#t.o.p bigbang

[littlescorp1o]

face card never declines

[emmiesoverthemoon]

don't push me away

BIGBANG APRIL WRITING CHALLENGE: DAY 7

Pairing: choi seunghyun / t.o.p x soloist reader

Word Count: 2.5k.

Summary: Seunghyun has a huge crush on you and doesn’t know how to express it due to underlying insecurities, so he ends up hurting your feelings instead

Tags: angst, internal conflict, external conflict, miscommunication, insecurity, hurt comfort, friends to lovers

There was something about the way Seunghyun looked at you. Or at least, you had believed there was.

It was evident in the way his gaze lingered a fraction too long when you laughed, as though he was committing to memory the precise manner in which joy manifested upon your features. In the way his fingers ghosted against yours when he handed you a water bottle between takes of a collaborative music video—a touch so fleeting it could almost be dismissed as accidental, were it not for the fact that it recurred with such consistency that it could no longer be mere coincidence. In the way his voice altered ever so slightly when he spoke your name, imbued with an alluring intimacy that seemed almost subconscious, like an unguarded secret slipping through the cracks of his restraint.

It was all so subtle. So minuscule. Yet you had learned to perceive the nuances that eluded others. You had trained yourself to decipher the spaces between his silences, to hear the echoes of what was unsaid. And so, you told yourself that perhaps, just perhaps, he felt the same amount of endearment about you as you did about him.

To the world, you and Seunghyun were merely friends—close friends, undoubtedly, but friends nonetheless. You exchanged teasing remarks during interviews, stood within a breath’s distance during collaborative performances between yourself and the group, allowed the atmosphere between you to shimmer with a tension that neither of you acknowledged aloud. And yet, the line remained uncrossed. You never breached it, because Seunghyun never did. He remained fixed in the liminal space where something more could take root but never did, and so you followed his lead. You told yourself that this should be enough. That despite his silence, his actions should suffice.

Actions spoke louder than words, right?

Yet, in the quiet hours of the night, doubt seeped into the crevices of your certainty, relentless and insidious. For all his gestures, for all his proximity, he never truly allowed you beyond the carefully constructed façade. There was always an invisible barrier, an impassable threshold just beyond the precipice of something deeper. A silence where a confession might have dwelled.

What you were unaware of was that he was ensnared in his own self-imposed restraint.

Seunghyun believed that you perceived him only as the polished veneer he presented to the world—the effortless wit, the practiced charm, the understated warmth that drew people in—and that was the “him” you wanted. He was convinced that if you were to see beyond it, if you were to glimpse the depths of him that he had spent years concealing, you would come to the inevitable conclusion: that he was not enough. That the light in your eyes when you looked at him would dim with recognition, that the effortless way you fit into his life would unravel, leaving only distance where there was once closeness.

Thus, he chose inaction. He allowed the moments to slip past, permitted his own heart to bear the weight of unspoken truths, convinced that this was the only path he could take. That preserving the illusion was preferable to the risk of watching it fracture.

He never realised that you would never see what he saw. That the flaws he feared were mere phantoms of his own making. That if only he had dared to reach out, to let himself believe, you would have been there, unwavering, waiting, with upmost loyalty and love.

The moment after your most recent show was one of those intoxicating in-betweens, when adrenaline still hummed beneath your skin and exhaustion had not yet dulled the edges of your excitement. You turned to Seunghyun, breathless, a grin stretching wide across your face.

"You were incredible tonight," you said, your voice tinged with unrestrained admiration. "That part in your second verse? The way you delivered it? Absolutely insane. I don't know how you manage to make it look effortless and cool every single time."

Seunghyun chuckled, a deep, reverberating sound that curled around you like warmth, adding to your post-exertion heat. "Coming from you? That means everything to me," he murmured, reaching out in an absentminded gesture to fix a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. His fingers barely brushed your skin, but the gesture was enough to make your heart stutter in its rhythm and for your eyes to widen.

The exchange lasted only moments, but the weight of it lingered. And when he walked away, the remaining members of BigBang wasted no time closing in on you.

"You know he's never going to make the first move, right?" Jiyong said, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His tone was not unkind, but it was firm, laced with something like exasperation.

"He's terrified of losing you," Daesung added, his expression softer. "That's why he hesitates. He thinks if he speaks it aloud, he'll ruin everything."

"And you?" Youngbae’s voice cut through the haze. "Are you going to keep waiting? Or are you finally going to do something about it?"

You swallowed, fingers curling into fists at your sides. "I... I have a feeling he might feel the same way?" you admitted, though uncertainty still gnawed at the edges of your confidence. "But I'm not completely sure. What if it's just so that I'll be on his good side? To keep up the stage chemistry?"

"He absolutely does feel for you, don't overthink that," Daesung said without hesitation. "Trust us. He's a subtle guy, but this is the most obvious he's ever been with anyone."

"Honestly, it's almost exhausting watching you both dance around it, everyone knows something is going on," Jiyong placed his hand on your shoulder, "It's tiring watching you guys practically edge each other. Tell him. Soon."

And with that, you decided to make the first move.

The studio was dimly lit, shadows stretching long against the walls. Seunghyun sat hunched over his notebook, scribbling absently, the furrow between his brows deepening with thought. You hesitated in the doorway, nerves coiling tight in your stomach.

"Hey," you greeted, your voice steadier than you felt.

He glanced up, offering you a tired but genuine smile. "Hey. What are you doing here so late?"

You swallowed against the tightness in your throat. "This isn't easy for me to admit," you began, heart hammering. "I really like you, like, like you, so would you want to go out for dinner sometime? Just us? There's a nice place near here I want to try."

Seunghyun froze, pen stilling against the paper. His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. "That's funny," he said. "You almost had me there."

You could feel your heart drop to your stomach, "I... I'm serious, Seunghyun. I really do."

The humor drained from his face. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "We can't do this," he said, the words cutting through you like a blade. "You think you want me, but you don't know me. Not really. You love the idea of me, not what I actually am."

Something in your chest cracked wide open. "I don't understand," you whispered, voice shaking.

"You will," he said, voice low and firm, his gaze averted. "One day, you'll realize that I was never what you thought I was. And when that day comes you'll regret ever speaking to me in the first place, so it'll hurt a lot less if you walk away now. Leave."

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall until you were out of his sight. You turned on your heel, leaving before he could take it back, before he could say anything else that might shatter what little composure you had left.

And Seunghyun? The moment the door slammed shut behind you, he cursed under his breath, slamming his fists against the desk. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he muttered, hating himself more than he ever had before.

Time passed, and on stage, you remained flawless. But behind the scenes, everything was unraveling.

The performances continued, a seamless illusion of perfection. Under the glare of the stage lights, your voice never wavered, your smile never faltered. The chemistry you shared with Seunghyun—the unspoken synchrony, the effortless push and pull—was still there, almost muscle memory at this point. To the audience, nothing had changed. To them, you were still the same pair, the same magnetic presence that blurred the line between friendship and something more.

But offstage? Everything was different.

The spaces where laughter once existed between you were now filled with silence. Seunghyun was distant, retreating into himself in a way that felt deliberate, like he was trying to make himself untouchable. His words were clipped, his touches absent. He recoiled before you could have an attempt make contact, not that you wanted to anyway. He was not cruel, not outright, but the coldness was worse than cruelty. It was calculated. A punishment. A severing.

And you were exhausted.

You tried to pretend you were okay, that you were left unfazed, that the dull ache in your chest was not growing heavier with each passing day, that it was not breaking you to stand beside him, knowing what you had lost before you could properly have it. But it showed. In the way your spark seemed to have dimmed, in the way your laughter was a little less bright, in the way you withdrew from the others when they tried to reach you.

