spoken to me or spent any time with me.”

“No, Mum.” I dismiss her.

“I know why you’re here,” she said softly.

I slammed my cup down on the table and stormed out of the kitchen.

I knew she would catch on that I was running, hiding really, from reality. I’m not sure what type of reality there is without Y/N , but I’m not ready to deal with the shit, so why does she have to pester me about it? If Y/N doesn’t want to be with me, then to hell with her. I don’t need her—I am better off alone, the way I had planned to be all along.

Seconds later my phone rang, but I ignored the call as soon as I saw her name. Why did she call me? To tell me she hates me or she needs her name off the lease, I was sure.

Goddammit, Jiyong, why did you do that? I kept asking myself. I didn’t have a good enough answer.

Day four began the worst way possible.

“ Jiyong , go upstairs!” she’s begging. No, not this again. One of the men slaps her across her face and she looks at the staircase; her eyes meet mine and I scream. Y/N .

“ Jiyong! Wake up, Jiyong ! Please wake up!” my mum screamed and shook me awake.

“Where is she? Where’s Y/N ?” I choked, sweat soaking my skin.

“She isn’t here, Jiyong .”

“But they . . .” It took me a moment to collect my thoughts and realize it was only a nightmare. The same nightmare I’ve had my entire life, only this time it was so much worse. My mother’s face was replaced with Y/N’s.

“Shhh . . . it’s okay. It was only a dream.” My mum cried and tried to hug me, but I gently pushed her arms back.

“No, I’m fine,” I assured her and told her to leave me alone.

I lay awake for the rest of the night trying to get the image out of my head, but I couldn’t.

Day four continued just as it started. My mum ignored me all day, which I thought I would want but it turned out I was sort of . . . lonely. I began to miss Y/N. I kept finding myself looking next to me to talk to her, to wait for her to say something that was sure to make me smile. I wanted to call her, my finger traced over that green button over one hundred times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I can’t give her what she wants, and that isn’t going to be good enough for her. It’s better this way. I spent the afternoon looking up how much it would cost me to move my shit back here to England. This is where I’m going to end up anyway, so I might as well get it over with.

We would never work, Y/N and me. I always knew we wouldn’t last. We couldn’t. It wasn’t possible for us to be together always. She’s too damn good for me and I know it. Everyone knows it. I see the way people turn to stare at us everywhere we go, and I know they’re wondering why that beautiful girl is with me.

I had been staring at my phone while downing a half bottle of whiskey for hours before I turned off the light and fell asleep. I thought I heard the buzzing of my phone on the nightstand, but I was too drunk to sit up and answer. The nightmare came again; this time Y/N’s nightgown was soaked in blood and she cried for me to go away, to leave her there on that couch.

Day five I woke up to a flashing red light on my phone indicating that yet again I’d missed her call, only this time it wasn’t intentional. Day five was when I stared at her name on the screen before looking at picture after picture of her. When did I take so many? I hadn’t realized how many pictures I had snapped without her paying any mind.

While looking through the pictures, I kept remembering the way her voice sounds. I never liked American accents—they bore me and they’re annoying—but Y/N’s voice is perfect. Her accent is perfect, and I could listen to her speak all day, every single day. Will I ever hear her voice again?

This one’s my favorite, I thought at least ten times while looking through the photos. I finally settled on a picture of her lying on her stomach on the bed, her legs crossed in the air and her hair down, tucked behind her ear. She had her chin resting on one of her hands and her lips slightly parted as she took in the words in front of her on the screen of her e-reader. I snapped the picture the moment she caught me staring, the exact moment that a smile, the most beautiful smile, appeared on her face. She looked so happy to be looking at me in this picture. Does . . . well, did she always look at me that way?

That day, day five, was when the weight appeared on my chest. A constant reminder of what I’d done, and most likely lost. I should have called her that day while staring at her pictures. Did she stare at my pictures? She only has one to this day, and ironically I found myself wishing I’d have allowed her to take more. Day five was when I threw my phone against the wall in hopes of smashing it, but only cracked the screen. Day five was when I desperately wished she would call me. If she called me, then it would be okay, everything would be okay. We’d both apologize and I’d go home. If she was the one to call me, then I wouldn’t feel guilty for coming back into her life. I wondered if she was feeling the same way I was. Was every day getting harder for her? Did every second without me make it harder for her to breathe?

I began to lose my appetite that day. I just wasn’t hungry. I missed her cooking, even the simple meals that she would make for me. Hell, I missed watching her eat. I missed every goddamn thing about that infuriating girl with kind eyes. Day five was when I finally broke down. I cried like a bitch and didn’t even feel bad about it. I cried and cried. I couldn’t stop. I tried desperately, but she wouldn’t leave my mind. She wouldn’t leave me alone; she kept appearing, she kept saying she loved me, and she kept hugging me, and when I realized it was my imagination, I cried again.

Day six I woke with swollen and bloodshot eyes. I couldn’t believe the way I’d broken down the previous night. The weight on my chest had magnified, and I could barely see straight. Why was I such a fuckup? Why did I continue to treat her like shit? She’s the first person who has ever been able to see me, inside of me, the real me, and I treated her like shit. I blamed her for everything, when in reality it was me. It was always me—even when I didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong, I was. I was rude to her when she tried to talk to me about things. I yelled at her when she called me out on my bullshit. And I lied to her repeatedly. She has forgiven me for everything, always. I could always count on that, and maybe that’s why I treated her the way I did, because I knew I could. I smashed my phone under my boot on day six. I went half the day without eating. My mum offered me oatmeal, but when I tried to force myself to eat it, it nearly came back up. I hadn’t showered since day three, and I was a fucking wreck. I tried to listen as my mum told me the few things she needed me to get from the store, but I couldn’t hear her. All I could think of was Y/N and her need to go to Conner’s at least five days a week.

Y/N once told me I ruined her. Now, as I sit here trying to focus, trying to just catch my breath, I know that she was wrong. She ruined me. She got inside me and fucked me up. I had spent years building those walls—my entire life, really—and here she came in and tore them down, leaving me with nothing but rubble.

“Did you hear me, Jiyong ? I made a small list in case you didn’t,” my mum said, handing me the frilly piece of stationery.

“Yes.” My voice was barely audible.

“Are you sure you’re okay to go?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I stood up and tucked the list into my dirty jeans.

“I heard you last night, Jiyong , if you want to—”

“Don’t, Mum. Please don’t.” I nearly choked on my words. My mouth was so dry and my throat was aching.

“Okay.” Her eyes were full of sadness as I walked out of the house to head to the store just down the road.

The list only consisted of a few items, yet I couldn’t remember any of them without digging the damn paper out of my pocket. I managed to corral the few things: bread, jam, coffee beans, and some fruit. Looking at all the food in the store made my empty stomach turn. I took an apple for myself and began to force myself to eat it. It tasted like cardboard, and I could feel the small pieces hitting the pit of my stomach as I paid the elderly woman at the cash register.

I walked outside and it began to snow. The snow made me think of her, too. Everything made me think of her. My head was aching with a headache that refused to go away. I rubbed my fingers over my temples with my free hand and crossed the street.

“ Jiyong ? Kwon Jiyong?” a voice called from the other side of the street. No. It couldn’t be.

“Is that you?” she asked again.

Natalie.

This couldn’t be happening, I kept thinking as she walked toward me with her hands full of shopping bags.

“Erm . . . hey,” was all I could say, my mind frantic, my palms already beginning to sweat.

“I thought you moved?” she asked.

Her eyes were bright, not lifeless like I remembered as she cried and begged for me to let her stay at my house when she had nowhere to go.

“I did . . . I’m only visiting,” I told her, and she set her bags on the sidewalk.

“Well, that’s good.” She smiled.

How could she be smiling at me after what I had done to her?

“Uh . . . yeah. How are you?” I forced myself to ask the girl whose life I ruined.

“I’m good, really good,” she chirped and ran her hands over her swollen belly.

Swollen belly? Oh God. No, wait . . . the time line didn’t add up. Holy shit, that scared me for a second.

“You’re pregnant?” I asked, hoping that she was so I hadn’t just insulted her.

“Yeah, six months along. And engaged!” She smiled again, holding her small hand up to show me a gold ring on her finger.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?” She tucked her brown hair behind her ear and looked into my eyes, which were circled with blue rings from lack of sleep.

Her voice was so sweet that it made me feel a thousand times worse. I couldn’t stop picturing her face as she caught all of us watching her on the small screen. She’d screamed, literally screamed, and ran from the room. I didn’t follow her, of course. I just laughed at her, laughed at her humiliation and her pain.

“I’m really sorry,” I blurted. It was strange, weird, and necessary. I expected her to call me names, to tell me how fucked up of a person I am, to punch me, even.

What I didn’t expect was for her to wrap her arms around me and tell me she forgave me.

“How can you forgive me? I was so fucked up. I ruined your life,” I said; my eyes were burning.

“No, you didn’t. Well, you did at first, but in a way, it all worked out in the end,” she said, and I nearly vomited on her green sweater.

“What?”

“After you . . . well, you know . . . I had nowhere to go, so I found a church, a new church since mine exiled me, and that’s where I met Elijah.” Her face instantly lit up at the mention of his name.

“And now here we are nearly three years later, engaged and expecting. Everything happens for a reason, I guess? Sounds cheesy, huh?” She giggled.

The sound reminded me that she was always such a sweet girl. I just hadn’t given a shit; her kindness made it easier to prey on her.

“I suppose it does, but I’m really glad you found someone. I’ve been thinking about you lately . . . you know . . . what I did, and I felt like shit about it. I know you’re happy now, but that doesn’t excuse what I did to you. It wasn’t until Y/N that I—” I cut myself off.

A little smile tweaked her lips. “ Y/N ?”

I nearly passed out from the pain. “She’s, um . . . well . . . she’s . . .” I stutter.

“She’s what? Your wife?” Natalie’s words cut straight to the core as her eyes searched my fingers for a band.

“No, she was . . . she was my girlfriend.”

“Oh. So you date now?” she half teased; she could sense my pain, I was sure.

“No . . . well, only her.”

“I see. And now she’s not your girlfriend anymore?”

“Nope.” I brought my fingers to my lip ring.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope things work out for you, the way they have for me,” she said.

“Thank you. Congratulations on the engagement and . . . baby,” I said uncomfortably.

“Thank you! We expect to marry this summer.”

“So soon?”

“Well, we’ve been engaged for two years.” She laughed.

“Wow.”

“It was fast, soon after we met,” Natalie explained.

I felt like an asshole as soon as the words left my mouth, but I asked: “Aren’t you too young?”

But she just smiled. “I’m nearly twenty-one, and it doesn’t make sense to wait. I’ve been fortunate enough to find the person I want to spend my life with at a young age—why waste any more time when he’s right in front of me asking that I do just that. I’m honored that he wants to make me his wife; there’s no greater expression of love than that.” As she explained, I could hear Y/N’s voice saying the words instead.

“I guess you’re right,” I told her and she smiled.

“Oh, there he is! I have to go—I’m freezing and pregnant, not a good combination.” She laughed before picking her bags up off the sidewalk and greeting a man in a sweater vest and khakis. His smile when seeing his pregnant fiancée was so bright that I swore it lit up that dreary day in England.

Day seven was long. Every day has been long. I kept thinking of Natalie and her forgiveness; it couldn’t have come at a better time. Sure, I looked like hell and she knew it, but she was happy and in love. Pregnant, at that. I didn’t ruin her life the way I thought I had.

And I thank God for that.

I spent the whole day in bed. I couldn’t even bring myself to open the damned blinds. My mum and Mike were out all day, so I was left alone to sulk in my misery. Each day got worse. I constantly thought about what she was doing, who she was with. Was she crying? Was she lonely? Had she returned to our apartment to find me? Why hadn’t she called me again?

This isn’t the pain I had read about in novels. This pain isn’t just in my mind, this pain isn’t physical. This is a soul-aching pain, something that is ripping me apart from the inside out, and I don’t think I can survive it. No one could.

This must be how Y/N feels when I hurt her. I can’t imagine her fragile body withstanding this type of pain, but clearly she’s stronger than she appears. She has to be to put up with me. Her mum once told me that if I really cared about her I would leave her alone; I would hurt her anyway, she said.

She was right. I should have left her alone then. I should have left her alone from that first day she walked into that dorm room. I promised myself that I would rather die than hurt her again . . . this is what this is. This is dying, this is worse than dying. It hurts worse. It has to.

I spent day eight drinking, the entire day. I couldn’t stop. With each drink I prayed that her face would leave my mind, but it wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

You have to get your shit together, Jiyong . You have to. I have to. I really do.

“ Jiyong . . .” Y/N ’s voice sends chills down my spine.

“Babe . . .” she says.

When I look up at her, she’s sitting on my mum’s couch with a smile on her face and a book in her lap.

“Come here, please,” she whines as the door opens and a group of men step inside. No.

“There she is,” says the short man who torments my dreams each night.

“ Jiyong ?” Y/N begins to cry.

“Get away from her,” I warn them as they close in on her. They don’t seem to hear me.

Her nightgown is ripped off as she’s thrown to the floor. Wrinkled and dirt-stained hands travel up her thighs as she whimpers my name.

“Please . . . Jiyong , help me.” She looks to me, but I’m frozen.

I am immobile and unable to help her. I am forced to watch as they beat her and violate her until she’s lying on the floor silent and bloodied.

My mum didn’t wake me, no one did. I had to finish it, all of it, and when I woke up my reality was worse than any nightmare.

DAY NINE is today.

“Did you hear about Christian Vance moving to Seattle?” my mum asks me as I push the cereal around the bowl in front of me.

“Yeah.”

“That’s exciting, isn’t it? A new branch in Seattle.”

“I suppose it is.”

“He’s having a dinner party on Sunday. He thought you’d be there.”

“How do you know?” I ask her.

“He told me, we talk from time to time.” She looks away and refills her coffee mug.

“What for?”

“Because we can—now eat your cereal.” She scolds me like a child, but I don’t have the energy to come up with a snappy remark.

“I don’t want to go,” I tell her and force the spoon to my mouth.

“You may not see him again for a while.”

“So? I barely see him now anyway.”

She looks as if she has something else to say, but she keeps quiet.

“Have you got any aspirin?” I ask, and she nods before disappearing to retrieve some.

I don’t want to go to a stupid fucking dinner party celebrating Christian and Kimberly leaving for Seattle. I’m tired of everyone always talking about Seattle, and I know Y/N will be there. The pain at the idea of seeing her tackles me and nearly knocks me out of the chair. I have to stay away from her, I owe it to her. If I can stay here for a few more days, weeks even, we can both move on. She’ll find someone like Natalie’s fiancé, someone much better for her than me.

“I still think you should go,” my mum says again as I swallow the aspirin, knowing they won’t help.

“I can’t go, Mum . . . even if I wanted to. I would have to leave first thing in the morning and I’m not ready to leave.”

“You mean you aren’t ready to face what you left,” she says.

I can’t hold it in any longer. I bury my face in my hands as I let the pain take over, I let it drown me. I welcome it, and hope it kills me.

“ Jiyong . . .” My mum’s voice is quiet and comforting as she hugs me and I shake in her arms.

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sassycassie-s-writing · 6 years

Text

To Be Happy - Summer

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam, SuperFam - Jason Todd/Robin & Conner Kent/Kon-El/Superboy

Rating: PG

Original Idea: @welovegroot really loves it when I write a Jason/OC/Kon drama triangle I guess so here’s this one. This one’s drama came from this song. (S/O to my sister for listening to the soundtrack on perpetual repeat)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) This one will have several parts. Five, to be exact! I go to a college where we get out the first week of May, so yes May counts as summer fight me.

^^^^^

May 18, 2:15PM

“Welcome to Mount Justice,” Nightwing said as the zeta tube spat us out. I stumbled clumsily onto all fours like an idiot. “Don’t worry, Stars. You’ll get used to that. It’s not so bad after the first couple times.”

I cleared my throat. “Right.”

“Hey guys! What’s going—who’s this?” a new voice asked as a boy who was half-a-foot shorter than me but about the same age as I was approached us.

“Oh,” Nightwing said. “This is the new recruit. Starbeam. Starbeam, this is my brother. Robin.”

“Nice to meet you, Robin,” I said, sticking my hand out. The smaller boy took it and shook it.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he replied.

I grinned.

“Hey Robin, how about I let you give her the tour? I think you’re closer to her age,” Nightwing suggested.

“Sure,” Robin said. He extended his elbow to me. “M’lady. May I escort you around the fortress? You’ll find it’s easy to get lost alone.”

I laughed and looped my arm through his. “You may, good sir,” I said playfully.

He grinned and started to show me around. “So. New recruit, huh? Didn’t know we were recruiting.”

“According to Nightwing you’re always recruiting, but there aren’t enough sidekicks to add to the team.”

“Ah. Makes sense I guess. So what’s your story? Who trained you?”

I sighed and stuck my other hand in the pocket of my suit to bring out a photo. “This is Mind Beam. She mentored me.” I passed it to him. He took it and examined it before handing it back to me. I put it gently back in my pocket.

“Never heard of her,” he said thoughtfully. “She’s not part of the Justice League I'm guessing.”

“No. She refused. Personal reasons. But she’s powerful and agreed to train me.”

“So what can you do?”

“I'm telekinetic,” I said.

“Cool. This is the kitchen. Only two members of the team live here full-time so it doesn’t get too much use.”

“Three,” I corrected.

“You’re going to live here?”

“Don’t have anywhere else to go.” I shrugged.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

“Speaking of full-timers—hey Supes! Come meet the newbie!”

A boy taller than both me and Robin approached us. “Hi,” he said blandly.

I smiled and stuck my hand out. “Starbeam,” I said.

He shook it powerfully. “Superboy. You can call me Kon.”

“Call me Stars.”

Kon looked at Robin. “Giving the grand tour, huh?” he asked. He was so handsome. Defined features for a teenager with bottomless blue eyes, black hair, and muscular.

Robin nodded. “Yup,” he said, a proud smile on his face. He held himself confidently for a 4’7” fifteen-year-old who Kon could probably break in half with a snap of his fingers. I could tear this tiny Robin in two with a blink and a thought. But I liked his confidence. I thought it had a certain cute charm to it.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Kon said before bowing out of the kitchen.

I stared after him as he left. “He’s cute,” I said impulsively.

Little Robin puffed his chest out. “You think so?” he asked with a disgusted expression on his face. I chuckled and grinned at Robin.

“You’re cute too,” I amended.

“Hmph,” Robin grunted.

I looked at where Superboy disappeared. “So what’s his story, though? I didn’t know Superman had a son—I mean, a sidekick.”

“Technically he doesn’t have either,” Robin said begrudgingly. “Supey is a half-clone of the big guy.”

“Half?”

“The other half is Lex Luthor.”

I blinked. “… Oh.”

“But, really, he’s not much like either of them,” Robin said, completely cavalier. He beckoned me out of the kitchen. I followed curiously, eager to see the rest of the base.

^^^^^

Jason glanced at Starbeam as she wandered Mt. Justice with him. She had an awed expression on her face. She seemed so sweet and pretty. Her banter was quick-witted and playful. She greeted M’gann with a kind, gentle smile and excitement that made her eyes light up. She matched up with Jason’s sense of humor easily. She knew what he was talking about when he mentioned favorite classic novels of his and commented on the philosophy of some of them.

He was head-over-heels.

But… the way she looked at Conner…

It was common for girls to look at Conner the way she had. He was a handsome guy, Jason supposed, with something rugged that girls liked—for some reason. But it was uncommon for the type of girl Jason usually found himself liking to stare at Conner like that. The ones with incredible mental intelligence and emotional intelligence who looked deeper than the surface.

Maybe…

Maybe it was better if she went after Conner. She’d only end up breaking Jason’s heart… right?

Jason shook his head while Starbeam and M’gann chatted with pleasant tones and grins. Her laughter was infection and her smile made his heart melt.

Stop it, Jason. You can only bear so much, he chastised himself. Compared to a six-foot football player, a four-foot-seven pipsqueak like you has no chance. Better not get your hopes up.

She looked back at him. “Shall we continue the tour?” she asked.

“Yeah sure,” he said, voice more dejected than before.

She noticed and scrunched her eyebrows as they headed off. “What’s wrong? Did I say something to offend you?”

Jason shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts. “No. Sorry. Just got distracted.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“So, this is going to be your room, I guess…”

They continued the tour, and Jason found himself looking at her more than what he was meant to be showing her. He knew what all of it was anyway—he could explain whatever he was showing her without looking.

When it was over, they ended in the zeta tube area where her bags were waiting for her to move them.

Kon was already there, picking three of them up. She had several duffle bags with her clothes and gear. “Sorry I just… thought I’d get these out of the way in case someone comes in without knowing they’re there and tripping. Which room is yours?” Kon asked.

Jason bent down to grab another duffle bag, rolling his eyes when Stars and Kon wouldn’t see.

“Uh… Robin? Remind me which room is mine?” she requested, setting her hand on Jason’s back as he pretended to be fiddling with untwisting the strap. He straightened up.

“I’ll show you how to get there from here,” he said, giving her a smile. She grinned back.

“Thanks.”

Jason pretended he didn’t notice Kon narrowing his eyes at him as he pulled the bag strap onto his shoulder. She grabbed three—one with her powers and the other two on each shoulder—and followed after him.

^^^^^

June 15, 4:35PM

Over Jason’s next several visits to Mt. Justice after school and on weekends, he began to notice Stars and Kon developing crushes on each other. Awkward blushes when the other would look away. Occasionally getting flustered when speaking to each other. Lots of stumbling over words. Several accidental impacts when one would enter the room as the other was leaving that ended with more stumbling over words and blushes. A training session where she ended up pinning him down while he stared at her like he’d just been blessed by Wonder Woman.

Jason tried not to feel anything, but that green monster of envy and the red monster of anger reared their disgustingly ugly heads in his chest and stomach. The angry one eventually got put down because he had no reason to be angry that she was happy, but the envious sensation didn’t want to go away.

One Friday he arrived to hear her singing Broadway and Disney songs in her room. M’gann sounded like she was in Stars’ room as well, singing the two parts near the end of For the First Time in Forever from “Frozen”. Stars sounded like she was singing Elsa and M’gann Anna.

They were also laughing.

Jason jogged through the base to her doorway. It was open.

Stars was all dressed up—wearing a nice blouse and dressy jeans, and makeup for the first time since Jason met her. “You look… nice,” he said.

She beamed at him. “Thanks! Kon and I are going to a movie so I thought I’d look nice.”

“Like… a date?”

“Uh… we didn’t specify. He just asked if I was interested in that new sci-fi movie that came out and of course I am so we’re gonna go see it while everyone else is busy.”

Jason slouched his shoulders. “Uh… cool,” he said. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Stars remarked.

“No, no. You two have some… girl time.”

“Oh we do all the time,” Stars dismissed. “We both live here full-time. Come on in and join.”

^^^^^

Knock-knock!

Robin, M’gann, and I all turned to my door. Kon was standing there with a nice jacket on over his usual outfit of his House of El crest T-shirt and jeans. M’gann paused the music and Robin relaxed out of the instinctive fighting stance he took.

Kon cleared his throat. “Are, uh, are you ready, Stars?” he asked, ignoring my visitors.

I nodded and grabbed my purse off my bed. “Yup!” I said. I turned to M’gann and Robin. “See you guys later. Say hi to Wally for me when he gets here.”

I ducked out of the room, hearing M’gann and Robin both call out a, “Will do!”

Kon and I headed to the exit of the mountain that would take us to the nearby town, walking side-by-side.

Kon stopped. I did too a step-and-a-half after. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

He bit his lower lip. “I, uh… something seems… wrong,” he said quietly.

I blinked. “Like…?” I prompted gently.

He sighed. “Like, am I supposed to hold your hand or have your arm through mine? Is that a thing?”

“It’s a thing. It’s not a thing we have to engage in if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Then how about the escort?” I suggested. “Bend your elbow towards me.” Kon did so. I looped my arm through his. “See? There we go. All fixed. It shows we’re doing something together but might not necessarily be a couple.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I smiled and giggled quietly as we proceeded the rest of the way out the mountain, heading into town.

The movie was fun. We laughed a lot and glanced at each other to make sure the other didn’t miss what just happened.

I half-expected Kon to fake-yawn and wrap his arm around my shoulders before remembering he didn’t exactly have a normal life like I had and hadn’t been taught that something like that was a thing. I was fine when it didn’t happen. I was fine when he didn’t put his hand on the armrest with his palm up, inviting me to hold his hand. I was fine. I actually liked it. First time I went to a movie alone with a guy and he didn’t try to make a move on me.

How refreshing.

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kristablogs · 7 years

Text

I Found My Voice As A Writer In Justin Timberlake Fan Fiction

Simone Noronha for BuzzFeed News

At 13 years old, there was one thing I knew for sure: If ever I were to meet Justin Timberlake, it would have to be under the pretense that I wasn’t a fan.

Trust, I’d given it a lot of thought. Imagining all of the possible ways I could end up in the same room as JT was at the top of my list of favorite pastimes, right next to listening to NSYNC. I knew the most likely way to meet him would be in the capacity of a fan, maybe at a meet-and-greet or by winning backstage passes, but I also understood that if I wanted Justin to take me seriously — and that was key, if we were going to fall in love — I couldn’t come across as some embarrassing, giddy, fawning fan. Which, of course, I was.

So I spent hours imagining our possible love stories — as I was falling asleep, when I was daydreaming in class, wherever. These were PG-rated rom-coms, starring future me and (somehow) 1998-era Justin Timberlake. The scenarios were convoluted; they had dialogue; I knew what I’d be wearing and exactly how I’d win him over. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was creating fanfic — more than a decade before I knew there was such a thing.

I fell hard for NSYNC, and Justin, in 1998, right around when the “Tearin’ Up My Heart” video came out. Before that, I’d been dismissive of boy bands. I was raised primarily on rap and R&B, my parents hailing from what my dad called, to my great embarrassment, the “Boogie-Down Bronx.” So I knew what good music was, and this pretty-boy stuff was not it. But then TRL became a thing, and these boys were unavoidable. And then I saw the video. More specifically, I saw Justin’s arm in a tank top, bent over his glossy blond curls and pouting lips — just so.

I am not hyperbolizing when I say something deep within me shifted in that moment. I’d had celebrity crushes before, but I was mostly too embarrassed to even admit them to myself. (In a fill-in-the-blank journal from when I was 8, I’d crossed out an “I have a crush on ____” prompt and substituted in tiny letters above it, “I sort of think the Fresh Prince is cute.”) Those were the fleeting interests of an amateur; this crush — this passion — settled into my core. As a chubby, bespectacled middle schooler who had heavy bangs long past the time everyone else had grown them out, I was scared of people in general and terrified especially of boys. But man, those biceps sure seemed like they’d be fun to touch.

Part of loving a famous icon is the acute agony of knowing he is unreachable.

Within months, I was all in. I owned approximately 40 pieces of NSYNC merchandise: multiple posters, pins, one giant pencil, a journal, a folder, pens, stickers, patches, every magazine with the band on the cover, lip balm, their official book, textbook covers, dolls, shirts, and, of course, CDs. I recorded (on actual VHS tapes!) every music video and MTV appearance, as well as their HBO special, and I watched a random segment from those tapes with a bowl of cereal every morning before school. I went to two concerts and cried both times. I read every bit of trivia. I memorized Justin’s birthday (Jan. 31) and favorite movie (The Usual Suspects). And when MTV linked up with Star Wars for a trivia sweepstakes, the prize for which involved a one-on-five date with the boys, I saw The Phantom Menace in theaters four times to try to answer their list of questions. I didn’t win.

People who’ve never experienced this specific brand of boy-idol love might be baffled by the fact that it often brings millions of girls to tears. What they don’t understand is that part of loving a famous icon is the acute agony of knowing he is unreachable. I loved Justin Timberlake so much, just like millions of other girls in the world, and not only would I never be with him, but I’d never be able to appreciate a real relationship, because I’d know the person I ended up with would not be the man I loved the most. [Quick note to say hi to my boyfriend, whom — I want to be clear — I love much more than I love Justin Timberlake.] I felt this massive injustice as a true, powerful, physical pain. The only way I was able to mitigate it was to distract myself with stories that placed me and JT in a universe where we could be together.

By the time I was fully under siege by NSYNC obsession, I’d begun writing, and abandoned, three novels. I loved reading, I wrote in my journal every day, and I knew I wanted to be a writer when I grew up — either that or a singer (still on the fence, to be honest). But when I tried to write fiction, I hated what came out. I’d suddenly lose any imagination I had. The dialogue didn’t make sense. Nothing sounded as real or natural as the stuff I was reading. I didn’t know how people got ideas, and, if they were lucky enough to come up with one, how they didn’t get bored with it.

But love stories about me and JT? Those came easy.

One of my favorites: I’m 18, finally, and super hot (finally). NSYNC is still touring because they will never ever break up, and they’re holding a contest (a singing contest), and the winner gets to sing a song with them onstage. I’m not planning on trying out, but I go with a friend who is. When we get to the audition room, after my friend sings well but not too well, Justin (who is, obviously, judging) asks what I’ll be singing. And I say, Oh me? No, no, I’m just here for support, I couldn’t possibly.

And then my friend says, She actually has a great voice.

And Justin smiles wryly, and I’m like, Well, if you insist, though I’m hardly prepared!

Justin, the rest of the boys, and my friend needle me until finally I close my eyes and just go for it, belting (usually, though, this detail changed from time to time) some vintage Mariah Carey. I nail it, a cappella, and everyone — especially Justin — is blown away. And then I win, and then we fall in love.

In these imagined futures, Justin played an important role, but the real star was future me.

Or: I bring my younger cousin to a concert, and we wait outside afterward because she wants to meet the guys. When they come by to say hello (because of course they do) I kind of smirk and shrug and say, I’m sorry to bother you guys — she’s just such a fan. And Justin, who is floored by the fact that this cool (and hot, so frickin’ hot) chick isn’t remotely impressed by him, says, And you’re not? And I say something so chill, like, Pop music isn’t really my speed. And then he asks if I want to hang out. And then we fall in love.

The fantasies were many and varied and provided a vital, immersive respite from the life I was actually living — one consisting mainly of wondering what made the popular kids popular, how people mustered the courage to speak up in large groups, and why I’d gotten stuck with a body all plump and wrong, so unlike all the others I saw on TV. In these imagined futures, Justin played an important role, but the real star was future me. And she was everything I needed to believe I’d become — attractive, witty, and, above all, bold. If I could trust that self was waiting for me, those in-between years seemed a little more manageable.

There is a name for what I was doing, though I didn’t know it at the time. I was creating fanfiction — those amateur, fan-written, oft mocked stories featuring characters created by other writers (or real pop stars) as well as first- or second-person narration, which have found vibrant communities on websites like Tumblr and Wattpad. But I kept mine to myself. The stories I actually wrote down, and eventually showed to other people, never starred dreamy pop idols. It didn’t seem like something a "Real Writer" would do, as if “good” writing and joy were mutually exclusive. But I now find kinship among those who contribute to these platforms. To say fanfiction stories are nothing but personalized soft porn for horny girls (which, to be very clear, is an important part of what they are, and which I’m 100% for) is to greatly underestimate their power.

That fanfiction has real commercial power is now well-acknowledged; Fifty Shades of Grey, originally written as Twilight fanfic, is probably the most mainstream, but Anna Todd also turned her One Direction fanfic After into a six-figure book deal and a wildly successful trilogy. Then there are the “retellings,” i.e. fanfic approved by the literati: Gregory Maguire’s Wicked, the series and musical about Frank L. Baum’s Oz witches, or Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea, an imagined prequel to Jane Eyre. Which is to say, writers pull inspiration from all manner of sources; sometimes the result is a love story that asserts the validity of a young woman’s (often dismissed) desire. Sometimes it is a channel through which a burgeoning writer can deliver and refine her talent.

My stories, like those of many fanfic writers, were as much about building a narrative as they were about enacting a fantasy.

My stories, like those of many fanfic writers, were as much about building a narrative as they were about enacting a fantasy. I can remember how problems of character motivation seemed so much less abstract when they were considered through the lens of an imagined, but possible, future — Justin Timberlake was a real (if mythic) person, and structuring the narrative became a sort of problem-solving. What could a person like me do to meet a person like him? I struggled to figure out what an 8-year-old would do if she found a secret portal to a fantasy world (my second abandoned novel), but I loved putting myself in conversation with my ultimate crush and asking, What next? What next?

There is a simple, dizzying joy in writing (or reading!) a story in which you and your dream crush are the stars, but also intrinsic to that setup is the understanding that you — the writer, the reader — deserve the star treatment you’re receiving. If this is something you don’t believe (and certainly, when I was imagining my own love stories, I didn’t believe it), it can be comfort enough to pretend you do, to indulge the notion that you might be good enough to be the protagonist of your own story for long enough that it no longer feels that far-fetched.

I didn’t meet Justin Timberlake (and haven't yet). But I did grow into my confidence and my voice — a voice which I know was honed by the stories I told myself. Without those stories, there would be no writing career, no novel, no unrepentant gushing over the things (and people) who drive my creativity. There’s probably a lot more of 13-year-old Arianna in me now than 13-year-old Arianna would have wanted. But, at 30, I can see she was always cooler than she believed, anyway. I like to think, had Justin met me then, he would have at least been kind of charmed. ●

Arianna Rebolini is author of the novel Public Relations with Katie Heaney. She was formerly a deputy editorial director at BuzzFeed. You can follow her @AriannaRebolini or check out her writing here.

Learn more about Public Relations here.

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mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl · 5 years

Text

Now 2~Gdragon Pt.29

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:3,204

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book!

Jiyong POV

Do you want another cup of coffee?” she asks. “It’ll help with the hangover.”

“No, I know how to get rid of a hangover. I’ve had plenty,” I growl.

Carly rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a dick. I was just asking.”

“Stop talking.” I rub my temples. Her voice is annoying as hell.

“Charming as ever, I see.” She laughs and leaves me alone in her small kitchen.

I’m a dumb-ass for even being here, but it’s not like I had another option. Yes, I did, I’m just trying to not take the blame for my overreaction. I was harsh on Y/N and said some pretty fucked-up things, and now here I am in Carly’s kitchen drinking fucking coffee this late in the afternoon.

“Do you need a ride back to your car?” she yells from the other room.

“Obviously,” I respond, and she walks into the kitchen wearing only a bra.

“You’re lucky that I brought your drunk ass home with me. My boyfriend will be arriving soon, so we need to go.” She slides her shirt over her head.

“You have a boyfriend? Nice.” This keeps getting better.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. I do. It may be surprising to you that not everyone just wants an endless parade of fuck buddies.”

I almost tell her about Y/N , but I decide against it, since it’s none of her business. “I gotta piss first,” I tell her and walk toward the bathroom.

My head is pounding and I’m angry at myself for coming here. I should be at home . . . well, on campus. I hear my phone buzzing on the counter and snap back around.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” I bark at Carly, and she takes a step back.

“I’m not! Man, you weren’t this big of an asshole last night,” she remarks, but I ignore her.

I follow Carly to her car, my head pounding with each step against the concrete. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. I shouldn’t have drunk at all. I look over at Carly as she rolls her window down and lights a cigarette.

How could she ever have been my type? She’s not wearing a seat belt. She puts makeup on at stoplights. Y/N is so different from her, from any of the girls I’ve ever been with.

As we’re driving back to the bar where I got shit-faced last night, I keep rereading the texts from Y/N , over and over again. This is terrible—she’s probably really worried. My head’s too foggy to think up a good excuse, so I just text her, I fell asleep in the car after drinking too much with Taeyang last night. Be home soon.

Something feels off, and I pause for a minute. But my whole brain is just rattled, so I hit send and watch the phone to see if she’s replying. Nothing.

Well, I can’t tell her about this, about staying at Carly’s house. She’ll never forgive me, she won’t even hear me out. I know she won’t. I can tell she’s getting tired of my shit lately. I know she is.

I just don’t have a fucking clue how to fix it.

Carly interrupts my rumination when she hits the brake and curses. “Aaagh, fuck. We have to go around—there’s a wreck up there,” she says, pointing to the cars blocking our way.

Glancing up, I see a middle-aged man standing with his hands in his pockets while talking to a police officer. He points to a white car that looks . . . just like . . .