And the others noticed.

It was Jiyong who came up with the idea to confront him.

The dressing room was empty aside from the other three members of BigBang and Seunghyun, who sat with his head in his hands, his entire posture weighted with something unspoken. But Jiyong had never been one for silence.

“What the hell did you do?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air. There was no humor in it, no playfulness—just barely restrained frustration.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Seunghyun's voice was sharp, dismissive.

But Jiyong was sharper, "Don't start with me,"

Seunghyun's head remained lowered. “Don’t you start with me.”

Daesung scoffed from the corner, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “No, actually, we will start with you. Because whatever you said to her? It wrecked her.”

Seunghyun clenched his jaw. “She’s fine.”

“She’s not,” Youngbae interjected, his voice quieter but no less firm. “She’s pretending to be, but she’s not. And if you weren’t so determined to keep your head buried in your own self-loathing, you’d see it.”

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

“She would often talk to us about how she wanted to be with you so badly,” Jiyong said, softer this time, the anger giving way to something closer to disappointment. “And you just let her go. No, worse—you pushed her away.”

Seunghyun exhaled harshly, dragging a hand over his face. He wanted to tell them they were wrong, that this was for the best. That you deserved better. But the weight in his chest told him otherwise.

Jiyong sighed, standing up. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not working. And if you don’t fix this, you’re going to regret it. Be a man.”

And with that, they left him alone with his thoughts, his inner turmoil clawing at his chest, creating deep cavities of regret and self exasperation beneath his ribcage.

Hours later, Seunghyun found himself outside your door, heart pounding so hard it hurt. He had no plan, no perfect words to undo the damage he had inflicted. But he knew one thing: he could not let you keep thinking you had been wrong to love him.

He knocked, once, twice, and when the door opened, the sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs. You looked exhausted, emotionally drained, but still—still so achingly beautiful it made his heart twist painfully in his chest.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was wary, guarded.

“I fucked up,” he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I did was hurt you. The truth is, I feel the same love for you as you for me, if not more. But I believed that if I opened up fully, you wouldn’t like the real me, so my walls instinctively went up, and they hurt you in the process. And that’s the last thing I ever really wanted. I'm really sorry.”

You swallowed hard, but your words remained inside. He took a step closer, hesitating before reaching out, his fingers barely brushing your wrist—just enough to feel the warmth of your skin, just enough to let you pull away if you wanted to.

You remained still.

“If you’ll have me,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion, “I promise I’ll treat you right this time.”

You hesitated, eyes searching his face for something—sincerity, regret, hope. Whatever you found there must have been enough, because your breath hitched, and in a voice barely above a whisper, you said, “You hurt me so badly, Seunghyun.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “And I’ll spend forever making it up to you, if you let me.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, you stepped forward, collapsing against his warm chest, where you could feel his heart pacing at a million beats per minute. His arms wrapped around you immediately, holding you with a desperation that felt like he was terrified you might slip through his fingers again. And then, finally, after everything, he tilted his head down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that felt like both an apology and a promise. It was soft, his way of nonverbally pouring each and every ounce of love into you.

And this time, the only way he would let you go is if the heavens themselves came down to tear him out of your warm embrace.

The days that followed were soft, warm in a way that neither of you had allowed yourselves to believe in before.

Seunghyun had always been gentle with you, but now, there was no hesitation, no reluctance in the way he touched you. His fingers found yours easily, threading together as though he had been made to hold you. He would tuck you against his side without thought, his head resting against yours as if your closeness was something he had starved for.

One evening, curled up together in the quiet safety of his home, he traced slow patterns over the back of your hand, watching the way your fingers twitched beneath his touch. “I should have done this sooner,” he murmured, voice low and warm.

You tilted your head up to look at him, the soft glow of the lamps casting shadows across his face. “Done what?”

“This,” he breathed, bringing your knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss there. “Loved you the way you deserved from the start.”

Your heart stuttered, a slow, blooming warmth unfurling in your chest.

“You have all the time in the world to make it up to me,” you whispered, "The rest of our lives."

And when he smiled— a soft, real, unguarded smile—you knew he already was planning to.

thank u for allowing me to participate in the challenge! it was so fun i would love to do more challenges or similar stuff like this in the future ☆

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[maskedcrawford]

Blood and Bruises

Bad Boy! Seunghyun x Soft! Artist! Reader

Summary: Your best friend loves to fight but does he love you more?

Warnings: Mentions of fighting, mentions of going underwater in a car, mentions of bruises and blood, I think that's all

A/N: I really hope you love this anon! It was so fun to write! Thank you for your patience! Mark is just a made up character btw.

Requests: OPEN

Seunghyun and Y/n, y/n and Seunghyun, best friends since kindergarten. You didn’t get one without the other half the time. You’ve been friends since the day he stood up for you at snack time.

A little boy had stolen your juice and snacks and you started to cry. Seunghyun noticed the particular little boy who had double snacks and juice. Instead of asking the teacher for another snack and letting her handle it, Seunghyun took it upon himself to shove the little boy down and take back your snack. Then once he returned your beloved animal crackers and apple juice he took the little boys juice, punctured a hole in it and it spilled all over his pants, making the class think he peed himself. You two have been inseparable ever since.

-

“Look what I made,” you sing as you come up behind him in the hallway. You show him the drawing you’d spent hours on the night before, even loosing sleep over it. He takes the paper in his hands, and you notice the redish purple marks on his knuckles. You notice the yellowing of a bruise near his right eye, the one closest to you, and the currently healing busted lip he’s sporting.

“This is good, y/n!” He offers you a genuine smile, one that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Thanks, Seung,” you blush at his compliment and take the paper back from him. The hallways part like the red sea as the two of you walk down it, a few people whisper to each other, but their eyes never leave the two of you. You're like the odd couple, Seunghyun in his leather jacket, obvious signs he’d been in yet another fight, the tough asshole exterior, and he was always so dark, mysterious and often appeared moody.

Meanwhile you, you were soft, wearing pastel colors, skirts and cardigans more times than not, your personality was a contrast to his as well. You’re more on the shy side, but not in a way that’s brooding or intimidating like your best friend, just quiet and content with being alone with your paper and utensils for your next masterpiece. You enjoyed art, didn’t love violence or conflict and just wanted peace, something your best friend wasn’t the one to cling to.

“Another fight?” you practically whine and he gives you a half smile with a shrug of his shoulders. The two of you round the corner to your next class.

“It’s fine, y/n,” he tries to reassure you. You pick up his hand on instinct once you stop outside your class. Seunghyun’s heart skips a beat like it always does whenever the two of you touch.

“This,” you point to his hand, “Is not fine. You have got to stop fighting before it gets you into more trouble.” He sighs dramatically, his shoulders rising up and down.

“Y/n, are you joining us for class?” the teacher rudely asks. You drop your shoulders as you spare your friend one last look.

“I mean it, Seunghyun, I’m worried about you,” the bell rings as you finish your sentence and he looks at you apologetically before he strides down the hall into his own class.

-

Seunghyun walks in, seeing the guy he beat up just 5 days ago. Seunghyun liked to fight, don’t misunderstand that, but he knew you hated it. He had heard it a million times when you’d be the one to patch him up. He really did try and for a while he was able to stay out of it, but that was until Mark wanted to run his mouth.

Seunghyun sits right behind him in the corner of the room, his eyes burning holes into the man’s skull. His fists clench on top of the table and his teeth grit against each other.