I panic. “Stop the car,” I demand.

“What? Jesus, Hard—”

“I said stop the goddamn car!” Without thinking, I open the door as the car comes to a stop and rush over to the damaged cars. “Where’s the other driver?” I ask the officer angrily and look around the scene.

The front end of the white car is badly damaged, and then I see the WCU parking pass hanging from the rearview mirror. Fuck. An ambulance is parked next to the police car. Fuck.

If something happened to her . . . if she isn’t okay . . .

“Where’s the girl? Someone fucking answer me!” I scream.

The cop gets an aggressively annoyed look on his face, but the other driver sees my anxiety and says softly, “There,” and points to the ambulance.

My heart stops beating.

Wandering over in a daze, I see the ambulance doors are open . . . and Y/N is sitting on its back bumper, an ice pack on her cheek.

Thank God. Thank God it’s only small.

I rush over to her, and the words start tumbling from my mouth. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Relief takes over her features when she sees me. “I had an accident.” Above her eye is a small bandage, and her lip is swollen and split on the side.

“Can you go?” I ask rudely. “Can she go?” I ask the young EMT who’s standing nearby.

The woman nods and walks away quickly. I reach for Y/N’s ice pack and move it, revealing a knot the size of a golf ball. Her cheeks are stained with tears, and her eyes are swollen and red. I can already see the black eye forming under her delicate skin.

“Fuck—are you okay? Was it his fault?” I turn and try to find that asshole again.

“No, I ran into him,” she says, wincing as she grabs the ice pack and puts it back on her skin. Then some of the relief leaves her eyes as she looks up at me and asks, “Where were you all day?”

“What?” I ask, honestly confused, between my hangover and seeing her like this.

With a colder look in her eyes, she says, “I said, ‘ Jiyong , where were you all day?’ ”

I snap back to the situation. Fuck.

And right as I’m about to make an excuse, Carly walks up and smacks me on the ass. “Well, Mr. Dark and Moody, can I go? You can walk back to your car from here, right? I really need to get back home.”

Y/N ’s eyes go wide. “Who are you?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Not this. Not now.

Carly smiles and gives Y/N a little nod. “I’m Jiyong’s friend Carly. Sorry about your accident.” Then she looks at me. “Can I go now?”

“Bye, Carly,” I snap.

“Wait,” Y/N says. “He was with you last night at your place?”

I try to make eye contact with her, but she continues to stare at Carly, who says, “Yeah, I was just trying to take him back to his car.”

“His car? Where’s that?” she says, her voice shaking.

“Bye, Carly,” I say again and glare at her.

Y/N stands up, though her knees buckle a little. “No—tell me where his car is.”

I grab hold of her elbows in an attempt to stop her, but she pushes me away and then whimpers from the pain of the motion. “Don’t touch me,” she says through her teeth.

“Carly. Where is his car?” Y/N asks again.

Carly raises her hands and looks back and forth between Y/N and me. “At the bar where I work. Okay, I’m going now,” she says and wanders off.

“ Y/N . . .” I plead. God, why am I such a fuckup?

“Get away from me,” she replies. Her cheek goes in a little; I can tell she’s biting down on it to keep her tears at bay. Now that she’s standing here, staring off in the distance and trying to appear emotionless, I’m missing the days of her constant crying.

“ Y/N , we have . . .” I begin, but my voice cracks. Now I’m the emotional one, and for once I don’t care. The panic from seeing the front end of her car smashed still courses through me, and I don’t want anything other than to hold her right now.

She still doesn’t look at me. “Go. Now. Or I’ll tell the officer to make you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about them—”

Her eyes whip back toward me with a vengeance. “No—I’m done listening to you! I’m not sure what happened last night, but all morning I knew—somehow knew—you were with someone else. I was just trying to force myself not to believe it.”

“We can work this out,” I beg. “We always have.”

“ Jiyong! Do you not see that I was just in an accident?” she yells and starts crying, prompting the EMT to walk back over. “Actually, you probably can’t tell, your version of reality is so warped. You write me a note last night about going out with your dad this morning, then you text me that you fell asleep drunk in your car after drinking with Taeyang. With Taeyang! You must think I’m stupid enough to believe anything—even things that contradict each other.” She glares at me. “Of course, you’re a walking bundle of contradictions, so, yeah, I can see how you might mistakenly think the rest of reality is, too.”

The realization of just how stupid I was fills me, and I can’t speak for a moment. I’m so stupid, so very, very stupid. And not just because I couldn’t keep my stories straight.

The EMT takes that moment to put a hand on Y/N’s shoulder and says, “Is everything okay over here? We need to get you to the hospital, just to check everything out.”

Wiping her tears from her cheeks, Y/N looks dead at me and says to her, “Yes. I’m ready. I’m ready to leave now.”

I crack open my fourth beer and spin the cap on the glossy wooden surface of our coffee table. When is she going to be here? Is she going to be here?

Maybe I should just text her and tell her that I did have sex with Carly, just to end both of our miseries.

A loud knock on the door breaks me from my plotting.

Here we go. I hope she’s alone. I grab my beer, take another swig, and head for the door. The knocking quickly shifts to pounding, and I swing open the door to find Taeyang. Before I can react, his hands grip the collar of my T-shirt and he slams me against the wall.

What the fuck? He’s much stronger than I ever expected, and I’m astounded by his aggressive behavior.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” he yells. I didn’t know his voice could even get that loud.

“Get the fuck off of me!” I push back, but he doesn’t move. Fuck, he’s strong.

He lets go of me and for a second I think he’s going to punch me, but he doesn’t. “I know that you slept with another girl and you caused her to wreck her car!” He gets in my face again.

“I suggest you lower your fucking voice,” I snap.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he says through his teeth.

The alcohol makes me indignant, when I should be ashamed. “I already beat your ass before, remember,” I say as I go back to the couch and sit.

Taeyang follows me. “I wasn’t as angry with you then as I am now.” He lifts his chin higher. “You can’t just go around hurting her all the time!”

I wave him off. “I didn’t even sleep with that girl. I just slept over at her house, so mind your own damn business.”

“Oh, wow! Of course you’re drinking!” He gestures at the empty beer bottles on the table and the one in my hand. “ Y/N is all banged up and has a concussion because of you, and here you are getting drunk. You’re such a prick!” he practically screams.

“That wasn’t my fucking fault and I tried to talk to her!”

“Yes, it was your fault! It was your damn text message that she was trying to read when she crashed. A text that she knew right away was a lie, might I add.”

The breath is knocked out of me. “What are you talking about?” I choke.

“She was so anxious to hear from you all day, she grabbed her phone as soon as she saw your name.”

This is my fault. How did I not put it together? I cause these injuries to her. I hurt her.

Taeyang continues to stare at me. “She’s done with you—you know that, don’t you?”

I look up at him, suddenly weary. “Yeah. I know.” I reach for my beer. “And you can leave now.”

But he snatches the bottle from my hand and walks into the kitchen.

“You’re really fucking pushing it,” I warn him and jump up.

“You’re being an idiot and you know it. You’re here getting shit-faced while Y/N’s hurt, and you don’t even care!” he yells.

“Stop yelling at me! Fuck!” I twist my fingers into my hair, tugging at the roots. “I do care. But she isn’t going to believe anything I say!”

“Do you blame her? You should have just come home, or how about this, never left at all?” he says and pours my beer down the drain. “How can you be so uncaring? She loves you so much.” He goes to the refrigerator and hands me a bottle of water.

“I’m not uncaring. I’m just sick of waiting for some shit to happen. You were babbling on and on about your fucking perfect love life and making sacrifices, blah, blah. Then Y/N goes and says his damn name.” I roll my head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

“Whose name?” he asks.

“Seungri. She said his name in her sleep. Clear as day, like she wanted him to be there instead of me.”

“In her sleep?” he asks, and I can hear the sarcasm in his voice.

“Yes. Sleeping or not, she said his name instead of mine.”

He rolls his eyes. “You do realize how ridiculous this sounds, don’t you? Y/N said Seungri’s name while she was sleeping, so you go out and get drunk? You’re making a big deal out of this for no reason.”

The water bottle crunches and collapses in my hand from my grip.

“You don’t even—” I start, but then hear keys and the sound of the front lock turning and opening.

I turn around and see her come through the door. Y/N .

. . . and Seungri. Seungri next to her.

I can’t see straight as I get up and move toward them. “What the fuck is this shit?” I scream.

Y/N takes a step back, stumbles, and catches herself on the wall behind her. “ Jiyong , stop!” she yells at me.

“No! Fuck this! I’m sick of you coming around every time shit goes down!” I say and shove my hands against Zed’s chest.

“Stop it!” Y/N yells again.

“Please,” she says, then looks at Taeyang. “What are you doing here?” she asks him.

“I . . . I came to talk to him.”

I nod sarcastically. “Actually, he came here trying to fight me.”

Y/N’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Taeyang says.

Seungri is breathing hard and he’s staring at her. How could she bring him here after everything? Of course she’d go running to him. The man of her dreams.

Y/N turns to Seungri and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me home, Seungri. I really appreciate it, but it’s probably best you go.”

He eyes me. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes, I am. Thank you so much. Taeyang’s here, and I’ll be going to his parents’ place tonight.”

Seungri nods in agreement—like he gets enough of a say to agree to anything!—then turns and leaves. Y/N closes the door behind him.

I can’t control my anger as Y/N turns to me with a scowl on her face. “I’m getting my clothes.” She walks into the bedroom.

I follow her, of course.

“Why did you call him for a ride?” I shout behind her.

“Why did you go drinking with this Carly girl? Oh, wait, you were probably complaining how needy and full of expectations your girlfriend is,” she snaps.

“Oh, let me guess how quick you were to unload to Seungri about how fucked up I am,” I growl back at her.

“No! I didn’t tell him anything, actually. I’m sure he already knows it.”

“Are you going to let me explain my side of this?” I ask her.

“Sure,” she remarks, attempting to pull her suitcase from the top shelf in the closet. I move to help her.

“Move,” she snaps, obviously out of patience with my bullshit.

I step back and let her get the case down. “I shouldn’t have left last night,” I tell her.

“Really?” she sarcastically says.

“Yes, really. I shouldn’t have left and I shouldn’t have drunk so much—but I didn’t cheat on you. I wouldn’t do that. I only slept at her house because I was too drunk to drive—that’s it,” I explain.

She crosses her arms and gets that classic mad-girlfriend pose. “Then why lie?”

“I don’t know . . . because I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Well, cheaters usually don’t admit when they cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” I tell her. She sighs, obviously not convinced.

“It’s really hard to believe you when you blatantly lie all the time. This time isn’t any different.”

“I know. I’m sorry for lying before, about everything, but I wouldn’t cheat on you.” I put my arms in the air.

She neatly places a folded shirt in her suitcase. “Like I said, cheaters don’t admit they cheated. If you didn’t have anything to hide, you wouldn’t have lied.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, I didn’t do anything with her,” I say, defending myself as she adds another article of clothing.

“So what if I got wasted and stayed the night at Seungris house? What would you do?” she asks me, and the thought nearly sends me over the edge.

“I’d fucking kill him.”

“So it’s not a big deal when you do it, only if it were me?” She calls me out on my double standard. “None of this even matters—you made it clear that I’m only temporary in your life,” Y/N says. She walks out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall to get her toiletries. She really is going with Taeyang to my father’s house. This is bullshit. She isn’t temporary to me, how could she even think that? Probably because of all the shit I said to her last night and my lack of words today.

“You know I’m not going to let this go,” I tell her when she zips her suitcase.

“Well, I’m leaving.”

“Why? You know you’ll be back.” My anger speaks for me.

“That’s exactly why I’m leaving,” she says, her voice shaky as she grabs her suitcase and leaves the room without looking back.

When I hear the front door slam shut, I lean my back against the wall and slide to the floor.

a/n dude on last part i propably change the nameand inames zed in previous part seunghyun and i’m sorry zed=seungri jace=seunghyun just to clear that up sorry

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mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl · 6 years

Text

NOW 2~G-Dragon Pt.26

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:4,507

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book

Jiyong parks as close to the coffeehouse as he can manage, but the campus is crowded since everyone has returned from Christmas break. He curses the entire time he circles each parking lot, and I try not to laugh at his annoyance. It’s quite adorable. “Give me your bag,” Jiyong says when I get out of the car. I hand it to him with a smile and thank him for the thoughtful gesture. It’s pretty heavy, manageable but heavy. It feels strange being back on campus; so much has changed and happened since I was last here.

The cold wind whips against my skin, and Jiyong pulls a beanie over his head before zipping his jacket up all the way. We rush through the parking lot and down the street. I should have brought a thicker jacket, and gloves, and even a hat for myself. Jiyong was right when he said I shouldn’t wear the dress, but there is no way I am admitting that. Jiyong looks adorable with his hair hidden under the beanie, and his cheeks and nose are red from the cold. Only Jiyong would look even more attractive in this harsh weather. “There he is.” He points to Tae as we walk inside the coffee shop. The familiarity of the small space calms my nerves, and I smile as soon as I see my closest friend sitting at a small table waiting for me. tae smiles when he spots us, and when we get near he greets us. “Good morning.” “Morning,” I chirp back. “I’ll get in line,” Jiyong mumbles and heads to the counter. I didn’t expect him to stay, or get my coffee, but I’m glad he does. We don’t have any classes together this semester, and I’ll miss seeing him since I’ve gotten used to seeing him all day. “Ready for the new semester?” Taeasks when I take a seat across from him. The chair squeaks against the tile floor, drawing attention to us, and I smile apologetically before taking a good look at Tae. He’s tried a new hairstyle, pushing his hair up off his forehead—and it looks really good on him. As I look around the coffee shop, I begin to realize I probably should’ve just worn jeans and a sweatshirt. I’m the only person in the place who’s remotely dressed up save for Tae in his light blue buttondown shirt and khakis. “Yes, and no,” I tell him, and he agrees. “Same. How are things . . .”—he leans across the table to whisper—“you know, between you two?” I look over and see Jiyong has his back to us, but the barista’s face is in a deep scowl. She rolls her eyes as he hands her his debit card, and I wonder what he could have done to her to irritate her so much this early in the day. “Good, actually. How are things with Dakota? It feels much longer than a week since we’ve seen each other.” “Good, she’s preparing for New York.” “That is so amazing, I’d love to go to New York.” I can’t imagine what the city is like. “Me, too.” He smiles, and I want to tell him not to go, but I know that I can’t. “I haven’t made my mind up yet,” he says, answering my thoughts. “I want to go and be close to her—we’ve lived so far for so long. But I love WCU and don’t know if I want to be away from my mom and Ken to go to a huge city where I know absolutely no one, except her, of course.” I nod, and try to be encouraging despite myself. “You would do amazing there—you could go to NYU and the two of you could get an apartment,” I say. “Yeah, I just don’t know yet.” “Know what?” Jiyong interrupts, setting my coffee in front of me but not sitting down. “Never mind. I’ve got to go, my first class begins in five minutes on the opposite side of campus,” he says, and I cringe at the thought of running late on the first day of new classes. “Okay, I’ll see you after yoga. It’s my last class,” I tell him, and he surprises me by leaning down and planting a kiss on my lips, then my forehead. “I love you, be careful being bendy,” he says, and I get the feeling that if his cheeks weren’t red from the cold, they would be now; his eyes shift to the floor when he remembers Taeyang is sitting across from us. Public displays of affection are definitely not his thing. “I will. I love you,” I tell him, and he gives Taeyang an uncomfortable head nod before walking toward the door. “That was . . . weird.” Tae lifts his eyebrows and takes a drink of his coffee. “Yeah, it was.” I laugh and rest my chin on my hand and sigh happily. “We should get going to Religion,” Tae says, and I grab my bag from the floor and follow him outside. Luckily we don’t have a long walk to our first class. I’m excited about World Religion. It should be very interesting and thought provoking, and having Tae there is an added bonus. When we enter the room, we aren’t the first students to arrive, but the front row is completely empty. Tae and I sit down in the front center and take our books out. It feels good to be back in my element—academics has always been my thing, and I love that Tae feels the same. We wait patiently as the room fills with students, most of whom are obnoxiously loud. The compactness of the classroom doesn’t help with the noise, either. At last, a tall man who looks too young to be a professor strides in and immediately launches into his lesson. “Good morning, everyone. As most of you know by now, my name is Professor Soto. This is World Religion; you may get bored a few times, and I can promise you that you’ll learn a heap of facts that you’ll never actually use in the real world—but hey, what is college for?” He smiles and everyone laughs. Well, this is different. “So let’s get started. There is no syllabus for this course. We will not be following a strict outline—that isn’t my s Professor Soto takes a seat at the large desk in the front of the room and pulls a bottle of water from his bag. “You can talk amongst yourselves until the end of class, or you can go ahead and go for today and we’ll begin the real work tomorrow. Just sign the roster so I can see how many flakes we had that didn’t show for the first day,” he announces with a playful grin. The class howls and cheers before departing quickly, Tae shrugs at me, and we both stand up after the room is empty. We’re the last to sign the attendance roster. “Well, I guess this is cool. I can call Dakota for a little while between classes,” he says and packs his things. THE REST OF THE DAY goes by quickly, and I’m eager to see Jiyong. I’ve sent him a few text messages, but he has yet to respond. My feet are killing me as I make my way to the athletic building; I hadn’t realized how far of a walk it would be. The smell of sweat invades my nostrils as soon as I open the main door, and I hurry to the locker room labeled with a stick figure in a dress. The walls are lined with thin red lockers, the metal showing through the chipped paint job. “How do we know which locker to use?” I ask a short brunette wearing a bathing suit. “Just pick one and use the lock you brought,” she says. “Oh . . .” Of course, I didn’t think to bring a lock. Seeing my expression, she digs into her bag and hands me a small lock. “Here, I have an extra. The combination is on the back; I haven’t removed the sticker.” I thank her as she walks out of the room. After I’m changed into a new pair of black yoga pants and a white T-shirt, I head out. As I walk down the hall to the yoga room, a group of lacrosse players pass by, several of them making a vulgar remark that I choose to ignore. All of them except one keeps moving. “You trying out for cheer next year?” the boy asks, his deep brown, almost black eyes looking me up and down. “Me? No, I��m just on my way to yoga class,” I stammer. We are the only people in this hall. “Oh, that’s too bad. You would look phenomenal in a skirt.” “I have a boyfriend,” I announce and try to move around him. He blocks me. “I have a girlfriend . . . what does that matter?” He smiles and takes a step, cornering me. He doesn’t appear intimidating at all, but something about his cocky smile makes my skin crawl. “I need to get to class,” I say. “I can walk you . . . or you can skip and I could show you around.” He puts his arm up on the wall next to my head, and I step backward with nowhere to go. “Get the fuck away from her.” Jiyong ’s voice booms from behind me, and the creep turns his head to look at him. He looks more intimidating than ever in long basketball shorts and a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off to reveal his tattooed arms. “I’m . . . sorry, man, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend,” he lies. “Did you not hear me? I said get the fuck away from her.” Jiyong walks toward us, and the lacrosse player backs away quickly, but Jiyong grabs hold of his shirt and slams him against the wall. I don’t stop him. “Come near her again and I’ll crack your skull against this wall. Do you understand me?” he growls. “Ye-yes . . .” the guy stutters and rushes down the hall. “Thank God,” I say and wrap my arm around his neck. “Why are you here? I thought you didn’t need any more PE classes?” I ask. “I decided to take one. And good thing.” He sighs and takes my hand into his. “Which one?” I ask. I can’t imagine Jiyong being athletic at all. “Yours.” I gasp. “You didn’t.” “Oh, yes I did.” His anger seems to be dissolved as he smiles at my horrified expression.

Jiyong makes it a point to walk slightly behind me, and I suddenly want to go back to the tenth grade when I would tie a sweater around my waist to hide myself. His voice is quiet as he says, “You’re going to need to get more of these pants.” I remember the last time I wore yoga pants in front of Jiyong and the crude remarks he made, and those yoga pants weren’t as tight as these. I laugh lightly and grab his hand to force him to walk next to me instead of behind me. “You aren’t seriously taking yoga.” No matter how hard I try to picture Jiyong posing, the image just won’t come. “Yeah, I am.” “You do know what yoga is, don’t you?” I ask him as we walk into the room. “Yes, Y/N. I know what it is, and I’m taking it with you,” he huffs. “Why?” “It doesn’t matter why—I just want to spend more time with you.” “Oh.” I’m not convinced by his explanation, but I’m looking forward to seeing him try to do yoga, and the extra time with him doesn’t hurt either. In the center of the room, the instructor sits on a bright yellow mat. Her curly brown hair piled on top of her head and her flower-print shirt make a welcoming first impression. “Where is everyone?” Jiyong asks me as I grab a purple mat from the shelving unit on the wall. “We’re early.” I hand him a blue one, and he examines it before tucking it under his arm. “Of course we are.” He smiles sarcastically and follows me to the front of the room. I begin to lay my mat down directly in front of the instructor, but Jiyong grabs my arm to stop me. “No way, we’re sitting in the back,” he says, and I see the instructor’s face alight with a slight smile at his words. “What? Sitting in the back of the class for yoga? No, I always sit in the front.” “Exactly. We’re sitting in the back,” he repeats and takes my mat from my hands to head to the back of the room. “If you are going to be grumpy, you shouldn’t stay,” I whisper to him. “I’m not grumpy.” The instructor waves and introduces herself to us as Marla when we take a seat on our mats, and afterward Jiyong claims with certainty that she’s high, which makes me giggle. This is going to be a fun class. However, as the room fills with girls in tight yoga pants and tiny tank tops who all seem to glance or stare at Jiyong, I get steadily less Zen. Of course he’s the only male. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice the heaps of female attention he’s receiving. Either that, or he’s just very used to it—that has to be it. He gets attention like this all of the time. It’s not like I blame the girls, but he’s my boyfriend and they need to look elsewhere. I know some of the girls are looking at him because of his tattoos and piercings; they must be wondering why the heck he’s taking a yoga class. “Okay, everyone! Let’s get started!” the instructor calls through the room. She introduces herself as Marla to everyone else and gives a short speech about why and how she got into teaching yoga. “She’s never going to shut up, is she?” Jiyong groans after a few minutes. “Eager to pose, are you?” I raise my brow. “Pose what?” he asks. “First we’ll begin with a few stretches,” Marla says just then. Jiyong sits still on the floor while everyone else mimics her actions. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time. “You are supposed to be stretching,” I scold him, and he shrugs but doesn’t move. Then, in a singsong voice, Marla calls Jiyong out. “You in the back, join us.” “Erm . . . sure,” he mumbles and uncrosses his long legs and stretches them in front and attempts to reach his toes. I force myself to look toward the front of the room and away from Jiyong to prevent the laughter that is fighting to surface. “You’re supposed to touch your toes,” the blond girl next to Jiyong says. “Trying,” he says with an overly saccharine smile. Why did he even respond to her—and why am I so jealous? She giggles at him while the image of me slamming her head against the wall plays on repeat in my mind. I always lecture Jiyong about his temper, but here I am planning this whore’s murder . . . and calling her a whore even though I don’t know her. “I can’t really see clearly, I’m going to move up,” I tell Jiyong. He looks surprised as he speaks. “Why? I wasn’t—” “It’s nothing, I just want to be able to see and hear what’s going on,” I explain and drag my mat a few feet, stopping directly in front of Jiyong . I sit down and finish stretching with the group. I don’t have to turn around to see the look on Jiyong’s face. “Y/N,” he hisses, trying to get my attention, but I don’t turn around. “Y/N.” “Let’s begin with the downward-dog pose—it’s very simple and a basic one,” Marla says. I bend down, place my palms against the mat, and look at Jiyong through the space between my stomach and the floor. He’s standing still with his mouth open. Once more Marla notices Jiyong’s lack of movement. “Hey, man, you thinking of joining us in yoga?” she asks jokingly. If she does it again, I won’t be surprised if he curses her out in front of the entire class. I close my eyes and shift my hips so I’m bending over completely. “Y/N,” I hear him say again. “The-reeee-sa.” “What, Jiyong ? I’m trying to concentrate,” I say, looking at him again. He’s now leaning over, attempting to do the pose, but his long body is bent at an awkward angle and I can’t help but burst into laughter. “Shut up, would you!” he snaps, and I laugh louder. “You are terrible at this,” I tease. “You are distracting me,” he says through his teeth. “I am? How?” I love having the upper hand with Jiyong , because it doesn’t happen often. “You know how, minx,” he whispers. I know the girl next to him can hear us, but I don’t care, I hope she does. “Move your mat, then.” I purposely stand up to stretch and bend back down into the pose. “You move . . . you’re the one toying with me.” “Teasing,” I correct him, using his words from minutes ago against him. “Okay, let’s move into a halfway lift,” Marla says. I stand again then bend at my waist, putting my hands flat on my knees and making sure my back is at a ninety-degree angle. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jiyong groans at the sight of my bottom practically right in front of his face. I turn around to look at him and see that he isn’t remotely doing the pose correctly; he has his hands on his knees but his back is almost straight. “Okay! Now for the forward fold,” our instructor calls, and I bend down, folding my body. “It’s really like she wants me to fuck you right in front of everyone,” he says, and I snap my head up to make sure no one heard him. “Shhh . . .” I plead and hear him chuckle. “Move your mat or I’ll say everything that I’m thinking right now,” he threatens, and I quickly stand up and move my mat back to its previous spot next to him. “Thought so.” He smirks. “You can tell me those things later,” I whisper, and he tilts his head to the side. “Trust me, I will,” Jiyong promises and my stomach flutters. He doesn’t participate in much of the remainder of class, and the blonde ends up changing her spot halfway through, probably because Jiyong won’t stop talking. “We’re supposed to be meditating,” I whisper back to him and close my eyes. The room is silent except for Jiyong’s quiet whispers. “This is so fucking lame,” he complains. “You’re the one who signed up for yoga.” “I didn’t know how lame it was. I’m literally about to fall asleep right here.” “Stop whining.” “I can’t. You had to go and get me all worked up, and now I’m stuck sitting cross-legged, meditating, with a hard-on in a room full of people.” “ Jiyong !” I hiss, louder than intended. “Shhh . . .” Multiple voices attempt to silence me. Jiyong laughs, and I stick my tongue out at him, earning a dirty look from the girl to my right. Jiyong and me taking yoga together is not going to work; I’m going to get kicked out or fail. “We’re dropping this class,” he says when the meditation is over. “You are, I’m not. I need a PE credit,” I inform him. “Great first day, everyone! I look forward to seeing you later this week. Namaste,” Marla says, dismissing us. I roll my mat up, but Jiyong doesn’t bother; he just shoves his onto the shelf

The girl who gave me her extra lock is nowhere to be found when I return to the locker room, so I just put the lock back on the handle, and if she doesn’t claim it back tomorrow, then I’ll continue to use it and pay her or something. When I finish collecting my things, I meet Jiyong back in the hall. He’s leaning against the wall with one foot perched on the wall behind him. “If you’d taken any longer, I’d have barged in there,” he threatens. “You should have. You wouldn’t have been the only guy in there,” I lie and watch as his features change. I turn away from him, taking a few steps before he grabs my arm and spins me back around to face him. “What did you just say?” he demands, eyes half closed and primal. “Teasing.” I smirk, and with a huff he lets go of my arm. “I think you’ve done enough of that today.” “Maybe.” I smile. He shakes his head. “You clearly enjoy tormenting me.” “The yoga relaxed me and cleansed my aura.” I laugh. “Not mine,” he reminds me as we walk outside. The first day of the new semester went very well, even yoga, which ended up being amusing. Amusing is not my usual preference when it comes to academics, but having Jiyong there was nice. My Religion class may be a problem because of the lack of structure, but I’m just going to try to go with the flow so I don’t drive myself insane. “I have some work to do for a few hours, but I’ll be finished by dinnertime,” Jiyong tells me. He’s been working a lot lately. “That hockey game is tomorrow, right?” he asks. “Yes; you’re still going, aren’t you?” “I don’t know . . .” “I need to know because if you flake then I’m going to go with him,” I respond. Tae would probably much rather I go with him, but the two of them could use some bonding time together. I know they’ll never be friends really, but it would help tremendously if they got along better. “Fine, fuck. I’ll go . . .” He sighs and climbs into the car. “Thank you.” I smile and he rolls his eyes. A half hour later, we pull into his usual spot in the parking lot of our apartment. “How are your classes?” I ask him. “Hate them all except yoga?” I try to lighten up the mood. “Yes, except yoga. Yoga was certainly . . . interesting.” He turns to look at me. “Really? How so?” I chew on my bottom lip in an attempt to appear innocent. “I think it has something to do with a blonde.” He smirks and I tense. “Excuse me?” “You didn’t see the hot blonde next to me? You’re really missing out, babe. You should see the way her ass looks in those yoga pants.” I scowl and open the car door. “Where are you going?” he asks. “Inside. It’s cold in this car.” “Aw . . . Y/N, are you jealous of the girl in yoga?” Jiyong teases. “No.” “Yes, you are,” he challenges me, and I roll my eyes while I climb out of the car. I’m a little surprised when I hear his boots clomping on the concrete behind me. Pulling the heavy glass door open, I go inside and am at the elevator before I remember that I forgot my bag in the car. “You’re an idiot.” He chuckles. “Excuse me?” I look up at him. “You think I’d be looking at some random blonde when you’re there . . . when I can look at you? Especially in these pants, I am not looking and literally cannot look at anyone else. I was referring to you.” He takes a long stride toward me, and I step back against the cold lobby wall. I practically pout. “Well, I saw her trying to flirt with you.” I don’t like the way jealousy feels; it is the most obnoxious emotion possible. “You silly girl.” He takes one more step to bring his body to mine and then leads us into the elevator. Cupping my cheek, he forces me to make eye contact. “How can you not comprehend what you do to me?” he asks, inches away from my mouth. “I don’t know,” I squeak when his free hand grabs mine and leads it down to his shorts. “This is what you do.” He shifts his hips so his erection fills my hand. “Oh.” My head is swimming. “You’ll be saying much more than ‘oh’—” he begins, but is interrupted when the elevator stops at the next floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans when a woman and her three children step into the elevator. I try to step away from him, but he wraps his arm around my waist, refusing to let me move. One of the children begins to cry, which makes Jiyong huff in annoyance. I begin to imagine how humorous it would be if the elevator stalled and we were trapped inside with the crying child. Fortunately for Jiyong , the doors open moments later and we step out into the hall. “I literally despise children,” he complains as we reach our apartment. When he unlocks the door, cold air flows out from the apartment. “Did you turn the heat off?” I ask him when we walk inside. “No, it was on this morning.” Jiyong walks over to the thermostat and curses under his breath. “It says it’s eighty degrees in here when it’s clearly not. I’ll call maintenance.” I nod and grab the blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around myself before sitting down. “Yes . . . it isn’t working and it’s cold as fuck in here.” Jiyong speaks into the receiver. “Thirty minutes? No, that won’t work . . . I don’t give a shit, I pay a small fortune to live here, and I won’t have my girlfriend freezing to death,” he says, then corrects himself: “I won’t have it freezing in here.” He glances over at me, and I look away. “Fine. Fifteen minutes. No longer,” he barks into the phone and tosses it against the couch. “They’re sending someone up to fix it,” he tells me. “Thank you.” I smile at him, and he sits down next to me on the couch. I open the front of the blanket and reach for him. When he scoots closer, I climb onto his lap and thread my fingers through his hair and tug lightly. “What are you doing?” His hands rest on my hips. “You said we have fifteen minutes.” I brush my lips along his jaw and he shivers. I feel his jaw move into a smile. “Are you coming onto me, Y/N?” “ Jiyong. . .” I whine to prevent him from teasing me further. “I’m joking, now take your clothes off,” he demands, but his hands lift the bottom of my shirt, contradicting his own command.

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mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl · 6 years

Text

Now 2~G-Dragon Pt.22

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:4,562

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book

Y/N POV

Anticipation builds as Jiyong pushes the thick material of my skirt farther up my waist.

“Relax, Y/N. Shut your mind off—it’s not going to be any different than it usually is,” Jiyong promises.

I’m trying to hide my embarrassment as he slides into me; it doesn’t feel any different. Well, if anything, it actually feels better. More daring. Doing something so out of my norm, so taboo, makes it all the more exciting. Jiyong’s hand runs down my spine, making me shiver in anticipation. His mood has totally shifted. Given his stance when I came out of the elevator, I had expected him to cause a much bigger scene.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod, moaning in answer.

One of his hands digs into my hip as the other grips my hair, holding me in place. “You feel so good, so good, baby.” His voice is tight as he slowly drags himself in and out of me.

Jiyong’s hand moves from my hair down to my breasts. He tugs at the neckline of my blouse, exposing my chest. His hand finds my nipple, tugging at it gently before he rolls it between his fingers. I gasp and arch my back as he repeats the action over and over.

“Oh God,” I utter, then clamp my mouth shut. I’m aware that we are in my office, but I can’t seem to worry in the way that I normally would. My thoughts begin with Jiyong and end with pleasure. The reality of this and the taboo around our act isn’t relevant to me right now.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby? I told you, nothing different . . . well, nothing different-bad, at least.” He moans and wraps his arm around my waist. I nearly slip from the edge of the desk as he changes positions, resting my back against the hard wood of my desk. “I fucking love you, you know that, don’t you?” Jiyong pants into my ear.

I nod, but I know that he needs more.

“Say it,” he insists.

“I know you love me,” I assure him. My body is tightening and he straightens his back, bringing his fingers to rub over my clit. I lean up, trying to watch his fingers work their magic on my body, but the sensation is too much.

“Come, baby, go on.” Jiyong picks up the pace and lifts one of my legs higher into the air.

His eyes roll back in his head. My release is so close, so intense, and so overpowering that I can’t see anything but stars as I grip his inked arms. I press my lips together, hard, to keep from calling out his name as I come undone. Jiyong’s release isn’t as composed: he leans down, burying his head in my neck, calling my name once before pressing his mouth into my skin to silence his voice.

Jiyong pulls out, places a kiss on my ear. I stand up and adjust my clothes, figuring I should get to the restroom soon. God, this is weird. I can’t deny that I enjoyed it, but it’s hard to get past the idea that has been so ingrained in my mind.

“Ready?” he asks.

“For what?” I say, my breathing ragged.

“To go home.”

“I can’t go home. It’s only two.” I gesture to the clock on the wall.

“Call Vance’s office on our way out. Come home with me,” Jiyong instructs and grabs my purse from my desk.

“Though you may want to replug yourself before we go.” He pulls a tampon from my purse and taps me on the nose with it.

I swat his arm. “Stop saying that!” I groan, stuffing it back into my bag as he laughs.

THREE DAYS LATER, I’m waiting patiently for Jiyong to pick me up, staring out the large glass windows in the lobby, thankful that it hasn’t snowed of late. The only evidence of the snowfall from days before is the black sludge littering the dips in the sidewalk.

Much to my annoyance, Jiyong has insisted on driving me to work every day since our fight over Trevor. I’m still surprised that I was able to calm him down the way that I did. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d assaulted Trevor in the office; Kimberly would have been forced to call security, and Jiyong surely would have been arrested.

Jiyong was supposed to be here at four thirty and it’s now five fifteen. Nearly everyone has left for the day, and multiple people have offered to give me a ride home, including Trevor, though he did say it from about ten dozen feet away. I don’t want things to be awkward between us, and I would still like to be friends, despite Jiyong’s “orders.”

Finally Jiyong’s car pulls into the lot, and I step outside into the chilling wind. It is warmer today than it has been, the bright sun adding a small amount of warmth, but not enough. “Sorry for being late, I fell asleep,” he tells me as I climb into the warm car.

“It’s okay,” I assure him and stare out the window.

I’m slightly nervous about New Year’s Eve tonight and don’t want to add fighting with Jiyong to my list of stressors today. We haven’t decided what we are actually doing yet, which drives me insane—I want to know the details and have the entire night planned.

I’ve been debating whether or not to reply to the text messages that Hyuna sent me a couple days ago. Part of me really wants to see her, to show her and everyone that they did not break me—though they humiliated me, yes—and that I’m stronger than they think. That being said, the other half of me thinks it will be incredibly awkward to see Jiyong’s friends. I know they’ll probably think I’m an idiot for being with him again.