Mark had been talking about Seunghyun's everything, his world, his girl. He’d been talking about how easy he thought you were and that he and friends wanted to make a bet to see who could sleep with you first, and Seunghyun made sure to let Mark know that was a dumb idea. Mark had a split brow, that required 5 stitches, a busted bottom and top lip, a black eye, and multiple bruises to his abdomen and ribs. The two weren’t fighting on school property so there was no suspension. But the whole school knew they had been into it. They just didn’t know why.

Class drones on and as much as Seunghyun tries to pay attention to his math teacher, but it’s no use. He can’t get the whole scene out of his head

-

“Her tight little virgin cunt would feel so good,” Mark said.

“It’d be the easiest money I’d ever make,” he laughs to his friends.

“What the fuck, dude?” Seunghyun’s face was angry. School had just let out and the guys were across the street. The boys all looked to one another.

“What do you want,” Mark’s attitude came out blazing.

“Why the fuck you talking about y/n like that?”

“None of your business,” Mark said and grinned to his friends when he seen you approaching. Seunghyun drops his books, he see’s you out of the corner of his eye but he heard the words, he knew what was going on and he wasn’t about to let it go.

“If you so much as breathe in her direction,” he said getting up in Mark’s face.

“Back up dude,” Mark pushes his shoulders and Seunghyun stumbled. You slowly approached hearing the commotion and your stomach twisted. Before you could say or do anything Seunghyun’s fist collides with Mark’s face, splitting the brow that currently sport’s those 5 stitches.

The two exchanged blows before someone came over and broke it up. You rush to his side, taking in his broken face. His softens as he see’s the worry in your eyes and your brows furrowed.

“I’m fine,” he tries to reassure you and you help him stand up, dragging him back to your place to take care of him.

-

Before Seunghyun knows it, the bell rings and before any other kids walk out, you’re walking into his classroom. He cocks his brow with a small smirk, watching the way your skirt moves as you walk, he wasn’t stupid, he could see how beautiful you are, he's been in love with you since he could remember, but he also knows others see it too. They wouldn’t worship you the way he would though, not the way he wants to.

He notices you chatting with the teacher, and the teacher’s eyes flit back to him and for half a second, he feels pinned. Curiosity get’s the better of him.

“Don’t I usually pick you up from class?” he asks stepping up behind you and his teacher.

“Yeah, but Mr. Hun wanted to talk to me,” you smile innocently and his knees are weak. God how he loves that smile.

“So you’ll do it?”

“Yep, we’ll start tonight,” you grin as you look at Seunghyun who knows something’s going on.

“Great, I look forward to seeing your improvement Mr. Choi,” the teacher says professionally. Seunghyun only gives his teacher a look of confusion.

“What the heck is he talking about?” Seunghyun asks as the two of you walk the campus grounds.

“Well, you’re struggling with math, and in general in school, so he asked if I could tutor you and I told him I had all ready thought about the idea, I just hadn’t asked you yet. But since your teacher thinks it’s a good idea, I’m not asking you anymore.” You stop walking to face him head on.

“I’m telling you; we’re going to study every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until your grades improve.” Seunghyun scoffs with a smile, it’s rare you get assertive with him.

“And who’s going to make me?”

“Me,” you say simply before you turn to walk ahead of him and Seunghyun can’t help but watch the slight sway of your hips. He sighs, knowing he has no real control here, well he does, but he can’t help but love it when you get confident enough to assert yourself.

“All right fine,” he concedes. You smile in victory.

-

“This is boring,” he drags out. The two of your are sitting in your room on your bed, the sunlight casting a faint golden glow into the room, and your text books are sprawled across the bed. Your drawings are hung around the room, a couple on the desk opposite of your bed, and a few papers are bawled up on the floor.

“Seunghyun we’ve barely even done anything.” You can’t help the small giggle that comes out.

“I’m bored and I want a snack,” he says scooting off the bed.

“Wait,” you say as you take hold of his arm. He stops, feeling the electricity shoot through him. He drops his shoulders.

“You can have snack if you get the next few questions right.” You try to meet him half way.

“I have a better idea,” he smirks.

“Oh?” He turns to you and takes his seat back against the wall. You can tell by the cheeky look on his face he’s got a plan.

“For every question I get right, I get a kiss,” he suggests.

“From who?” you ask innocently.

“You,” he shrugs.

“Seunghyun,” you whine hiding your face. You two had kissed before, he was actually your first. 5 years ago, when you were 14 and he was 15, you’d told him about how nervous you were for a date you were going on with some guy and how you hadn’t kissed anyone and you didn’t quite know how. So Seunghyun, being the helpful friend he was, asked if he could kiss you, to ease your nerves. Or that’s what he told you to cover up the fact that he was madly in love with you, you were oblivious to this.

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before,” he takes your hand and gently tugs your arm, urging you closer to him.

“Ok, but that was different, that was to help me.” You pout as you allow yourself to move over into his lap.

“This is to help me,” he shrugs casually as his hands rest on your hips. Your skirt lays neatly against your thighs. He slowly drags his eyes up and down your form, your face turning a light shade of pink.

“Ok, fine,” you whine as you try to compose yourself.

“A 10-foot ladder leans against a wall, making a 60-degree angle with the ground. How high up the wall does the ladder reach?” You grab a calculator for him so he can punch in the calculations.

“5 feet?” His answer is more of a question and your quirk your brow.

“You sure?” He nods his head hesitantly.

“That’s right!” you give him a large grin and he looks a little taken back but nonetheless is excited.

You put your hands on his face, fingers rubbing over a bruise on his cheek and you gently lean in to press your lips to his. It’s soft, slow, deliberate. Seunghyun could die happy right here right now. His grip slightly tightens on your hips and you pull away, your face a deeper shade of pink than before.

“Ok,” you breathe as you look down beside him at the book. You can feel his eyes on you as you try to compose yourself.

You go over a few more questions, Seunghyun doing surprisingly well. By the end of the hour the two of you have shared many kisses and actually studied. Maybe it really did help him.

“So, I did ok?” He looks up at you, his lips slightly swollen.

“Yeah, you did great. I’m really proud of you,” you say genuinely. You cup his face and his kiss his nose, his cheeks now turning a little pink and he smiles. There's a thick silence for a moment. You know he knows, but you can't help but remind him.

“I wish you’d stop all this fighting, Seung, I hate it.” You pout.

“I know you do, jagi,” he sighs.

“Please, try to stop. I want you to have good future,” you try to peer into his dark eyes, the one’s that won’t quite meet yours.

“I mean it, I’m not doing this to just annoy or spend more time with you, you practically live here more than you live at your own place. I’m doing this because I care about you. Because I want you to do the best you can.” His heart flutters at the nurturing side you’re expressing to him. It always makes his stomach flip.

No one in his life has ever cared so much about him. Not his parents, not his older brother. Heck, his older brother was drunk driving with an 16 year old Seunghyun in the passenger seat, and drove the car into a lake. Seunghyun was somehow able to fight against the water and get the door open. Both boys survived but the damage done to his psyche was something else. He wouldn’t hardly trust anyone after that, it was hard for him to trust you. But you weren’t going away. You persisted through some of the bull he through your way like telling you off unfairly, ignoring your calls or texts. And just like then, you aren’t going away now.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?” you smile at him.

“For caring about me,” his voice is weak, his eyes cast down to the bedspread, a faint look of tears present but he blinks them away.

“I always have and I always will.” You smile and before you can stop yourself, you lean down and press a longing kiss to his lips, he’s caught off guard for just a moment, but kisses you back deeply. It’s not quick or rough, it’s easy and passionate. It's natural. His hand flies to your face, the other snakes its self around your waist pulling your body flush against his.

Before you realize it, your both breathing against one another’s lips, neither of you wanting to separate from the other. Your arms are now around his neck, the only sound in the room is your breathing becoming heavier.