I won’t know how to act around them, and honestly I’m afraid that everything will be different when Jiyong and I are not in our own small bubble. What if he ignores me the entire time, or what if Chaerin’s there? My blood boils at the thought.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks.

I had earlier mentioned that I needed something to wear tonight, so I say, “The mall is fine. We need to decide where we’re going so I know what to get.”

“Do you really want to hang out with everyone, or just go out, the two of us? I’m still rooting for staying in.”

“I don’t want to stay in, we stay in all the time.” I smile. I love staying in with Jiyong, but he used to be out all the time, and sometimes I worry if I keep him in the house too much, he’ll get bored with me.

When we arrive at the mall, Jiyong drops me off at the entrance to Macy’s and I hurry inside. By the time he joins me, I already have three dresses draped over my arms.

“What is that?” Jiyong scrunches his nose at the canary-yellow dress on top. “That color is hideous,” he says.

“You find every color hideous, apart from black, of course.”

He shrugs at my truthful statement and runs his finger along the fabric of the gold dress underneath. “I like this one,” he says.

“Really? That was the one I was unsure about. I don’t want to stand out, you know?”

He arches his brow. “And you wouldn’t be standing out in yellow?”

He has a point. I place the yellow dress back on the rack and hold up a white strapless, then ask, “What about this one?”

“You should try them on,” he suggests with a cheeky smile.

“Pervert,” I tease.

“Always.” He smirks and follows me to the dressing room.

“You are not coming in here,” I scold him and close the door to the stall, leaving just enough room to pop my head out.

He pouts before taking a seat on the black leather couch outside the dressing room. “I want to see each one,” he calls when I close the door the rest of the way.

“Be quiet.”

I hear him chuckle, and I want to open the door just to see his smile, but I decide against it. I put the white strapless dress on first and struggle to zip it up the back: tight. Too tight and short, way too short. Finally I get the thin fabric to zip, and I tug at the bottom of the dress before opening the door to the dressing room.

“ Jiyong?” I almost whisper.

“Holy shit.” He practically gasps when he turns the corner and takes in the sight of me in the barely-there dress.

“It’s short.” I flush.

“Yeah, you aren’t getting that,” he says as his eyes move up and down my body.

“If I want to, I will,” I say, reminding him that he will not tell me what to wear.

He glares at me for a moment before speaking. “I know . . . I just meant you shouldn’t. It’s too revealing for your taste.”

“That’s what I thought.” I hum and look in the full-length mirror once more.

Jiyong smirks, and I see him check out my bottom. “It is incredibly sexy, though.”

“Next,” I say and walk back into the dressing room.

The gold dress feels silky against my skin despite the entire dress being covered in tiny gold disks. It falls to the middle of my thighs, and the sleeves are quarter length. This is much more me, only a touch riskier than usual. The sleeves give the illusion of the dress being more conservative, but the way the material clings to my body and the short length say otherwise.

“Y/N,” Jiyong whines impatiently from directly outside. I open the door, and his reaction makes my heart flutter.

“Christ.” He swallows.

“You like it?” I chew my bottom lip. I feel pretty confident in the dress, especially after Jiyong’s cheeks turn pink and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Very much.”

This is such a normal couple thing to be doing, trying on clothes for him at Macy’s, it feels strange yet very comforting. I was terrified a few days ago when he found out about my dinner with Trevor in Seattle.

“I’m going to get this one, then,” I say.

After finding a pair of thick and rather intimidating black pumps, we head to check-out. Jiyong pesters me to let him pay, but I refuse, this time winning the battle.

“You’re right, you really should be buying me something . . . you know, to make up for the lack of Christmas gifts I received,” he teases as we exit the mall.

I swat at his arm, but he grabs my wrist before I can connect. His lips press a light kiss against my palm before he encases my hand in his and leads me to the car. Holding hands in public is never our thing . . . As soon as the thought crosses my mind, he seems to realize what we’re doing and drops my hand. One step at a time, I suppose.

BACK AT THE APARTMENT, after I’ve declared for the eighth time that we should hang out with his friends, my nerves begin to get the best of me as I imagine the possibilities of how the night could turn out. But we can’t hide from the world forever. How Jiyong behaves around his old friends will really show me how he truly feels about me, about us.

When I shower, I shave my legs three times, staying under the hot water until it is no longer warm. When I get out, I ask Jiyong , “What did Nate say about tonight?” I’m unsure what I want the answer to be.

“He texted to meet them at the house . . . my old house. At nine. They’re having a big thing, apparently.”

I glance at the clock: already seven. “Okay, I’ll be ready.”

I do my makeup and blow-dry my hair quickly. My hair is in tight curls, and I pin my bangs back as usual. I look . . . nice . . .

Boring. Boring. The same as I always do. I need to look better than ever before for my comeback. This is my way of showing them that they didn’t get the best of me. If Chaerin is there, she’ll certainly be dressed to get attention, including Jiyong’s. And as much as I hate her, she is gorgeous. Chaerin’s pink hair burning in the back of my mind, I grab my black eyeliner and draw a thick line across my top eyelid; for once the line is straight, blessedly. I do the same on the bottom and add more pink to my cheeks before pulling the bobby pin from my hair and tossing it in the trash.

Quickly, I retrieve the pin from the top of the trash. Okay, so maybe I’m not quite ready to throw it away yet, but I’ll skip it tonight. I flip my head down and rake my fingers through my tight curls. The reflection in the mirror shocks me. She looks like she belongs in a nightclub, she looks wild and . . . sexy, even. The last time that I wore this much makeup was when Hyuna gave me a “makeover” and Jiyong taunted me. This time, I look even better.

“It’s eight thirty, Y/N!” Jiyong warns me from the living room.

I check the mirror one last time and take a deep breath before rushing to the bedroom to get dressed before Jiyong can see me. What if he thinks I look bad? Last time he didn’t care for my new and improved look. I shut off my doubtful thoughts and pull the dress over my head, zip it up, and step into my new pumps.

Maybe I should wear tights? No. I need to calm down and stop overthinking this.

“Y/N, we really need—” Jiyong’s voice gets louder as he comes into the room, but then stops midsentence.

“Do I look—”

“Yes, fuck yes,” he practically growls.

“You don’t think it’s too much, all the makeup?”

“No, it’s . . . um . . . it’s nice, I mean . . . it’s good,” he stammers.

I try not to laugh at his apparent loss for words, something that never occurs with him. “Let’s go . . . we need to go now or we won’t make it out of this apartment,” he mutters.

His reaction has given my confidence an extreme boost. I know it shouldn’t, but it does. He looks flawless as usual, wearing a simple black T-shirt and snug black jeans. The black Converses I’ve quickly become fond of complete the look I know as “ Jiyong .”

The Fray quietly sings about forgiveness as we pull up to Jiyong’s old fraternity house. The drive here was nerve-racking, and both of us stayed silent. Memories, mostly bad memories, flood my mind, but I push them back. Jiyong and I are in a relationship now, a real one, so he’ll be different now. Won’t he?

Jiyong stays close to me as we walk through the crowded house to the smoke-filled living room. Red cups are immediately placed in our hands, but Jiyong discards his quickly before taking mine from me. I reach to take it back, and he frowns.

“I don’t think we should drink tonight,” he says.

“I don’t think you should drink tonight.”

“Fine, only one,” he warns and hands me back the cup.

“Kwon!” a familiar voice calls. Nate appears in the kitchen and pats Jiyong’s shoulder before giving me a friendly smile. I’d almost forgotten how cute he is. I try to picture what he’d look like without tattoos and piercings, but I can’t seem to do it. “Wow, Y/N, you look . . . different,” he says.

Jiyong rolls his eyes and grabs my drink from my hand to take a sip. I want to take it from him, but I don’t want to cause a fight. One drink won’t hurt. I slide my phone into Jiyong’s back pocket so I can hold my cup more easily.

“Well . . . well . . . well . . . look who it is,” a female voice says at the same time as a mop of pink hair steps around a big round guy.

“Great.” Jiyong groans as Chaerin the skank walks toward us.

“Long time no see, Jiyong ,” she says with a sinister grin.

“Yep.” He takes another drink from the cup.

Her eyes move to me. “Oh, Y/N! I didn’t see you there,” she says with obvious sarcasm.

I ignore her, and Nate hands me a new drink.

“Did you miss me?” Chaerin asks Jiyong. She’s wearing more than usual, which is to say she’s still barely clothed. Her black shirt is ripped down the front, purposely, I assume. Her red shorts are incredibly short, with tears in the fabric going up the sides, revealing even more pale skin.

“Not so much,” Jiyong says without looking at her. I bring the cup to my lips to hide my smirk.

“I’m sure you did,” she responds.

“Fuck off,” he groans.

She rolls her eyes like it’s all a game. “Jeez, someone is pissy.”

“Come on, Y/N.” Jiyong grabs my hand and pulls me away. We walk to the kitchen, leaving an annoyed Chaerin and a laughing Nate behind.

“Y/N!” Hyuna squeals as she jumps up from one of the couches. “Damn, girl! You look so hot! Wow!” Then she adds, “I would actually wear that!”

“Thanks.” I smile. It’s a little awkward seeing Hyuna, but not nearly as bad as seeing Chaerin. I have honestly missed Hyuna and am hoping that tonight goes smoothly enough that we can explore the possibility of rebuilding our friendship.

She hugs me. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m going to go talk to Logan—stay right here,” Jiyong instructs before walking away.

Hyuna eyes him with humor. “Rude as ever, I see.” She laughs loudly over the raucous music and partygoers’ voices.

“Yeah . . . some things never change.” I smile and gulp down the remainder of the sweet drink in my cup. I hate to think about it, but the taste of cherries reminds me of my kiss with Seungri. His mouth was cold and his tongue sweet. It seems like another world, another Y/N, who shared that kiss with him.

As if Hyuna can read my thoughts, she taps my shoulder. “There’s Seungri, have you seen him since . . . you know?” She points her zebra-print nail at a black-haired boy.

“No . . . I haven’t seen anyone, really. Except Jiyong .”

“Seungri felt like such an ass after everything. I almost felt sorry for him,” she says.

“Can we talk about something else, please?” I beg as his eyes meet mine and I look away.

“Oh yeah, shit; sorry. Want another drink?” she asks.

I smile to minimize the tension. “Yes, definitely.” I glance around the kitchen to where Seungri was previously standing, but he’s gone. I chew on the inside of my cheek and look back at Hyuna, who is staring into her cup. Neither of us knows what exactly to say.

“Let’s go find Tristan,” she suggests.

“ Jiyong . . .” I begin to say that he asked me to stay put. But he didn’t ask, he demanded, which is annoying. I tip back my cup, gulping down the remainder of the cold drink. My cheeks are already getting warm from the alcohol running through me . . . My nerves are slightly calmer as I reach for yet another cup before following Hyuna into the living room.

The house is more crowded than I’ve ever seen it, and Jiyong is nowhere to be found. Half of the living room has been taken over by a long card table filled with rows of red cups. Drunk college students throw Ping-Pong balls into the cups and then swallow the contents down. I’ll never understand the need for them to play all sorts of games when they’re intoxicated, but at least this one doesn’t seem to involve kissing. I spot Tristan sitting on the couch next to a redheaded guy who I remember seeing here before. He was smoking a joint with Seunghyun the last time I saw him. Seungri is seated on the arm of the couch and says something to the group, causing Tristan’s head to fall back from laughter. When Tristan looks up at Hyuna walking toward him, he smiles. I’ve liked Nate’s roommate from the first time I met him. He’s sweet, and he seems to really care for Hyuna.

“How are things between the two of you?” I ask her before we approach them.

She turns her whole body to me and beams. “Great, actually. I think I love him!”

“Think? You guys haven’t said it yet?” I gasp.

“No . . . God no. We’ve only been dating three months!”

“Oh . . .” Jiyong and I said the words before we were dating at all.

“You and Jiyong are different,” she says quickly, only lending support to my suspicions that she can read my thoughts. “How are you two?” she asks, then looks past me.

“Good, we are good.” It’s great to be able to say, since we are good, for once.

“You two are really the oddest couple.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, we are.”

“It’s a good thing, though. Could you imagine if Jiyong were to find a girl like him? I would never want to meet her, that’s for sure.” She laughs.

“Me either,” I say and join in her laughter.

Tristan waves to Hyuna, and she pads over to take a seat on his lap. “There’s my girl.” He gives her a swift kiss on the cheek, then looks at me. “And how are you, Y/N?”

“I am very well. How are you?” I ask. I sound like a politician. Relax, Y/N.

“Fine. Drunk as shit, but fine.” He laughs.

“Where’s Jiyong ? I haven’t seen him,” the boy with the red hair asks me.

“He’s . . . well, I have no idea,” I answer and shrug.

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. I don’t see him going far from you,” Hyuna says to try and comfort me.

Actually, I don’t mind that I haven’t seen Jiyong in a while, because the alcohol is making me less nervous, but I do wish he would return and hang out with me. These are all his friends, not mine. Except Hyuna, who I’m still deciding on. But right now she’s the person that I know the best, and I don’t want to stand here awkward and alone.

Someone bumps into me and I stumble forward slightly; luckily my drink is empty, so when the cup hits the already stained carpet, only a few drops of pink liquid dot the surface.

“Shit, sorry,” a drunk girl stutters.

“It’s fine, really,” I respond. Her black hair is so shiny that it literally makes me squint. How is that even possible? I must be more intoxicated than I thought.

“Come sit down before you get trampled over,” Hyuna teases, and I laugh before taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

“So did you hear about Seunghyun?” Tristan asks.

“No, what about him?” The mention of his name makes my stomach turn.

“He got arrested, then just got out of jail yesterday,” he explains.

“What? Really? What did he do?” I ask.

“He killed someone,” the redhead answers.

“Oh my God!” I gasp, and everyone begins to laugh. My voice is much louder now that I’m on the verge of being intoxicated.

“He’s just fucking with you; he got pulled over and had some pot on him.” Tristan laughs.

“You are such a dick, Ed,” Hyuna says, and swats the guy’s arm, but I can’t help but laugh at how quickly I believed him.

“You should have seen your face.” Tristan laughs again.

Another thirty minutes go by with no sign of Jiyong . I’m getting slightly annoyed by his absence, but the more I drink, the less I care. Some of that is due to the fact that Chaerin is within eyeshot, and I can see she’s found herself a blond plaything for the night. His hand keeps snaking up her thighs, and they’re both so drunk they look sloppy and ridiculous. Still, better him than Jiyong .

“Who’s up now? Kyle has obviously had enough,” a guy with glasses says, gesturing to his drunken friend who is lying in the fetal position on the carpet.

I look over at the table lined with cups and put two and two together.

“I’ll play!” Tristan shouts, gently pushing Hyuna off his lap.

“Me, too!” she chimes in.

“You know you aren’t very good,” Tristan teases her.

“I am, too. You’re actually just mad that I’m better at it than you. But I’m on your team now, so there’s no need to be intimidated.” She bats her lashes playfully, and he shakes his head.

“Tess, you should play!” she yells over the music.

“Um . . . no, I’m okay.” I have no idea what they’re playing, but I know I would be terrible at it.

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun.” She brings her hands into a praying motion to beg.

“What is it?”

“Beer pong, duh.” She shrugs dramatically before bursting into drunken laughter. “You’ve never played, huh?” she adds.

“No, I don’t like beer.”

“We can use the cherry-vodka-sour mix instead. They literally have gallons made. I’ll grab one from the fridge.” She turns to Tristan. “Line up the cups, boy.”

I want to protest, but at the same time I want to have fun tonight. I want to be carefree and let loose. Beer pong may not be so bad. It can’t possibly be worse than sitting on that couch alone waiting for Jiyong to come back from wherever the hell he is.

Tristan begins to put the cups back into a triangular formation that reminds me of bowling pins. “Are you going to play?” he asks.

“I guess. I don’t know how, though,” I tell him.

“Who wants to be her partner?” Tristan asks.

I feel foolish when no one speaks up. Great. I knew this was—

“Seungri?” Tristan says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Er . . . I don’t know . . .” Seungri responds, not looking at me. He’s been avoiding me the entire time that I’ve been here.

“Just one round, man.”

Seungri’s caramel eyes flicker to me quickly before moving back to Tristan and giving in. “Okay, yeah, one game.” He comes and stands next to me, and we both stay there silently as Hyuna fills the cups with the alcohol.

“These cups have been used all night?” I ask her, trying to hide my disgust at multiple mouths drinking from them.

“It’s fine.” She laughs. “The alcohol kills the germs!”

I notice Seyngri smile out of the corner of my eye, but when I look at him, he looks away. Yup, this is going to be a long game.

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mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl · 6 years

Text

Now 2~G-Dragon Pt.13

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:3,702

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book

JIYONG POV

I’ve never been so honest with anyone before. But I want everything to be out on the table.

She starts crying and asks softly, “How will I know that you won’t hurt me again?”

I could tell she was trying to hold her tears in the whole time, but I’m glad she can’t anymore. I needed to see some emotion from her . . . she’s been so cold lately. So unlike her. I used to be able to tell what she was thinking by her eyes alone. Now a wall is up, blocking me from reading her the way only I can. I pray to God that the time we spent together today will work in my favor.

That and my honesty. “You won’t. Y/N, I can assure you that I will hurt you again. You will hurt me, too, but I can also assure you that I’ll never keep anything from you or betray you again. You may say some shit that you don’t mean, and God knows that I will, but we can work through our problems because that’s what people do. I just need this one last chance to show you that I can be the man you deserve. Please, Y/N. Please . . .” I beg.

She stares at me with red eyes, chewing on the inside of her cheek. I hate to see her this way, and I hate myself for making her this way.

“You love me, don’t you?” I ask, afraid of her answer.

“Yes. More than anything.” She admits with a sigh.

I can’t hide my stirrings of a smile. Hearing her say that she still loves me brings the life back into me. I’ve been so worried that she was going to give up on me, stop loving me and move on. I don’t deserve her, and I know that she’s aware of that.

But my mind is reeling, and she is being too quiet. I can’t handle the distance. “What can I do, then? What do I need to do so we can get through this?” I ask desperately. I use too much emphasis—I know because of how she looks at me, like she’s suddenly scared, or annoyed, or . . . I don’t know what. “I said the wrong thing, didn’t I.” I bring my hands to my face and wipe the moisture from my eyes. “I knew I would, you know I’m not good with words.”

I’ve never been this emotional in my entire life, and it doesn’t feel good. I’ve never had to or even cared to express my emotions to anyone but I will do anything for this girl. I always fuck everything up, but I have to fix this, or try as hard as I can.

“No . . .” she sobs. “I’m just . . . I don’t know. I want to be with you. I want to forget everything, but I don’t want to regret it. I don’t want to be that girl, the one who gets walked all over and treated like shit and just puts up with it.”

I lean toward her and ask, “To who? Who are you worried will think that?”

“Everyone, my mother, your friends . . . you.”

I knew that’s what it was. I knew that she was more worried about what she should do rather than what she wants to do. “Don’t think about anyone else. Who gives a shit what anyone else thinks? For once just consider what you want—what makes you happy?”

With big, round, beautiful, bloodshot, and crying eyes, she says, “You.” And my heart leaps. “I’m so tired of keeping everything in. I’m exhausted by all of the things I haven’t said and wanted to say,” she adds.

“Then don’t keep it in anymore,” I tell her.

“You make me happy, Jiyong. But you also make me miserable, angry, and—most of all—you make me insane.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? That’s why we’re so good together, Y/N, because we are terrible for each other.” She makes me insane, too, and angry, but happy. So happy.

“We are terrible for each other,” she says with a small smile.

“We are,” I repeat and return her smile. “I love you, though. More than anyone ever could, and I swear I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you if you just let me.”

I hope she can hear the rawness in my voice, how badly I want her forgiveness. I need it—I need her like I’ve never needed anything before, and I know she loves me. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t, though I can’t believe I just said “the rest of my life”—that might freak her out.

When she doesn’t say anything else, my heart breaks. And just before I feel more tears coming, I whisper, “I’m so sorry, Y/N . . . I love you so much—”

She catches me completely off guard when she darts across the space between us and climbs onto my lap. I bring my hands to her beautiful face, and she takes a deep breath, leaning her cheek into the palm of my hand.

She looks up at me. “I need it to be on my terms. I won’t be able to make it through another heartbreak.”

“Whatever it takes. I just want to be with you,” I tell her.

“We have to take it slow, I shouldn’t be doing this at all . . . If you hurt me again, I’ll never forgive you, ever,” she threatens.

“I won’t. I swear it.” I’d rather die than hurt her again. I still can’t believe she’s giving me another chance.

“I really have missed you so much, Jiyong .”

Her eyes close and I want to kiss her, I want to feel her lips hot against mine, but she just told me she wants to take it slow. “I missed you, too.”

She rests her forehead against mine and I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. “We’re really doing this, then?” I ask, trying not to sound as desperately relieved as I feel.

She sits up and I look into her eyes. The eyes that have haunted me every time I close my own for the last week. She smiles and nods her head. “Yeah . . . I guess we are.”

My arms wrap around her waist and she leans into me once more. “Kiss me?” I practically beg.

She doesn’t try to hide her amusement as she touches my forehead, brushing my hair back. God, I love when she does that.

“Please?” I say.

And she silences me by pressing her lips against mine.

Y/N POV

My mouth immediately opens, and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to slip his tongue into it. The metal of his lip ring is cool against my lips, and I run my tongue along its smooth surface. The familiar taste of him ignites me, like it always has. No matter how hard I fight it, I need him. I need to be close to him, I need him to comfort me, to challenge me, to annoy me, to kiss me, and to love me. My fingers tangle themselves in his hair, and I tug at the soft strands when his grip on my waist tightens. He said everything I wanted and needed to hear to feel better about my reckless decision to allow him back into my life . . . even though he never actually left. I know I should’ve held out longer, tortured him with waiting the way he tortured me with his lies, but I couldn’t. This isn’t the movies. This is real life—my life—and my life isn’t complete or even tolerable without him. This tattooed, rude, angry boy has gotten under my skin and into my heart, and I know that no matter how hard I try, I can’t get him out.

His tongue skims my bottom lip and I’m slightly embarrassed when a moan escapes my throat. When I pull away, we’re both out of breath and my skin is hot and his cheeks are flushed.

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” he pants and pulls me into his chest.

“You act like I had a choice.”

He frowns. “You do.”

“I know,” I lie. But I haven’t had a choice since I met him. I’ve been completely gone for him since the first time we kissed.

“Where do we go from here?” I ask him.

“That’s up to you. You know what I want.”

“I want to be like we were before . . . well, how we were without all the other stuff,” I tell Jiyong , and he nods.

“That’s what I want, too, baby. I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

Every time Jiyong calls me baby my stomach flutters. The mixture of his raspy voice, his British accent, and the gentleness behind his tone makes for the most perfect combination.

“Please don’t make me regret this,” I beg him, and he takes my face into his hands once more.

“I won’t. You’ll see,” he promises and kisses me again.

I know that Jiyong and I still have things to sort out, but I feel so resolved now, so calm, so right. I’m worried about everyone’s reaction, especially my mother’s, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes. The fact that I’m not spending Christmas with her for the first time in eighteen years in favor of Jiyong and me being together again will only make things worse, but honestly I don’t care. Well, I care, but I can’t keep going to war with her over my life choices, and it’s impossible to make her happy, so I’m done really trying.

I lean my head against Jiyong’s chest and he takes the end of my ponytail into his hands and twirls it between his fingers. I’m glad that I got all of the gifts wrapped; it was stressful enough buying them at the very last minute.

Shit. I didn’t get Jiyong a gift! Did he get me one? Probably not, but now that we’re together again . . . or sort of for the first time . . . I’m afraid that he did and will feel bad that I didn’t get him anything at all. Actually, what would I even get him?

“What’s wrong?” he asks and moves his hand to my chin, tilting my face to his.

“Nothing . . .”

“You aren’t . . .” he starts, slow and unsure. “You’re not . . . you know . . . changing your mind?”

“No . . . no. I just . . . I didn’t get you a gift,” I admit.

His face breaks into a smile, and his eyes meet mine. “You’re worried about getting me a gift for Christmas?” He laughs. “Y/N, honestly, you’ve given me everything. You worrying about a Christmas gift is ridiculous.”

I still feel guilty, but I love the confidence on his face. “You’re sure?” I ask.

“Positive.” He laughs again.

“I’ll get you something really great for your birthday,” I say, and he moves his hand back to my face. His thumb runs along my bottom lip, causing my lips to part, and I expect him to kiss me again. Instead, his lips touch down on my nose and then my forehead in a surprisingly sweet gesture.

“I don’t really do birthdays,” he tells me.

“I know . . . I don’t either.” This is one of the few things we have in common.

“ Jiyong?” Trish’s voice calls as I hear a light tap on the door. He groans and rolls his eyes as I climb off his lap.

I give him a little frown. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nicer to her—she hasn’t seen you in a year.”

“I’m not mean to her,” he says. And, honestly, I know he believes that.

“Just try to be a little nicer, for me?” I bat my eyelashes dramatically, making him smile and shake his head.

“You’re the devil,” he teases.

His mom knocks again. “ Jiyong?”

“Coming!” he says and climbs off the bed. Opening the door, I see his mom, who looks completely bored.

“Do you two want to watch a movie, perhaps?” she asks.

He turns to me and raises his brow just as I say, “Yeah, we do” and climb off the bed.

“Fantastic!” She smiles and ruffles her son’s hair.

“Let me change first,” Jiyong says and waves us out.

Trish holds her hand out to me. “Come on, Y/N, let’s make some snacks.”

As I follow his mom into the kitchen, I realize it’s probably not a good idea for me to watch Jiyong change anyway. I want to take things slow. Slow. With Jiyong , I don’t know if that’s possible. I wonder if I should tell Trish that I’ve decided to forgive him, or least try to.

“Cookies?” she asks, and I nod and open the cabinets.

“Peanut butter?” I ask her and grab the flour.

She raises her eyebrows, impressed. “You’re going to make them? I was okay with Break ’n Bake, but if you can make them homemade, so much the better!”

“I’m not the best cook, but Karen taught me an easy peanut butter cookie recipe.”

“Karen?” she asks, and my stomach drops. I didn’t mean to bring up Karen. The last thing I want to do is make Trish uncomfortable. I turn away to turn on the oven and hide my embarrassed expression.

“You’ve met her?”

I can’t read her tone, so I tread carefully. “Yeah . . . her son Taeyang is my friend . . . my best friend, really.”

Trish hands me some bowls and a spoon, asking in a purposely neutral manner, “Oh . . . what is she like?”

I level off flour in a measuring cup and add it to the large mixing bowl, all the while trying to avoid eye contact. I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t know how she feels about Ken or his new wife.

“You can tell me,” Trish prods.

“She’s lovely,” I admit.

She nods sharply. “I knew she would be.”

“I didn’t mean to bring her up, it just slipped out,” I apologize.

She hands me a stick of butter. “No, honey, don’t worry about it. I have no hard feelings toward that woman at all. Granted, I would love to hear that she’s a dreadful troll.” She laughs and relief washes through me. “But I’m glad Jiyong’s father is happy. I just wish Jiyong would let go of his anger toward him.”

“He has—” I begin, but stop abruptly when Jiyong enters the kitchen.

“He has what?” she asks.

I look to Jiyong , then back to Trish. It’s not my place to tell her if Jiyong hasn’t. “What are you guys talking about?” he asks.

“Your father,” she answers, and his face pales. I can tell by his expression that he didn’t intend to tell her about his budding relationship with his father.

“I didn’t know . . .” I try to tell him, but he puts his hand up to silence me.

I hate how secretive he is; this is a problem we will always have, I assume.

“It’s fine, Tess. I’ve been . . . sort of spending a little time with him.” Jiyong’s cheeks flush.

Without thinking, I walk over to stand next to him. I’d expected him to be angry with me and lie to his mother, but I’m glad that he proved me wrong.

“You have?” Trish gasps.

“Yeah . . . I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t go near him until a few months ago, I got drunk and trashed his living room . . . but then I stayed the night a few times and we went to the wedding.”

“You’ve been drinking again?” Her eyes begin to water. “ Jiyong, please tell me you haven’t been drinking again?”

“No, Mum, only a couple times. Not like before,” he promises.

Not like before? I know Jiyong used to drink way too much, but Trish’s reaction makes it seem like it was worse than I was led to believe.

“Are you mad that I’ve been seeing him?” he asks, and I put my hand on his back to try to comfort him.

“Oh, Jiyong, I would never be upset with you for having a relationship with your father. I’m just surprised, that’s all. You could have told me.” She blinks rapidly to avoid tears. “I have wanted you to let go of that anger for so long. That was a dark time in our lives, but we got through it, and it’s in the past. Your father isn’t the same man he was then, and I’m not the same woman.”

“It still doesn’t make it okay,” he says quietly.

“No, it doesn’t. But sometimes you have to choose to let things go, to move on. I really am happy that you’ve been seeing him. It’s good for you. The reason I sent you here . . . well, one of the reasons, was for you to forgive him.”

“I didn’t forgive him.”

“You should,” she says sincerely. “I have.”

Jiyong leans on his elbows on the counter and drops his head while I rub my hand up and down his back. Noticing the gesture, Trish gives me a knowing smile. Even more than before, I admire her so much. She’s so strong and loving despite the lack of emotion from her son. I wish she had someone in her life, the way Ken has Karen.

Jiyong must have been thinking the exact same thing, because he drops his head and says, “But he lives in this big-ass house and has expensive cars. He has a new wife . . . and you’re alone.”

“I don’t care about his house or his money,” she assures him. Then she smiles. “And what makes you think I’m alone?”

“What?” He raises his head.

“Don’t sound so surprised! I’m quite the catch, son.”

“You’re seeing someone? Who?”

“Mike.” She blushes and my heart warms.

Jiyong’s mouth gapes. “Mike? Your neighbor?”

“Yes, my neighbor. He’s a very nice man, Jiyong.” She laughs and looks at me knowingly. “And it’s convenient having him live just next door.”

Jiyong waves that off. “For how long? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“A few months, it’s nothing serious . . . yet. Besides, I don’t think I should be asking you for relationship advice,” she teases.

“Mike, though? He’s sort of a . . .”

“Don’t you say a bad word about him. You’re not too old for a spanking,” she scolds with a wry grin.

He raises his arms playfully. “Fine . . . fine . . .”

He’s much more relaxed than he was this morning. The tension between us has disappeared, mostly, and watching him joke with his mother makes me so happy.

Trish announces cheerfully, “Excellent! I’m going to go pick the movie—don’t come in there unless you bring cookies.” She smiles and leaves us alone in the kitchen.

I walk back over to the bowl of ingredients and finish mixing the cookie dough. When I lick a glob of it off my finger, Jiyong oh-so-helpfully notes, “I don’t think that’s very sanitary.”

I dip my finger back into the bowl, collecting the sticky dough and walk over to him. “Have some,” I tell him. I hold up my hand and try to transfer the dough to his fingers, but he opens his mouth and wraps his lips around my finger. I gasp at the contact and try to convince myself this is just his method of removing the cookie dough . . . regardless of how he’s looking at me with dark eyes. No matter how he’s flicking his warm tongue over my finger. No matter how many degrees the temperature of the kitchen has seemed to have risen. No matter how my heart is beating out of my chest and my insides are igniting.

“I think that’s enough,” I croak and pull my finger from his mouth.

He gives me a wicked smirk. “Later, then.”

THE PLATE OF COOKIES is devoured within the first ten minutes of the movie. I have to admit I’m proud of my newly acquired baking skills; Trish praises me and Jiyong eats over half of the batch, which is praise in and of itself.

“Is it bad that these cookies are my favorite thing about America so far?” Trish laughs as she takes the last bite.

“Yes, very sad,” Jiyong teases her, and I giggle.

“You may have to make these every day until I leave, y/n.”

“Sounds good to me.” I smile and lean into Jiyong. One of his arms snakes behind me at my waist, and I fold my legs up so I can move even closer to him.

Trish falls asleep toward the end of the movie, and Jiyong turns the volume down a bit so we can finish without waking her. By the end, I’m a sobbing mess and Jiyong doesn’t try to hide his humor at my despair. That was one of the saddest movies I’ve seen in my entire life; I have no idea how Trish fell asleep.

“That was terrible, amazing but terribly sad,” I sob.

“Blame my mum. I requested a comedy, yet somehow we ended up with The Green Mile. I warned you.” He moves his arm to my shoulder, pulling me closer and placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “We can turn on Friends when we get to the room to get your mind off of him dy—”

“ Jiyong ! Don’t remind me!” I groan.

But he just chuckles before standing up off of the couch and pulling me by the arm to join him. When we get to the room, Jiyong switches on the lamp and then the television.

When he goes over and locks the door, then turns to me with those bright brown eyes and evil dimples, my insides quiver.

#Kang Daesung #g dragon bigbang #G Dragon #gdragon #Gd Oppa #kangdaesung #bigbang seungri #bigbang #bigbang fanfiction #bigbang smut #t.o.p bigbang #taeyang bigbang #top bigbang #big bang smut #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop series #bigbang scenarios #khh scenario

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mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl · 6 years

Text

NOW~G-Dragon pt.17

Genre:Angst/SMUT Rated:NSFW Pairing: GD X Reader wordcount:5,426 Masterlist DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book! (if you want another edited part quick i want 50 notes and i will upload today or much sooner then i planned!)your thoughts ...ask box

Pulling into the spot next to Tae, I text Seungri to tell him that I have arrived. He writes back immediately with a note to meet him at the far left corner of the field.

I tell Tae where he’ll be as he and Rin walk up.

“Sounds good,” he says, but he seems less than thrilled.

“Who’s Seungri?” Rin asks.

“He’s my . . . friend.” He is just my friend.

“Jiyong’s your boyfriend, right?” she asks.

I look over at her. She doesn’t seem to be implying anything, she just seems confused. Welcome to the club.

“No, babe.” Tae laughs. “Neither of them are.”

I laugh, too. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

Right as we get to where everyone is, the school band begins to play and the field becomes more and more crowded. I’m relieved when I spotSeungri leaning against the fence. I point him out, and we head over there.

“Oh,” Rin squeals as we get close. I can’t tell if she’s surprised by his tattoos and piercings, or his good looks. Maybe both.

“Hey, beautiful,” Seungri says, beaming, and hugs me. I smile at him, returning the hug.

“Hi, I’m Seungri. It’s nice to meet you both.” He nods toward Tae and Rin. I know he’s met Tae before, so maybe he’s just trying to be polite.

“Have you been here long?” I ask.

“Only about ten minutes. A lot more people here than I expected.”

Taeyang leads the way to a less crowded area near the enormous mound of wood, and we all sit on the grass. Hyo-Rin sits between Tae’s legs and leans back against his chest. The sun is going down and the breeze is picking up. I should have worn long sleeves.

“Yeah, have you been to one of these before?” I ask Seungri, who shakes his head.

“No, this isn’t my typical scene,” he says with a laugh before adding, “But I’m glad to be here tonight.”

I smile at his compliment and right then someone walks up to the central bandstand and gives us all a warm welcome on behalf of the school and the band. After a couple of minutes of rambling on, they finally count down to the lighting of the fire, and three, two, one . . . the fire ignites and swallows the mound of wood fiercely. It’s actually quite beautiful being this close to the flames, and I can tell I’ll be warm enough after all.

“So how long are you here?” Seungri asks Rin.

She frowns. “Only the weekend. I wish I could come back for the wedding next weekend.”

“What wedding?” Seungri asks.

I look at Tae, who answers, “My mother’s.”

“Oh . . .” He pauses and looks down, as if thinking about something.

“What?” I ask him.

“Nothing. I’m just trying to remember who else said something about a wedding next weekend . . . Oh yeah—Jiyong, I think. He was asking us what he should wear to a wedding.”

My heart stops. I hope I don’t show it on my face. So Jiyong definitely still hasn’t told any of his friends that his father is the chancellor, or that he’s marrying Taeyang’s mother.

“Bit of a coincidence, right?” he asks.

“No, they are—”Hyo-rin begins, but I interrupt: “Quite a coincidence, but, then, in a town this size, there are probably a few every weekend.”

Seungri nods in agreement, and Taeyang whispers something in Rin’s ear.

Jiyong is actually considering going to the wedding?

Seungri chuckles. “I can’t imagine Jiyong at a wedding anyway.”

“Why not?” My tone is a little harsher than I meant it to be.