“Seung,” you say against his mouth.

“Hmm,” he hums against you, relishing the fact that this is happening. This isn’t his recurring dream, this isn’t inside his head, this is his reality. You pull away, taking a breather and he looks up at you with half lidded eyes.

“I meant what I said. I want the fights to stop.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says before bringing your neck down to capture your mouth in yet another kiss.

-

That next Monday you meet your now boyfriend at school, but you notice a new cut on his face.

“Seung,” you say dangerously.

“It’s not what you think,” he goes to stop you. Mark is a few feet away, nursing his bloody nose.

“What happened,”

“He was talking shit,” he begins and you drop your head.

“Baby,” you begin, “I don’t care what he was saying,”

“It was about you,” he interrupts and you look at him.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because it’s bull shit and I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

“It’s fine,” you run your finger over the new wound on his chin. His face falls.

“Thank you for wanting to defend me, but let him talk. You focus on yourself, don’t let him drag you down too. I’m fine, you’re fine and we are fine.” You console him. Classes are starting and you lace your hand with his walking past Mark hand in hand.

-

Over the next couple weeks Seunghyun’s grades improve drastically, and his fighting becomes less and less, he still fights every now and again but it’s not a constant. He actually has a stint where he went without bruises or cuts on his face for a whole week, until he got mad at Mark again and the two went at it. But hey progress is progress, right?

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Masterlist

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 8)

Choi Seunghyun x fem!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: As always, I'm using Jiyong and Seunghyun as characters. I'm not in any way shape or form suggesting that they'd act this way in real life.

synopsis: Feelings are hurt, grief is a strange thing, we take it out in weird ways. But Seunghyun and Y/n just want their friend to wake up.

warnings: dark i guess, hospital, car accident, rough slightly unwanted sex (borderline grape I guess but not graphic), angst, lots of feels, drunk editing, MDNI 18+, if you'd like a summary without reading, DM me

wc: 4.3k+

The crash was horrific. Jiyong hadn’t seen the semi barreling through the intersection until it was too late. There was a sickening crunch of metal meeting metal, then the world turned upside down—literally. His car flipped, once, twice, three times, the screech of twisting steel and shattering glass echoing through the night. The engine ignited on the final roll, flames licking hungrily along the crumpled hood, black smoke curling into the air like a wild fire.

By the time you and Seunghyun had made it outside it was pure chaos. Sirens howled. Lights flashed. A crowd had gathered, necks craned, camera phones out, some already recording. But none of it registered. All you saw was the burning wreckage—and the stranger. A man covered in soot, hands trembling, dragging Jiyong’s limp body across the pavement just seconds before the car exploded behind him, sending a burst of heat and debris into the air. That man, whoever he was, had saved his life.

Your legs buckled at the sight.

The glare from the ambulance flood lights seared into your eyes, making it hard to focus. Police shouted over radios, trying to push back the growing crowd, and the paparazzi—fucking vultures—had somehow shown up already, shouting questions, snapping photos. It was too much. Your lungs seized. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You wanted to run, to scream, to disappear.

Jiyong's body—so pale, so bloody, his face barely recognizable—was carefully loaded into the back of the ambulance. You couldn’t stop crying. The tears came like a dam breaking, soaking your face, your shirt, your trembling hands. Seunghyun pulled you into his side, one arm wrapping around you tightly as if trying to shield you from the nightmare unfolding. His face was buried in your hair, his own sobs shaking both of you as you stood there, helpless, watching the man you both loved so much disappear behind those white ambulance doors.

-

The hospital waiting area felt like the backrooms.

Too bright. Too sterile. Too quiet — except for the occasional ring of a phone at the reception desk or the rhythmic clacking of keys from someone behind the counter. But even those sounds felt muted, distant, like the world was operating at half-speed while all of you sat frozen in a grief that hadn’t even fully arrived yet.

You sat curled up on the stiff plastic chair, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around your shins like they could somehow keep you from unraveling completely. Seunghyun was beside you, close enough to feel his presence but not touching. Neither of you could. There was too much space between you now, and none of it had to do with physical distance.

Across from you, Daesung stared blankly at the floor, his fingers twitching against his leg. Taeyang kept rubbing his hands together, like he could pray the panic away. Seungri looked like he’d aged ten years in the last hour, chewing on the edge of his thumb, phone clutched tightly in his other hand though he hadn’t looked at it in a while. Not really. 

They were all waiting. Hoping. Dreading.

Jiyong’s manager sat silently in the far corner, head bowed, lips pressed into a tight line. A few YG staffers dotted the waiting room, whispering among themselves, but their presence felt like white noise. No one was really speaking. What could they possibly say?

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at anyone. Your vision swam, not from tears — not yet — but from the pressure of holding them back. You blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them.

Because this was your fault.

Every single agonizing minute that passed, you reminded yourself of that.

He’d been leaving your apartment. After your fight. After you'd shattered him with words you couldn’t take back. You could still hear the slam of the door. You could still feel the weight of his anger, his heartbreak, pressing down on your chest.

You buried your face in your arms. It hurt to breathe.

Beside you, Seunghyun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were bone white. He hadn’t spoken since arriving at the hospital. Hadn’t moved much either. But his mind was racing.

It was his fault too.

He should’ve taken Jiyong’s keys. He should’ve told him to stay the night. He should’ve been a better friend — his best friend. But instead, he let him walk out of that bar. Walk out of your apartment. Stumbling and furious, still drunk, still hurting.

And now they were all sitting here, waiting to find out if Jiyong would wake up at all.

Seunghyun glanced at you from the corner of his eye — your small, shaking form beside him, silent tears finally sliding down your cheeks.

He wanted to reach for you. Wanted to hold you and tell you everything was going to be okay.

But it wouldn’t have been true.

And the truth was — neither of you knew who you were grieving harder for:

Jiyong…

Or the pieces of yourselves that had broken beyond repair.

The sterile hush of the hospital waiting room shattered as the doors creaked open and the doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable.

Jiyong’s manager was on his feet before anyone else could even register the movement.

“What’s going on?” he asked, urgency sharpening his voice.

“We need to speak to his family,” the doctor replied, scanning the room with a professional detachment that made your stomach twist.

“His family is on their way,” his manager said quickly, already stepping forward. “But I’m his manager. I’ve been listed on his emergency contacts. We can speak, let’s go talk.” He said, voice eager.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, then gave a tight nod. Without another word, he turned and let himself be led down the hall, disappearing behind the same doors Jiyong had vanished through over an hour ago.

The silence left in their wake was heavier than anything that came before it.

Taeyang sat forward, rubbing his hands over his face before looking at Seunghyun, eyes narrowed with confusion and fear.

“So… what the hell happened?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t you guys go out tonight?”

Every nerve in your body lit up like a warning flare.

You couldn’t breathe. Your chest rose and fell in rapid bursts. Your palms were slick with sweat. You could feel the stares of the other boys — of everyone — even if they weren’t looking directly at you. The pressure was suffocating. The truth was crawling its way to the surface, clawing through the cracks like smoke before a fire.

Seunghyun inhaled slowly. His jaw tightened. You felt his hand come to rest on your knee, grounding you for just a second. But it wasn’t comfort. It was confirmation.

“He was drunk,” Seunghyun said quietly, his voice low and rough.

That was it. Just those three words.

Taeyang flinched slightly, and Daesung swore under his breath.

“He was drunk,” Seunghyun repeated, more to himself now, like he was trying to make sense of it, trying to say it enough times to believe it. “And stupid.”

You bit down hard on your lip, hard enough to taste blood. Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Because even if Seunghyun was technically right, it wasn’t the whole story. Jiyong had been drunk, yes. And reckless. But he hadn’t crashed just because of the alcohol in his veins.

He had crashed because of you.

Because he had stormed out of your apartment with your voice still echoing in his head — every bitter word, every rejection, every cruel truth you hadn't meant to come out the way it did. He’d left with a cracked-open heart and nowhere to put the pieces.

You had taken away the one thing he didn’t even realize he wanted until it was already gone.

A child.

A future.

A family.

And that was what had been driving him faster than he should have been. That was what blurred his vision more than the whiskey ever could. That was what made him miss the light. What made him not see the semi barreling through the far too busy intersection outside your apartment.

Yes, Jiyong had been drunk.

But he had also been hurting.

The doctors, the lawyers, the managers — they’d sort it all out. They’d write it up in reports and argue it in meetings. There would be contracts and coverage and headlines. They’d fix it up for the public.

But none of that changed the truth.

He had been speeding away from your front door with a black hole in his chest, crushed beneath the weight of the love he couldn't keep, and the future he didn’t get to fight for.

And now all any of you could do was wait.

Wait for news.

Wait for forgiveness.

Wait for a miracle.

You stood up without saying a word. No one tried to stop you. No one even looked up. Maybe they understood, or maybe they just didn’t know how to speak anymore. Either way, you were grateful. You needed the air. Needed the distance. Needed a break from the guilt pressing down on your chest.

Outside, the night was cool and still, and the moment the sliding ER doors shut behind you, it was like someone turned the volume down on the world. The hospital buzz faded, replaced by the soft hum of passing cars and the gentle breeze rustling the trees nearby.

You lit your cigarette with shaking fingers, bringing it to your lips like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. The smoke filled your lungs, acrid and warm, and for just a second, you could almost pretend none of this was real. Almost.

You were halfway through your cigarette when you heard the doors behind you hiss open again.

You didn’t turn around. Not at first. You just exhaled slowly, hoping—praying—it wasn’t anyone. That you could just be alone with your guilt for a little while longer.

But then you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

Seunghyun.

He looked nothing like the man you knew.

His shoulders were hunched, his expression hollow, like someone had scooped the life out of him and left the shell behind. His hands were in his pockets. His eyes were red-rimmed, though you weren’t sure if it was from crying or just exhaustion. Or maybe both.

You silently held out your cigarette pack and the lighter.

He took one wordlessly, and sat down beside you on the low stone wall near the hospital entrance. The click of the lighter was the only sound between you as he lit up, inhaling deep like he needed it more than air.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. You just stared up at the night sky, the stars shining far too brightly for how dark the world felt right now.

You wanted to reach for his hand. You wanted to press your palm against his, to offer some kind of comfort, even if you didn’t deserve to give it. But you didn’t move.

“Seunghyun, I—” you started, voice thin and raw.

But he didn’t let you finish.

“You should go home,” he said, cutting you off with a quiet firmness that hurt more than if he’d yelled.

You looked down at your shoes, swallowing hard. “I-I don’t want to go back there…” you muttered, barely audible.

The words carried too much weight.

Your apartment. The place where Jiyong had stood broken and shaking, where the worst things had been said. Where you’d sent him out into the night with a wound he hadn’t been able to outrun.

You couldn’t go back to that.

Seunghyun sighed, and the sound was so heavy it made your chest tighten all over again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys and holding them out to you.

“Here,” he said. “Go to my place.”

You hesitated. “I—”

“I don’t want you here,” he said, voice sharper now. Not yelling. Just... tired. Defeated. Final.

The words sliced through you like glass. You flinched, your hand recoiling from the keys even though you knew he wasn’t wrong.

“I want to make sure—”

“I’ll call if there’s an update,” he said, already turning his gaze away. “Just...go.”

You stared at him, your vision going blurry with tears. But you knew better than to argue. Not now. Not with him. Not with everything so fragile and raw.

You nodded, swallowing the sob threatening to climb your throat.

You called an Uber and didn’t look back.

-

Seunghyun’s apartment welcomed you like a ghost. Everything was familiar — the scent of his cologne still clinging to the air, the soft hum of the fridge, the faint echo of laughter that only existed in your memory now.

You walked slowly through the space, your fingers trailing over the back of the couch, the counter, the hallway wall — like touching these things would somehow bring you back to a time when this place felt like home. When he felt like home.

You reached the bedroom and stripped out of your clothes with a kind of numb autopilot. You opened his drawer and pulled out one of his oversized t-shirts — the one he always wore on lazy Sunday mornings.

You slipped it over your head, the fabric brushing your skin with a familiar comfort, and for a moment, it felt like you could still feel his arms around you.

But it wasn’t real.

You climbed into his bed, curling into his side of the bed, breathing in the remnants of him like they were oxygen.

And then it hit you.

All of it.

The crash.

The guilt.

The fact that Jiyong might never open his eyes again.

The fact that Seunghyun was done with you.

The fact that you may have lost everything.

A choking sob ripped from your throat as you curled into yourself, burying your face into his pillow.

Your body shook with quiet, helpless grief.

Tonight had changed everything.

And there was no going back.

-

The loud slam of the front door jolted you awake. Your entire body tensed, your heart hammering in your chest as your mind scrambled to make sense of where you were.

Then it hit you. Seunghyun’s house.

You sat up slowly, blinking through the haze of sleep. The room was dim, lit only by the morning sun peaking through the blinds, casting pale shadows across the walls. You strained to hear footsteps, movement — anything — but the house had gone quiet again.

It had to be him. He must’ve come home from the hospital.

You waited, every second dragging out painfully as dread curled in your stomach. You counted the minutes in your head, clinging to the silence like it might give you an answer.

After what felt like forever, you heard the soft creak of the bedroom door.

Seunghyun stepped in.

He barely looked at you.

His eyes skimmed over your presence in his bed like you were furniture, like you weren’t someone he had once called “baby,” someone he had once held so carefully. 

Without a word, he walked past you and shut the bathroom door behind him.

You sat frozen, still beneath the blankets, unsure what to do. Your skin pricked with nerves. Did he want you here? Did he even remember that he’d told you to come? Or had that been guilt talking?

The weight of your thoughts crushed you. You laid back down, curling onto your side, arms wrapped tightly around your core. Your heart felt like it might crack open. You whispered a quiet prayer into the silence, not for yourself, but for Jiyong.

Please let him be okay.

Fifteen agonizing minutes passed before the bathroom door opened again. You glanced over your shoulder as Seunghyun walked back into the room, dressed in nothing but his boxers. He climbed into bed beside you wordlessly and grabbed the remote, flicking on the TV. An old sitcom started to play — something bright, cheerful, completely out of place against the oppressive weight in the room.

You chewed your bottom lip, uncertain. The air between you was too thick with unspoken grief and regret. Still, you tried.

“Seunghyun…” you said softly.

No response.

He stared at the screen, his face expressionless.

You tried again, your voice cracking with hesitation. “Is… is there any update? On Ji?”

He took a slow breath through his nose. The pause before he answered made your chest tighten.

“He’s out of surgery,” he finally said. His voice was flat, tired. “Hasn’t woken up yet.”

You felt the sting of tears in your eyes again, but blinked them back quickly. You didn’t deserve to cry. Not after everything.

“Is he going to be okay?” you asked, barely able to form the words.

“I-I don’t know, Y/n,” he said, and for the first time since he got home, there was emotion behind his voice. Sadness. Defeat. “His family’s with him. They told us to go home…rest.”

You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. A long silence passed before you worked up the nerve to ask, “D-Do you want me to leave?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun.

He was quiet for a long time, and just when you were sure he wasn’t going to answer, he whispered, “No.”

You were stunned.