“I don’t know, because he’s Jiyong . The only way to get him to go to a wedding would be if he knew he could have sex with the bridesmaids. All of them,” he says and rolls his eyes.

“I thought you and Jiyong are friends?” I say.

“We are. I’m not saying anything bad about him—that’s just how Jiyong is. He has sex with a different girl every weekend, sometimes more than one.”

My ears are buzzing and the fire feels too hot on my skin. I stand up before I realize what I am doing.

“Where are you going? What’s wrong?” Seungri asks.

“Nothing, I just . . . I need some air. Some fresh air,” I mumble. I know how stupid that sounds but I don’t care. “Be right back, I just need a second.” I march away quickly before any of them can follow me.

What is wrong with me? Seungri is sweet and he actually likes me, he enjoys my company, and yet all it takes is a mention of Jiyong and I can’t stop thinking about him. I take a quick stroll around the stands and few deep breaths before walking back over to them.

“Sorry, the fire was just . . . too hot,” I lie and sit back down.

Seungri has his phone out and turns the screen away from me as he slides it back into his pocket. He tells me it’s fine and we make small talk with Taeyang and Hyo-Rin for the next hour.

“I’m getting sort of tired, I had an early flight,” Hyo-rin finally tells Tae, who nods.

“Yeah, I’m tired, too. We’re going to get going.” Landon stands up and helps Rin to her feet.

“Do you want to go, too?” Seungri asks me.

“No, I’m okay. Unless you want to?”

He shakes his head. “I’m cool.” We say goodbye to Taeyang and Rin and watch as they disappear into the crowd.

“So what’s the reason behind the bonfire?�� I ask Seungri, unsure that he really knows.

“I think it’s like to celebrate the end of the football season,” he tells me. “Or the middle of it, or something . . .?” I look around and notice for the first time that a lot of people are wearing jerseys.

“Oh.” I look over at Seungri. “I see it now,” I say and laugh.

“Yeah,” he says and then squints. “Is that Jiyong ?”

I snap my head in the direction he’s looking. Sure enough, Jiyong is walking toward us with a short brunette wearing a skirt.

I scoot closer to Seungri. This is exactly why I didn’t listen to Jiyong on the porch—he’s already found some girl to bring here just to spite me.

“Hey, Seungri,” the girl says in a high-pitched voice.

“Hey, Emma.” Seungri hooks his arm around my shoulder. Jiyong glares at him but takes a seat with us.

I know I am being rude by not introducing myself to this girl, but I can’t help but dislike her already.

“How’s the bonfire so far?” Jiyong asks.

“Warm. And almost over, I think,” Seungri replies.

There is tension between the two of them. I can feel it. I don’t know why there would be— Jiyong made it clear to his friends that he doesn’t give a shit about me.

“Do they have food here?” the girl says in her annoying voice.

“Yeah, they have a concession stand,” I tell her.

“ Jiyong , come with me to get some food,” she demands. He rolls his eyes but stands up.

“Bring me back a pretzel, yeah?” Seungri yells, smiling, and Jiyong clenches his jaw.

What is up with them?

As soon as Jiyong and Emma disappear I turn to Seungri. “Hey, can we go? I don’t really want to hang out with Jiyong ; we sort of hate each other, in case you forgot.” I try to force out a playful laugh, but it doesn’t happen.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” he says. We both stand up and he reaches for my hand. We hold hands as we walk, and I find myself looking around for Jiyong and hoping he won’t see.

“Do you want to go to the party?” Seungri asks as we reach the parking lot.

“No, I don’t really want to go there, either.” That is the last place I want to go.

“Okay, well, we can just hang out another . . .” he begins.

“No, I still want to hang out. I just don’t want to be here or at that frat house,” I say quickly.

He looks surprised as his eyes meet mine. “Okay . . . well, we can go to my place? If you want; if not, we can go somewhere else? I actually don’t really know where else to go in this town.” He laughs and I join him.

“Your place is fine. I’ll follow you there,” I tell him.

During the drive, I can’t help but picture Jiyong’s face when he returns to find us gone. He brought a girl there with him, so he has no right to be upset, but it doesn’t really ease the pang in my stomach to justify it like that.

Seungri’s apartment is right off campus and is small but clean. He offers me a drink, but I decline since I plan on driving back to my room tonight.

I plop down on the couch, and he hands me the remote before going back to the kitchen to make himself a drink. “You can be in control; I don’t know what you like to watch.”

“Do you live alone?” I ask him and he nods. I feel a little awkward as he sits next to me and puts his arm around my waist, but I hide my nervousness with a smile. Seungri’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he stands up to answer it. Holding a finger up to tell me he will be back, he wanders into his small kitchen area.

“We left,” I hear him say. “So . . .” “Fair.” “Too bad.” The few snippets of conversation that I catch make no sense to me . . . except the “we left.”

Is that Jiyong on the phone? I stand up and walk toward the kitchen as Seungri hangs up.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“No one important,” he assures me and leads me back to the couch. “I am really glad we are getting to know each other; you’re different from the rest of the girls here,” he says sweetly.

“Me, too,” I tell him. “Do you know Emma?” I can’t help but ask.

“Yeah, her girlfriend is Daesung’s cousin.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, they have been together awhile. Emma’s pretty cool.”

So Jiyong wasn’t there with her, not in that way at least. Maybe he actually came there to try to talk to me again, instead of trying to hurt me with another girl.

I look over to Seungri just as he leans in to kiss me. His lips are cool from his drink and taste like vodka. His hands are careful and smooth against my arms, then my waist. Jiyong ’s heartbroken face from earlier pops into my mind, the way he begged for one more chance and I didn’t believe him, the way he watched me drive away, the outburst in class about Catherine and Heathcliff, the way he always shows up when I don’t want him to, the way he never tells his mother that he loves her, the way he said he loved me in front of everyone, the hurtful way he took it back, the way he breaks things when he’s angry, the way he came to his father’s house tonight even though he hates it there, and the way he asked his friends what to wear to the wedding—it all makes perfect sense, but no sense, at the same time.

Jiyong loves me. In his own damaged way, he does love me. The realization of this hits me like a truck.

“What?” Seungri says and pulls away from our kiss.

“What?” I repeat his word.

“You just said Jiyong .”

“No, I didn’t,” I defend.

“Yes, yes, you did.” He stands up and steps away from the couch.

“I have to go . . . I am sorry,” I say and grab my purse and rush out of the door before he can say anything else.

I take a second to think about what I am doing. I left Seungri to go find Jiyong , but I really need to think about what will happen next. Jiyong will either say terrible things to me, curse at me, and make me leave, or he will admit that he has feelings for me and that all these games he has been playing are just his way of not being able to deal with and express his feelings in a normal way. If the first scenario happens, and I mostly expect it to, I will be in no worse a state than I am in now. But, if it’s the second, am I ready to forgive him for all the terrible things he has said and done to me? If we both admit the way we feel about each other, will everything change? Will he change? Is he capable of caring for me the way I need him to, and, if so, am I capable of putting up with his mood swings?

The problem is, I can’t answer any of these questions on my own, not a single one. I hate the way he clouds my thoughts and makes me feel unsure about myself. I hate not knowing what he will do or say.

I pull up to the damned fraternity house that I have spent way too much time in. I hate this house. I hate a lot of things right now, and my anger toward Jiyong is almost to its boiling point. I park at the curb and rush up the steps and into the crowded house. I head straight for the old couch Jiyong is usually perched on, but, not spotting his mop of hair, I duck behind a heavyset guy before Hyuna or anyone else can spot me.

Rushing up the stairs to his room, I bang my fist against the door, annoyed that once again he has it locked.

“ Jiyong ! It’s me, open the door!” I yell desperately and continue to pound, but there’s no answer. Where the hell is he? I don’t want to call him to find out, even though that is obviously easier, but I’m angry and I feel like I need to stay angry so I can say what I mean—what I need to say—and not feel bad about it.

I call Tae to see if Jiyong is at his father’s, but he isn’t. The only other place that I know to look is the bonfire, but I doubt he would still be there. Still, I don’t have any other options right now.

So I drive back to the stadium and park my car, repeating the angry words I have saved for Jiyong over and over to make sure I don’t forget anything in case he actually is here. Approaching the field, I can see that almost everyone has left already and the fire is almost out. I walk around and squint in the dying light and stare at couples to see if they are Jiyong and Emma, without luck.

Just as I decide to stop looking, I finally do see Jiyong leaning against the fence by the goalpost. He is alone, and doesn’t seem to notice me walking toward him as he takes a seat on the grass, wiping his mouth. When he removes his hand, it looks red. Is he bleeding?

Suddenly Jiyong’s head snaps up as if he can sense my presence, and, yes, the corner of his mouth is bleeding and the shadow of a bruise is already forming on his cheek.

“What the hell—” I say and kneel down in front of him. “What happened to you?” I ask.

He looks up at me and his eyes are so haunted, my anger dissolves like sugar on my tongue.

“Why do you care? Where’s your date?” he growls.

I click my tongue gently and move his hand away from his mouth, examining his busted lip. He jerks away from me but I bite my tongue. “Tell me what happened,” I demand.

He sighs and runs his hand over his hair. His knuckles are busted and bloody. The cut on his index finger looks deep and very painful.

“Did you get in a fight?”

“What gave you that idea?” he snaps.

“With who? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am fine, now leave me alone.”

“I came here to find you,” I tell him and stand up, wiping the dead grass off my jeans.

“Okay. And you found me, so go.”

“You don’t have to be such an asshole,” I say. “I think you should go home and get cleaned up. You might need stitches on that knuckle.”

Jiyong doesn’t respond but stands up and walks past me. I came here to yell at him for being such an idiot and tell him how I feel, and he’s making it very hard—I knew he would.

“Where are you going?” I ask, following him like a lost puppy.

“Home. Well, I’m going to call Emma and see if she will come back and pick me up.”

“She left you here?” I don’t like her at all.

“No. Well, technically, but I told her to.”

“Let me take you,” I say and grab his jacket. He shrugs me off, and I want to slap him. My anger is returning and I am more pissed-off than before. The tables have turned; our . . . whatever this is has shifted. I am usually the one running from him.

“Stop walking away from me!” I yell and he turns around, eyes blazing. “I said let me take you home!” I scream.

He almost smiles but frowns instead and sighs. “Fine. Where’s your car?”

Jiyong’s SCENT IMMEDIATELY fills the car, only now there is a hint of metal mixed in; it’s still my favorite smell in the entire world. I turn the heat on and rub my arms to warm up.

“Why did you come here?” he asks as I pull out of the parking lot.

“To find you.” I try to remember everything I had planned to say, but my mind is blank and all I can think about is kissing his busted mouth.

“For what reason?” he asks quietly.

“To talk to you, we have so much to talk about.” I feel like crying and laughing at the same time and I have no idea why.

“I thought you said we didn’t have anything to talk about,” he says and turns to look out the window with a coolness I suddenly find beyond irritating.

“Do you love me?” The words come out rushed and strangled. I had not planned on saying them.

His head snaps to the side to look at me. “What?” His tone is one of shock.

“Do you?” I repeat, worrying that my heart might pop right out of my chest.

He focuses forward. “You are not seriously asking me this while we are driving down the street.”

“What does it matter where or when I am asking, just tell me,” I practically beg.

“I . . . I don’t know . . . No, I don’t.” He looks around, almost like he needs to escape. “And you can’t just ask someone if they love you when they are trapped in a car with you—what the hell is wrong with you?” he says loudly.

Ouch. “Okay,” is all I can manage to say.

“Why do you even want to know?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I’m confused now, so confused, and my plan to talk out our problems has crashed and burned in front of me, along with any dignity I still held.

“Tell me why you asked me that, now,” he demands.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” I shout back.

I pull up to his house and he looks out at the crowded lawn. “Take me to my dad’s,” he says.

“What? I am not a damn taxi.”

“Just take me there, I will get my car in the morning.”

If his car is here, why doesn’t he just drive himself? I don’t want our conversation to end yet, though, so I roll my eyes, and head off toward his father’s house.

“I thought you hated it there,” I say.

“I do. But I don’t feel like being around a lot of people right now,” he says quietly. Then, louder, he goes on: “Are you going to tell me why you asked that? Does this have something to do with Seungri? Did he say something to you?”

He seems really nervous. Why does he always ask if Seungri said something to me?

“No . . . It has nothing to do with Seungri. I just wanted to know.” It doesn’t really have to do with Seungri; it has to do with the fact that I love him and thought for a second, he might love me, too. The longer I am around him, the more ridiculous that possibility seems.

“Where did you and Seungri go when you left the bonfire?” he asks as I pull into his father’s driveway.

“Back to his apartment,” I say.

Jiyong’s body tenses and his bloody fists clench, tearing the skin on his knuckles further. “Did you sleep with him?” he asks and my mouth falls open.

“What? Why the hell would you assume that? You should know me better than that by now! And who do you think you are to even ask such a personal question? You made it clear that you don’t care about me so, what if I did?” I shout.

“So you didn’t?” he asks again, his eyes like stone.

“God, Jiyong! No! He kissed me, but I wouldn’t have sex with someone I barely know!”

He leans over and turns my car off, clenching his bloody hand over the keys and pulling them out of the ignition.

“You kissed him back?” His eyes are hooded as he seems to look straight past me.

“Yeah . . . well, I don’t know, I think I did.” I don’t remember anything except Jiyong’s face in my mind.

“How do you not know? Have you been drinking?” His voice is louder now.

“No, I just . . .”

“You what!” he shouts and turns his body to face me. I can’t read the energy between us, and for a moment I sit there, trying to get a handle on it.

“I-I just kept thinking of you!” I finally admit.

His stone features soften tremendously and he brings his eyes to mine. “Let’s go inside,” he says and opens the passenger door.

Karen and Ken are sitting on the couch in the living room and both look up when we walk in.

“ Jiyong ! What happened?” his father asks, panicked. He jumps up and comes over to us, but Jiyong brushes him off.

“I’m fine,” Jiyong grumbles.

“What happened to him?” Ken turns to me.

“He got in a fight, but he hasn’t told me with who or why.”

“I am standing right here—and I just said I am fucking fine,” Jiyong says angrily.

“Don’t talk to your father like that!” I scold him and his eyes widen. Instead of screaming at me, he takes my wrist in his busted hand and pulls me out of the room. Ken and Karen discuss Jiyong’s bloody appearance as he drags me upstairs, and I hear his dad openly wonder why Jiyong keeps coming here when he never used to before.

Once we reach his room, he turns me around, pinning both of my wrists to the wall and steps up close, leaving only a few inches between us.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he says through his teeth.

“Do what? Let go of me, right now,” I tell him.

He rolls his eyes but does let me go and walks over to his bed. I stay close to the door.

“Don’t tell me how to talk to my father. Worry about your own relationship with your own father before trying to meddle with mine.”

As soon as the words come out of his mouth, Jiyong registers what he says, and he immediately looks apologetic. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean it like that . . . It just came out.” He takes a step toward me with outstretched arms, but I take a step backward into the doorway.

“Yeah—it always just ‘comes out,’ doesn’t it?” I can’t help the tears pricking my eyes. Bringing my father into this is just way too much, even for Hardin.

“Baby, I . . .” he begins but stops himself when I hold up one hand.

What am I doing here? Why do I keep thinking he will stop the endless string of insults long enough to have an actual conversation with me? Because I am an idiot, that’s why.

“It’s fine, really. That’s who you are; that’s what you do. You find people’s weakness and you exploit it. You use it to your advantage. How long have you been waiting to say something about my father? You’ve probably been waiting for an opening since you met me!” I shout.

“Damn it! No I haven’t! I wasn’t thinking when I said that! You are not innocent here—you provoke me on purpose!” he yells, even louder than I did.

“Provoke you? I provoke you! Please, do enlighten me!” I know everyone in the house can hear. But, for once, I don’t care.

“You always push my buttons! You constantly fight with me! You go on dates with Seungri—I mean, fuck! You think I like being this way? Do you think I like you having this control over me? I hate the way you get under my skin. I loathe the way I can’t seem to stop thinking about you! I hate you . . . I really do! You’re such a pretentious little . . .” He stops and looks at me. I force myself to look back at him, putting on the charade that he didn’t just tear me apart with every syllable.

“This is what I am talking about!” He runs his hands over his hair as he paces back and forth across the room. “You . . . you make me crazy, literally fucking mental! And then you have the nerve to ask if I love you? Why would you even ask that? Because I said that one time, by accident? I told you already that I didn’t mean it, so why would you ask again? You like rejection—don’t you? That’s why you keep coming around me, isn’t it?”

All I want to do is run, run out of this room and never, ever look back. I need to run, I need to flee.

I try to stop it, but he has me in such a rage, I yell the thing I know will get to him, break his control: “No, I keep coming around because I love you!”

I cover my mouth immediately, wishing I could push the words back in. He couldn’t possibly hurt me worse than he has, and I don’t want to be left wondering years from now what he would have said if I told him. I am okay with him not loving me. I got myself into this knowing how he was all along.

He looks astonished. “You what?” He blinks rapidly as if trying to process the words.

“Go on, tell me how much you hate me again. Go ahead and tell me how stupid I am for loving someone who can’t stand me,” I say, my voice coming out foreign and almost in a whine. I wipe my eyes and look at him again, feeling as if I’ve been gravely defeated and need to leave the scene to bandage my wounds. “I’ll be going now.”

As I go to turn, he takes one long stride to close the gap between us. I refuse to look at him as he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Damn it, don’t go,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

Which emotion is the question.

“You love me?” he whispers and puts his busted hand under my chin to tilt my head to him. I dart my eyes away from his and nod slowly, waiting for him to laugh in my face.

“Why?” His breath comes in a hot burst against my face.

I finally bring my eyes to his and he looks . . . afraid? “What?” I ask softly.

“Why do you love . . . how could you possibly love me?” His voice cracks and he stares at me, and I feel like the words I say next will determine my fate more than anything I’ve ever done before.

“How could you not know that I love you?” I ask instead of answering him.

He doesn’t think I could love him? I have no explanation except that I just do. He drives me crazy, makes me angrier than I have ever been, but somehow I fell for him, hard.

“You told me you didn’t. And you went out with Seungri. You always leave me; you left me on the porch earlier when I begged you for another chance. I told you I loved you, and you rejected me. Do you know how hard that was for me?” he says.