You didn’t know what he meant. You didn’t know if it was love, or guilt, or just the unbearable weight of being alone right now. But you didn’t argue. You didn’t say another word.

You sat in silence beside him, the two of you watching the flicker of people laughing on a screen neither of you were really seeing.

Thirty minutes passed like that. Maybe longer.

Then, without warning, his hand moved. Slowly. Deliberately.

It slid across the bed and settled on your thigh. Warm. Heavy. Familiar yet foreign.

His fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and your breath caught in your throat. Your body reacted before your brain could catch up — tension coiled in your belly, heat blooming where his fingers hovered.

You turned toward him instinctively, crawling over his hips, straddling him.

Your lips met in a rush of desperation and pain. He didn’t pull back. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, deeper. One slid down your back, gripping your ass roughly. His nails dug in. Then came the sharp crack of his palm landing on your cheek.

You whimpered into his mouth.

And that sound — that soft, broken sound — snapped something in him.

He flipped you beneath him with a strength that startled you, not even bothering to undress fully before pushing his boxers down just enough to free himself. He didn’t pause, didn’t ask, didn’t look at you. He pushed your panties to the side.

You didn’t even have time to prepare before he shoved into you.

You cried out, the stretch almost painful. Your nails dug into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself, but he didn’t slow down. Didn’t soften.

He thrust into you hard, fast, his pace punishing. You felt the bed frame creak under the force of it, your breath catching as his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Seunghyun…” you whimpered, your voice strangled.

He leaned close, grunting in your ear, his fingers tightening.

You could feel it now — this wasn’t intimacy. This wasn’t love.

It was anger.

Grief.

Trauma.

“Was he better than me?” he whispered, his voice venomous, hips snapping forward harder.

You gasped at the sting, tears springing to your eyes.

“Who fucks you better, huh?”

“Seunghyun!” you screamed, shoving at his chest. “You’re hurting me!”

He froze for a split second.

You pushed again, harder this time, and he rolled off of you, chest heaving as the realization of what just happened hit him like a freight train.

He stared at you — really saw you now — your eyes red, your body trembling, clutching the sheets tightly around you like a shield.

The darkness in his eyes vanished, replaced by horror.

“Shit,” he whispered, sitting up and dragging both hands through his hair. “Shit, Y/n… I’m—I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t even look at him.

You choked back a sob, stumbling out of bed and rushing to the bathroom. You locked the door behind you, pressing your back to it, sliding to the cold tile floor.

And there, in the silence…you broke.

“Y/n, please…” Seunghyun’s voice came through the door, broken and muffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear to god I didn’t…”

You sat on the cold tile floor, your knees hugged to your chest, arms trembling as your fingers dug into your skin. The sobs shook through you violently, unstoppable, as the night played over and over in your head like a film reel you couldn't turn off.

Everything was broken.

Jiyong. Seunghyun.You.

The man you loved had just used you as an outlet for his pain — not a partner, not someone to hold, but someone to unload on. You felt every thrust like an accusation. Every movement screamed at you: You did this. You destroyed us. You ruined everything.

But it wasn’t just anger. It was grief. It was guilt. It was heartbreak on both ends, a tangle of too many things neither of you had the tools to process.

“I’m sorry,” Seunghyun choked out again. You could hear the weight in his voice, the kind of sorrow that buckled you at the knees. “Please, can we just talk? I can’t breathe without knowing you’re okay…”

And still, even with how scared you were… your heart ached for him.

You loved him. So fucking much.

Maybe that was the worst part — that even after what had just happened, a part of you still wanted to comfort him. To reach for him. To fix what was already in ruins.

Maybe you deserved it.

Maybe you didn’t.

You shifted, hands trembling as you unlocked the bathroom door and slowly cracked it open.

He was sitting right outside, legs folded beneath him, arms resting on his knees. He looked… small. Tired. Wrecked. He’d changed into sweats and an old, worn t-shirt, the one he usually slept in when you stayed over. His eyes were red, tear tracks still glistening on his cheeks.

You tugged your borrowed shirt down, trying to cover yourself, suddenly painfully aware of your body. His gaze flicked to you and quickly away, like even he couldn’t look at what he’d done.

Without a word, he grabbed the blanket off the bed and handed it to you. You took it, wrapping it tightly around yourself, grateful for the shield between you.

You sat beside him, leaning back against the wall, your shoulders just barely brushing. The silence was suffocating, but you weren’t ready to break it.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n,” Seunghyun whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You swallowed, staring blankly at the floor. “Yeah. I did.”

“No.” His voice snapped sharper now, filled with conviction. “No, you didn’t.”

He turned to you then, really turned, his eyes bloodshot and wide. “I took everything I was feeling and dumped it on you. I used you. That’s not love. That’s not who I want to be. That’s not who I am.”

You opened your mouth, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

“I caused all of this,” you finally said, your voice so small it was barely audible.

He sighed and dropped his face into his hands. “I don’t even know how to start this conversation.”

“I don’t think it’s the time to have it,” you whispered.

He nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Wounded.

You stared ahead, unsure if you were waiting for something or if there was simply nothing left to say. Until finally…

“D-Did you tell everyone the whole story?” you asked, heart pounding in your chest.

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “No. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I want Jiyong to wake up first,” he said, his voice cracking at the name. “I want him to be okay. I just… I need him to be okay so bad, Y/n. He’s my best friend.”

And then he crumbled.

He collapsed into your lap and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as the sobs came. Violent. Uncontrolled.

You held him without thinking. Your hands tangled in his hair, your lips pressed to the crown of his head. And then you were crying too. The two of you sobbing into each other, curled up on the bedroom floor like children who had just lost their favorite toy.

You cried for Jiyong.

For yourselves.

For the pieces of this mess you didn’t know how to put back together.

-

An hour passed like that. Eventually, the tears dried, leaving nothing but swollen eyes and silent exhaustion.

“Seunghyun,” you whispered, brushing the hair from his forehead. “Have you slept?”

He sniffled and shook his head. “Not really.”

“You need rest,” you said gently.

He nodded, eyes fluttering. “Will you… rub my back?”

His voice cracked again, soft and wounded, like a little boy asking his mother for comfort. It nearly broke you all over again.

You smiled through the ache. Remembering the last few months how you coaxed him to sleep that way. “Yeah. I will.”

You helped him into bed, pulling the blankets over both of you as he curled onto his side. You slid in behind him, your fingers trailing lightly across his bare back. Drawing soft shapes like you used to. Slow, soothing motions to ease him into rest.

His breathing began to slow. His body finally relaxed.

And you stayed there, in the quiet, drawing circles into his skin and wondering if either of you would ever feel whole again.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[tab1ko]

ugh.

fine🍴

[dilfxizm]

He looks so cute 🥺🙈

[havonte]

☀︎

[gds-daisy]

this performance never fails to make my back arch

he looks so good im gonna die.

[multifanxtvshows]

having a bad day? listen to gdragon ✅ or listen to bigbang✅

[thanosmilk]

the way he takes photos is killing me PROTECTING THIS SILLY MAN ALL MY LIFE

[tabibabib]

guys gd just trying not to get himself blocked by top again

[greenxgloss]

Part 1

Summary: Jiyong, usually shy and gentlemanly, shocked you when he fiercely cussed out a man who catcalled you, making you see him in a completely different light. Later, as he bought you a dress and stayed the night, your best friend pointed out what you were reluctant to admit—you might be seeing Jiyong as more than just a friend. Themes: Best Friends to lovers, some suggestive language, Mention of nudityWord Count: 3k

Jiyong had slowly become much more shy in the passed few years. Well, he had always been bashful and timid with girls he really liked while still being a gentleman. He was flirtatious and sweet. that’s why it surprised you when he cussed out the creep who cat-called you the first time the both of you went on a little friend date downtown.

You were staring up in awe at the beautiful lights and decorations peppered all over a new dress store when you heard it. fuck I’d like some of that. it seemed the man didn’t see Jiyong standing a foot away from you —or didn’t care. You definitely didn’t care as it was a common occurrence. Jiyong in his flared jeans, pink grandma cardigan and cute matching pink bucket hat that was fluffy all over huffed, face contorting in anger and disgust as he shouted at the man.

“you think you can just approach people like that? you fucking perv.” he took a step forward, puffing his chest. your awe was now directed at Jiyong, never having stepped in for you that way. not that he ever needed to, no one dared to treat you less than perfect when he was around.

“Get the fuck away from us before I shove my foot so far up your ass, not only will your life flash before your eyes, but so will your ancestors,” Jiyong seethed, his voice sharp and venomous.

You barely had time to process the sheer rage in his tone before you turned to glance at the man who had catcalled you. His confidence had evaporated in an instant. His cocky smirk was gone, replaced by wide, panicked eyes as he took a cautious step back. His hands lifted in front of him, palms out, a weak attempt at de-escalation—though the damage had already been done.

Jiyong took another step forward, chest still puffed, fists still clenched. The catcaller flinched. Then, as if realizing he was no match for the fire burning behind Jiyong’s glare, the man bolted, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to disappear down the street.

You stood frozen, blinking up at Jiyong in stunned silence.

“Whoa,” was all you managed, suddenly feeling a heat grow between your thighs, which was new. Does that usually happen between best friends? You had to ask yourself the question and hope this sudden feeling was not out of the ordinary.

“Do you want one?” Jiyong asked, his voice now calm, as if the fiery outburst from moments ago had never happened. The shift in his demeanor was almost jarring, leaving you struggling to catch up.

“Huh?” you blinked, your mind still reeling from the scene that had just unfolded. You cleared your throat, trying to shake the lingering tension, but your body wasn’t cooperating. Your heart was still racing, pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

Following the direction of his outstretched finger, you turned to look behind you, your gaze landing on the large glass storefront. Mannequins stood elegantly posed, draped in stunning dresses, each one shimmering under the soft glow of the boutique’s lighting.

He was pointing at one in particular—a deep green silk gown that hung delicately on display, the fabric cascading down like liquid. It was stunning. It was expensive. It was also exactly your style.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening for an entirely different reason now.

“Oh! You know I can’t afford these.” You sighed, shifting between your feet as you looked between him and the dark green silk dress on display, mouth watering at the lack of straps and how it glistened in the light. You winced before turning to walk away but Jiyong stopped you, hand on your wrist to spin you around. “It’s on me. After that bullshit you deserve it.” He smiled pulling towards the entrance.

Suddenly you were seeing your best friend in a different light. The strong grip on your wrist fought hard to pull a whine from your throat but you fought harder. You confused yourself but just let it go as you got an up close look at all the stunning gowns in the store, the clerk smiling wide before greeting the both of you.

“That green one you were looking at would look great on you.” Jiyong smiled before walking up to the clerk and asking for one in your size, which he had memorized by heart. It came as no surprise when you remembered your best friend is the fashionista of your tree of friends on top of being the mom friend.

You smiled bashfully as the clerk looked past Jiyong and right at you. “You have your girlfriend’s measurements memorized that’s very sweet. And the first of many many boyfriends who come in to purchase for their counterparts,” The order woman complimented and jiyong smiled happily, causing your heart to almost flutter at his lack of interjecting when she referred to you as his girlfriend.

Once you were home and finished shopping Jiyong encouraged you to try the dress on again. “It looked so pretty and I didn’t get any pictures of you in it come on,” he whined, pulling on your arm. You rolled your eyes playfully. “Fiiiiine.” Letting a giggle spill as you rushed into your room to try on the dress.

Jiyong sat behind you on the edge of your bed while you changed which wasn't an uncommon occurrence, you'd become quite comfortable with him the last few years and now it was second nature.

This time you spotted him watching closely, the tattoos across your hips and shoulder blades being visible to him. He allowed his gaze to linger.

You slipped into the dress, feeling the soft fabric glide over your skin. As you stood up, you spun in a graceful twirl, letting the material swirl around your legs. The moment you stopped, you caught Jiyong's gaze, and a proud smile spread across his face. "Gorgeous," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. He chuckled lightly, clapping his hands together in appreciation. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and snapped a series of pictures, each one capturing your joy and the way the dress seemed to come alive with your movement.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of his excited energy. It was rare to see him so caught up in a moment, and it warmed your heart. Without thinking, you flopped down onto the bed beside him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. The scent of his cologne mixed with the soft fabric of the sheets, creating a sense of comfort that you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

He looked at you, his eyes softening, and you both shared a quiet laugh, the world outside seeming to pause for just a moment.

Laid in silence for a moment after the laughter died down, you turned on your side to look at each other. “Thanks, Jiyong.” You gave him a soft smile. “anything for you.” he pulled you into a cuddle. Your arm was thrown over his waist and his looped around you, pulling your head to his chest. The two of you stayed that way for a few minutes before you looked up at him.

In the moment it was like everything around you disappeared and it was just the two on you on your bed in an otherwise empty cube; No furniture, no windows, no muffled outside noise. Something felt different.

Warmth bubbled up in your belly and you could feel it reaching your cheeks so you quickly dug your head back into his chest to hide the flush creeping up on you so rudely.

what the fuck is going on with you today?

It was late, and after spending the entire day walking around downtown, exhaustion had settled deep into your bones. Without much thought, you found yourself curling up against Jiyong’s warmth, your body naturally gravitating toward his as sleep took over almost instantly. This wasn’t unusual for the two of you—falling asleep tangled together had become second nature after years of friendship. Whether it was crashing on each other’s couches after long nights out or dozing off during late-night movie marathons, moments like these were just another part of your unspoken routine.

When you woke up the next morning, you were still curled up against Jiyong, your body comfortably molded to his as if you had never moved throughout the night. The warmth of his presence was familiar, but as your mind slowly emerged from sleep, you noticed something was different. You were no longer in the clothes you had worn the day before—instead, you were dressed in soft pajamas, and when you reached up to rub your eyes, you realized your makeup had been completely wiped off. Your skin felt fresh, free of the remnants of eyeliner and mascara you had definitely been wearing when you dozed off.

A frown tugged at your lips as you blinked in confusion. How had you managed to sleep through all that? You weren’t exactly a heavy sleeper, yet somehow, Jiyong had changed you, cleaned your face, and tucked you back into bed without waking you. The thought made heat rise to your cheeks—he had taken care of you so gently, so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“hey.” Jiyong croaked as he pulled away, stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did you take my makeup off and change my clothes?” You giggled as you hooked your hand under your pillow and clutched the duvet tight to your chest. He nodded and hummed a yes once he finished his big stretch.

"Thanks," you said with a soft smile, and as always, he returned it without hesitation. His gaze flickered to his phone, checking the time before letting out a small sigh.

"Ah, I gotta get to the studio," he mumbled reluctantly, pushing himself up from the bed. As he stood, you finally took in the sight before you—your sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his upper body completely bare. Heat crept up your neck, and you quickly averted your gaze, but not before the blush had already betrayed you.

"What? So early?" you pouted, tilting your head up at him. "Can’t we at least have breakfast first?" You sat up, watching as he hurriedly pulled on the clothes he had worn the day before, already preparing to rush out the door.