I must be imagining the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, though I am too aware of his callused fingers under my chin.

“You took it back before I could even process what you said. You’ve done a lot of things to hurt me, Jiyong,” I tell him and he nods.

“I know . . . I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you? I know I don’t deserve you. I don’t have the right to even be asking this . . . but please, just one chance. I am not promising not to fight with you, or get mad at you, but I am promising to give myself to you, completely. Please, just let me try to be what you need.” He sounds so unsure of himself, it turns my insides to liquid.

“I want to think this can work, but I just don’t know how it could, so much damage has already been done.”

But my eyes betray me as the tears fall. Jiyong brings his fingers up from my chin and captures them, even as a single tear escapes down his own cheek.

“Do you remember when you asked me who I love the most in the world?” he asks, his lips inches from mine.

I nod, though it seems so long ago, and I didn’t think he was even paying attention.

“It’s you. You’re the person that I love most in the world.”

His words surprise me and dissolve the ache and the anger in my chest.

Before I will let myself believe him and turn me to putty in his arms, I ask, “This isn’t part of your sick game, is it?”

“No, Y/N. I’m done with the games. I just want you. I want to be with you, in a real relationship. You’ll have to teach me what in the hell that even means, of course.” He laughs nervously and I join him with earnest laughter of my own.

“I have missed your laugh. I haven’t heard it enough. I want to be the one to make you laugh, not cry. I know I am a lot to handle—”

I cut him off by pressing my lips against his. His kisses are rushed and I can taste blood from his cut. My knees want to buckle from the electricity shooting through me, it seems so long ago that I last felt his mouth on mine. I love this damaged, self-loathing asshole so much that I’m afraid it will crush me. He lifts me up and I wrap my thighs around him, tangling my fingers into his hair. He moans into my mouth and I gasp, pulling harder. My tongue runs over his bottom lip and when he winces, I pull away.

“Who did you get in a fight with?” I ask and he laughs.

“You’re asking that now?”

“Yeah, I want to know.” I smile.

“You always have so many questions. Can’t I answer them later?” He pouts.

“No, tell me.”

“Only if you’ll stay.” He holds me against him tighter. “Please?” he begs.

“Okay,” I say and kiss him again, completely forgetting about my question.

50 notes and i will upload another part tonight or just much sooner

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mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl · 6 years

Text

NOW 2~G-Dragon Pt.9

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:3,637

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book!(choosen by popular demand but don’t worry bared to him will be up tomorrow!)

Y/N POV

When Jiyong and I enter the living room, his mother is sitting on the couch with her wet hair pulled into a bun. She looks so young for her age, so stunning. “We should rent some movies, and I’ll make dinner for all of us!” she exclaims. “Don’t you miss my cooking, dumpling?”

Jiyong rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Sure. Best cook ever.”

This couldn’t possibly be more awkward.

“Hey! I’m not that bad.” She laughs. “And I think you just talked yourself into being chef tonight.”

I shift uncomfortably, unsure how to behave around Jiyong unless we’re together or fighting. This is an odd place for us, though I suddenly realize this is a pattern of ours: Karen and Ken had been under the impression that we were dating before we actually were.

“Can you cook, Y/N?” Trish asks, breaking my thoughts. “Or is it Jiyong, too?”

“Um, we both do. Maybe more ‘preparing’ than cooking, really,” I answer.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re taking care of my boy, and this apartment is so nice, too. I suspect Y/N does the cleaning,” she teases.

I’m not “taking care of her boy,” since that’s what he’s missing out on for hurting me the way he did. “Yeah . . . he’s a slob,” I answer.

Jiyong looks down at me with a small smile playing on his lips. “I’m not a slob—she’s just too clean.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s a slob,” Trish and I say in unison.

“Are we going to watch a movie or pick on me all night?” Jiyong is pouting.

I sit down before Jiyong does so I don’t have to make the uncomfortable decision about where to sit. I can see him eyeing the couch and me, silently deciding what to do. After a moment, he sits right next to me, so I feel the familiar heat from his proximity.

“What do you want to watch?” his mother asks us.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jiyong replies.

“You can choose.” I try to soften his answer.

She smiles at me before choosing 50 First Dates, a movie I’m sure Jiyong will hate.

And right on cue, Jiyong groans as it begins. “This movie is old as shit.”

“Shhh,” I say, and he huffs but stays quiet.

I catch him staring at me several times while Trish and I laugh and sigh along with the movie. I’m actually enjoying myself, and for a few moments I almost forget everything that has happened between Jiyong and me. It’s hard not to lean into Jiyong, not to touch his hands, not to move his hair when it falls onto his forehead.

“I’m hungry,” he mumbles when the movie ends.

“Why don’t you and Y/N cook, since I had such a long flight?” Trish smiles.

“You’re really milking this long-flight thing, aren’t you?” he says to her.

She nods with a wry smile that I’ve seen on Jiyong’s face a few times.

“I can cook, it’s okay,” I offer and stand up. I walk into the kitchen and lean against the counter. I grip the edges of the marble countertop harder than necessary, trying to catch my breath. I don’t know how long I can do this, pretend that Jiyong didn’t destroy everything, pretend that I love him. I do love him, I am miserably in love with him. The problem is not my lack of feelings toward this moody, egotistical boy. The problem is that I’ve given him so many chances, always dismissing the hateful things that he says and does. But this time it’s too much.

“Jiyong, be a gentleman and help her,” I hear Trish say, and I rush over to the freezer to pretend like I wasn’t having a mini breakdown.

“Um . . . I can help?” His voice carries through the small kitchen.

“Okay . . .” I answer.

“Popsicles?” he asks, and I look at the object in my hands. I had meant to grab chicken, but I was distracted.

“Yeah. Everyone likes Popsicles, right?” I say, and he smiles, revealing those evil dimples of his.

I can do this. I can be around Jiyong. I can be nice to him, and we can get along.

“You should make that chicken pasta that you made for me,” I suggest.

His green eyes focus on me. “That’s what you want to eat?”

“Yes. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not.”

“You’re being so weird today,” I whisper so our houseguest doesn’t hear.

“No, I’m not.” He shrugs and steps toward me.

My heart begins to race as he leans in. As I move to step away, he grabs the door to the freezer and pulls it open.

I thought he was going to kiss me. What the hell is wrong with me?

We cook dinner in almost complete silence, neither of us knowing what to say. My eyes watching him the entire time, the way his long fingers curl around the base of the knife to chop the chicken and the vegetables, the way he closes his eyes when the steam from the boiling water hits his face, the way his tongue swipes the corners of his mouth when he tastes the sauce. I know that observing him like this isn’t conducive to being impartial, or healthy in any way, but I can’t help it.

“I’ll set the table while you tell your mom it’s ready,” I say when it’s finally done.

“What? I’ll just call her.”

“No, that’s rude. Just go get her,” I say.

He rolls his eyes but obeys anyway, only to return seconds later, alone. “She’s asleep,” he tells me.

I heard him, but I still ask, “What?”

“Yeah, she’s passed out on the couch. Should I just wake her up?”

“No . . . She had a long day. I’ll put some food away for her so whenever she gets up she can eat. It’s sort of late anyway.”

“It’s eight.”

“Yeah . . . that’s late.”

“I guess.” His voice is flat.

“What is with you? I know this is uncomfortable and all, but you are being so weird,” I say as I put food on two plates without thinking.

“Thanks.” he says and grabs one before sitting down at the table.

I grab a fork from the drawer and opt to stand at the counter to eat. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” He grabs a forkful of chicken and digs in.

“Why you’re being so . . . quiet and . . . nice. It’s weird.”

He takes a moment to chew then swallow before he answers. “I just don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

“Oh” is all I can think to say. Well, that’s not what I expected to hear.

He turns the tables on me then. “So why are you being so nice and weird?”

“Because your mother is here and what happened, happened—there’s nothing I can do to change it. I can’t hold on to that anger forever.” I lean against the counter on my elbow.

“So what does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying that I want to be civil and not fight anymore. It doesn’t change anything between us.” I bite my cheek to keep my eyes from tearing up.

Instead of saying anything, Jiyong stands up and throws his plate into the sink. The porcelain splits down the middle with a loud crack that causes me to jump. Jiyong doesn’t flinch or even turn back around as he stalks off to the bedroom.

I peer into the living room to make sure that his impulsive behavior hasn’t woken up his mother. Fortunately, she’s still asleep, her mouth slightly open in a way that makes her resemblance to her son all the stronger.

As usual, I’m left to clean up the mess that Jiyong made. I load the dishwasher and put away the leftovers before wiping down the counter. I’m exhausted, mentally more than physically, but I need to take a shower and go to bed. But where the hell am I going to sleep? Jiyong is in the bedroom and Trish is on the couch. Maybe I should just drive back to the motel.

I turn the heat up a little and switch off the light in the living room. When I walk into the bedroom to get my pajamas, Jiyong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up, so I grab a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and panties from my bag before exiting the room. As I hit the doorway, I hear what sounds like a muffled sob.

Is Jiyong crying?

He isn’t. He couldn’t be.

On the off chance that he is, I can’t leave the room. I pad back to the bed and stand in front of him. “ Jiyong?” I say quietly and try to remove his hands from his face. He resists, but I pull harder. “Look at me,” I beg.

The breath is knocked out of me when he does. His eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are soaked with tears. I try to take his hands in mine, but he jerks away. “Just go, Y/n,” he says.

I’ve heard him say that too many times. “No,” I say and kneel down between his opened legs.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hands. “This was a bad idea. I’m going to tell my mum in the morning.”

“You don’t have to.” I’ve seen him let out a few tears before, but never full-on, body-shaking, tears-streaming-down-his-face crying.

“Yeah, I do. This is torture for me to have you so close but so far. It’s the worst possible punishment. Not that I don’t deserve it, because I know I do, but it’s too much,” he sobs. “Even for me.” He draws in a deep, desperate breath. “When you agreed to stay . . . I thought that maybe . . . maybe you still cared for me the way I do for you. But I see it,Y/N, I see the way you look at me now. I see the pain I’ve caused. I see the change in you because of me. I know that I did this, but it still kills me to have you slip through my fingers.” The tears come much faster now, falling against his black T-shirt.

I want to say something—anything—to make this stop. To make his pain go away.

But where was he when I was crying myself to sleep night after night?

“You want me to go?” I ask, and he nods.

His rejection hurts, even now. I know I shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be doing this, but I need more. I need more time with him. Even dangerous, painful time is better than no time. I wish I didn’t love him, that I had never met him.

But I did. And I do love him.

“Okay.” I swallow and stand up.

His hand grips my wrist to stop me. “I’m sorry. For everything, for hurting you, for everything,” he says, goodbye thick in his tone.

As much as I resist this, I know deep down that I’m not ready for him to give up on me. On the other hand, I’m not ready to easily forgive him either. I’ve been in a constant state of confusion for days, but today takes the cake.

“I . . .” I stop myself.

“What?”

“I don’t want to go,” I say so low that I’m not sure he even heard me.

“What?” he asks again.

“I don’t want to go. I know I should, but I don’t want to. Not tonight at least.” I swear I can see the pieces of the broken man in front of me slowly come back together, one by one. It’s a beautiful sight, but terrifying deep in my soul, too.

“What does this mean?”

“I don’t know what it means, but I’m not ready to find out either,” I say, hoping to be able to get at this feeling by talking about it.

Jiyong looks at me blankly, his earlier sobs nowhere to be find. Robotically, he wipes his face with his shirt and says, “Okay. You can sleep on the bed, I’ll take the floor.”

As he grabs two pillows and the throw blanket from the bed, my mind can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, all those tears were for show. Still, somehow I know that they couldn’t have been.

Tucked like I am under our comforter, the thought that keeps going through my mind is that I never, ever would have thought I’d witness anything like that from Jiyong. He was so raw, so vulnerable, as his body shook with tears. I feel like the dynamic between Jiyong and me is constantly shifting, so that one of us is always gaining an upper hand over the other. Right now, I would be the one in control.

But I don’t want to be. And I don’t like this dynamic. Love shouldn’t be such a battle. Besides, I don’t trust myself to be in control of what happens between us. Up until a few hours ago I had it all figured out, but now, after seeing him so shaken up, my mind is muddled and my thoughts clouded.

Even in the darkness, I can feel Jiyong’s eyes on me. When I let out the breath I realized I was holding, he quickly asks, “Do you want me to turn the television on?”

“No. If you want to, you can, but I’m okay,” I answer.

I wish that I had grabbed my e-reader so I could read until I fell asleep. Maybe observing the ruination of Catherine and Heathcliff’s lives would make mine seem easier, less traumatic. Catherine spent her whole life trying to fight her love for that man, on and off until the day she begged for his forgiveness and claimed she could not live without him—only to die hours later. I could live without Jiyong, couldn’t I? I won’t spend my entire life fighting this. This is only temporary . . . Right? We won’t bring ourselves and others misery because of our stubbornness and hard heads, right? I’m bothered by the uncertainty of this parallel, especially since it means I start comparing Trevor to Edgar. I don’t know how to feel about this. It’s awkward.

“Y/N?” my very own Heathcliff calls, wresting me away from my thoughts.

“Yeah?” I croak.

“I didn’t fuck . . . sleep with Chaerin,” he says, as if correcting his foul language makes the statement any less shocking.

I stay silent, partly stunned by him talking about this, partly because I want to believe him. But I can’t allow myself to forget that he’s a master of deception.

“I swear it,” he adds.

Oh, well, if he “swears” it . . . “Why did you say that, then?” I ask harshly.

“To hurt you. I was just so mad because you said you kissed someone, so I just said the thing that I knew would hurt you the most.”

I can’t see Jiyong, but somehow I know that he’s lying on his back, his arms crossed, hands under his head, staring at the ceiling. “Did you really kiss someone?” he asks before I can respond.

“Yeah,” I admit. But when I hear the suction of a deep breath, I try to soften the blow by adding, “Only once.”

“Why?” His voice is cool yet heated. It’s a strange sound.

“I honestly have no idea . . . I was mad because of how you were acting on the phone, and I had way too much to drink. So I danced with this guy, and he kissed me.”

“You danced with him? Danced how?” he asks.

I roll my eyes at Jiyong’s needing to know every detail of what I do, even when we aren’t together. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

His words thicken the air between us again. “Yes, I do.”

“Jiyong, we just danced like people do at a club. Then he kissed me and tried to get me to go home with him.” I stare at the blades on the ceiling fan. I know that if we keep talking about this, they will eventually be forced to stop, unable to cut through the tension.

I try to change the subject. “Thank you for the e-reader. It was very thoughtful.”

“He tried to get you to go home with him? Did you?” I hear him shuffling, giving me an indication that he’s now sitting up.

I remain flat against the mattress. “Do you even have to ask that? You know I would never do that,” I snap.

“Well, I never thought you would be kissing and dancing at a club either,” he barks.

After a few beats of silence I speak. “I don’t think you want to get started on the unexpected.”

The blankets shuffle again, and I can feel him right next to me. That voice is right next to me. “Tell me, please tell me, that you didn’t.”

He sits down on the bed next to me and I move away from him. “You know I didn’t. I saw you later that night.”

“I need to hear you say it.” His voice is harsh but pleading. “Say that you only kissed him once and you haven’t spoken to him since.”

“I only kissed him once and I haven’t spoken to him since,” I repeat, only because I know he desperately needs to hear the words.

I keep my eyes focused on the swirl of ink poking out from the low collar of his shirt. Having him on the bed soothes me and burns me all at once. I can’t stand the internal battle I’m stuck in the middle of.

“Is there anything else I should know?” he asks softly.

“No,” I lie. I am not telling him about the date with Trevor. Nothing happened and it’s none of Jiyong’s business. I like Trevor, and I want to keep him safe from the time bomb that is Jiyong.

“You sure?”

“Jiyong . . . I don’t really think you’re in the position to be hounding me,” I say and look into his eyes. I can’t help it.

“I know,” he surprises me by saying.

When he moves off of the bed, I try to ignore the emptiness that takes me over.

JIYONG POV

Today has been hell. A hell that I welcomed with open arms, but hell all the same. I never expected to see Y/N when I came home from the airport. I had come up with a simple lie: my girlfriend wouldn’t be available because she’d be out of town all week for Christmas. My mum had whined a little but didn’t ask too many questions or push my story. She had been so thrilled—and surprised, really—that I had a woman in my life. I think her and my father both expected me to be alone my entire life. Then again, so did I.

I find it amusing, in a twisted way, that I can’t go a second without thinking of this girl, when up until three months ago I wanted to be alone. I never knew what I was missing, and now that I found it, I can’t let it go. It’s only her, though; no matter what I do, I can’t shake her.

I tried to stop, tried to forget about her, tried to move on . . . and it was a disaster. The perfectly nice blonde that I took out Saturday night wasn’t Y/N. No one would ever be. Sure, she looked like her, even dressed like her. She blushed when I cursed and seemed a little afraid of me throughout our dinner. She was nice enough, yeah, but she was boring.

She was missing that fire that Tess has—she didn’t scold me for my foul language, she didn’t even say anything when I put my hand on her thigh in the middle of dinner. I knew she only agreed to go out with me to fulfill some fucked-up bad-boy fantasy before church the next morning, but that’s okay, because I was using her, too. I was using her to fill the void of Y/N. To distract me from Y/N being in Seoul still with fucking Trevor. The guilt I felt when I moved in to kiss her was overwhelming. I pulled away, and the embarrassment was clear on her innocent face—I practically ran to my car, leaving her stranded at the restaurant.

I sit up further and look at the sleeping girl that I am desperately in love with. Seeing her in our apartment with her clothes in the washer, the apartment clean, and even her toothbrush in the bathroom . . . it gave me a little bit of hope. But then again, you know what they say about hope.

I’m still holding on to the sliver that exists, the small chance that she may forgive me. If she woke up now, she would surely scream at the sight of me standing over her as she sleeps.

I know I need to take it down a few notches. I need to give her a little space. This behavior and these feelings are so exhausting, so overwhelming to me, and I have no fucking idea how to deal with them. But I will figure this out—I have to fix all of this. I push a loose strand of her soft hair from her face and force myself away from the bed, back to my pile of blankets, on the concrete floor, where I belong.

Maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight.

a/n Thoughts?

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