He shook his head. “Can’t. Already overslept. but I can come by later tonight if you’re not doing anything.” Jiyong raked his hands through his hair in a rushed attempt to tame it. You sighed in response. “Okay. I’ll see you later then. I feel like we barely spend time together anymore.” you pouted.

Jiyong had been pouring everything into his album—long nights at the studio, back-to-back promo meetings, and constant traveling had consumed most of his time. It felt like you barely saw him anymore, your usual daily texts turning into sporadic updates about his schedule. That’s why the two of you had made solid plans to go shopping the day before—to finally spend some much-needed time together like you used to.

But now, as you sat there alone in bed, you regretted falling asleep so early. You had missed out on the little moments that made your sleepovers special—the quiet conversations in the dark, the whispered jokes, the deep, unfiltered talks that somehow always felt easier when you were curled up beside each other. It wasn’t just about spending time together; it was about the comfort of those late-night moments, the ones that made you feel like no matter how busy life got, you’d always have Jiyong.

“That will change, I promise. I’m trying to make as much time for you as possible.” he ruffled your hair. “I promise, promise, promise I’ll be here tonight, with food.” he winked playfully and rushed out the door, both of you yelling your goodbyes.

-

By the time noon rolled around, you had already gone through the familiar motions of your morning routine—brushing your teeth, washing your face, making a half-hearted attempt at breakfast, and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Yet, despite the slow start to your day, you found yourself sitting on the couch with nothing to do, staring at the ceiling as boredom settled over you.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone and quickly typed out a message to Marlee, your closest friend outside of Jiyong.

(12:04) You: you free? (12:04) You: Come over I’m dying of boredom

You barely had to wait a minute before the typing bubbles appeared, followed by her enthusiastic response.

(12:05) Lee<3: On my way hope you have snacks

A small smile tugged at your lips. At least now, the day wouldn’t feel so uneventful.

“Heyyy!” Marlee beamed, stepping through the doorway with her usual effortless confidence. One hand rested on her hip while the other clutched the strap of her purse, her oversized sunglasses pushed up into her thick curls. She looked every bit like she had just strutted off a fashion runway, despite probably having just rolled out of bed an hour ago.

You giggled at her dramatic entrance, shaking your head. “Record time! I swear you teleport.”

“Please, I heard urgent fashion news and I moved fast,” she teased, slipping off her shoes before following you inside.

Grinning, you grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward your bedroom. “You have to see the dress Jiyong bought me yesterday,” you gushed, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Marlee let out a dramatic gasp. “He bought you a dress? Okay, now I really need details.”

You reached into your closet, carefully pulling out the gorgeous silk dress before laying it out on the bed. The deep green fabric shimmered under the soft lighting of your room, practically glowing. Marlee immediately sprawled herself across the opposite side of the bed, propping herself up on her elbows as she stared at the dress like it was a piece of art.

Her reaction was instant. She sucked in a breath, eyes going wide before she let out a feigned moan. “Oh my god…” she gasped, clutching her chest.

You watched her face intently, unable to fight the satisfied grin forming as she dramatically fanned herself.

Her jaw dropped letting out a feigned moan. “oh my god…” she gasped as she sat up. “It’s gorgeous and it’s your style… baby why haven’t you hopped on it yet?” she looked up at you with her brows furrowed. “Marlee.” you scolded, face immediately displaying unamusment. “Y/n.” She returned in the same tone of course drawing an eye roll from you.

“I totally would if i had a sexy bestfriend who bought me expensive gifts like this just because.” She spoke nonchalantly, crossing her legs like a little girl and tucking her hands under her knee. “If i had the money I’d be spoiling you too. it’s not like that with Jiyong I don’t see him that way…” you paused and immediately remembered how you felt when he cursed out the catcaller.

“I knew there was a ‘but’ coming,” Marlee grinned, eyes glinting with curiosity.

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Well… some guy catcalled me while Ji and I were out shopping yesterday, and—”

Marlee’s brows lifted expectantly. “And?”

“You know Ji,” you continued, gesturing vaguely. “He’s the sweetest guy. Super shy, total gentleman—he’s the type to pull out chairs for every woman, no matter who she is.”

Marlee nodded, fully invested now. “Right, right. That sounds like him. But—” she motioned for you to hurry up, her hands flapping impatiently.

You grabbed the dress from the bed, carefully placing it back in your closet before settling on the floor across from her, mirroring her posture.

“But he lost it on the guy,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean—lost it. Nose flaring, face red, that little vein in his neck popping. He straight-up cussed him out like he was ready to throw hands.”

Marlee’s eyes widened. “Ji?”

“Ji.” You nodded, still stunned.

Marlee smiled like she knew exactly what you were about to say and unconsciously leaned toward you. “It was so hot.” you covered your face. “We've been friends for so long and I’ve literally never seen him get worked up that way before. I’ve seen him get frustrated and let out little huffs like when he spills something or when he messes up a dance or lyric.” You spun around and rested your back on the foot of your bed. “seeing him get that angry, that fast and the fact that it was over me?!” you exclaimed as Marlee nodded, understanding you entirely. she giggled and drummed on the bed.

“Yeah I totally get what you mean… so what does this mean for you?” she asked. Until that moment you hadn’t even asked yourself that. You hadn’t considered what thinking of your best friend that way meant, you hadn’t considered- hardly accepted that you were even attracted to the behaviour Jiyong displayed yesterday until you uttered the words to Marlee.

"I haven't thought about it actually." you threw your head back pensively before looking at her with wide eyes. "probably because it doesn't mean anything." You shrugged.

"Marlee, you can think someone's attractive without being into them." you blinked at her. "sure but you wouldn't sexualize them if you weren't into them." she gave a tight-lipped smile before letting out a whistle, earning a sigh from you.

Not wanting to discuss the matter any further you changed the subject knowing it would only frustrate you into an argument. "well anyway, how's it going with deli guy?" you asked her as you stood up, grabbed your pillow and laid on your chest. she rolled her eyes playfully and grinned. "Good, he gave me my favourite sandwich for free yesterday and told me when his break is so I think he wants me to come by tomorrow." she gleamed and you could swear her iris' morphed into hearts.

You loved hearing about Marlee's love life even if there wasn't anything going on in yours. that's what she loved about you; never being jealous or antipathous. You just wanted to hear about how happy she was with her newest cute boy-toy. "that's so sweet. you should bring him something in return." You gushed, cupping your cheeks gleefully. She giggled in response. "I hope something actually happens with this one; he really does seem to be into me." She sighed sweetly, sinking into the bed.

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[jedisupernova]

falling for a prince — choi seunghyun

notes minors dni contains fem reader (begins with reader being 23, seunghyun 25; progressively age and goes into their late 40s later in the fic), non idol au, unabashedly plus size reader as i am myself but anyone can read, reader has a middle class background, takes place in the 80s, made up details about a fictional royal family and seunghyun's role in it to build dynamic (he is the eldest—the heir to the throne), this is very much slice of life, seunghyun and reader are intellectuals, chronicles courtship; progression of relationship; engagement; married life, very gentle and poetic love that comes around once in a generation, angst (insecurity, dealing with fame, contradictory expectations, invasions of privacy, jealousy, difficulties navigating pregnancy and parenthood, classist and snobbish remarks, body shaming, reader navigating the demanding and nuanced life of a public figure, mentions of sickness and anxiety,) vignettes of smut (p in v, oral f receiving, keeping quiet,) and invitable typos though some are intentional.

requested? this is an original idea! i saw the photo in the header whilst scrolling through pinterest, and this just blossomed in my head. this is very detailed and long. enjoy!

from a young age, seunghyun knew he was important. it was drilled into him since sentience. grown men and women either bowing or curtsying to a toddler as he ran with the dogs in the garden, his nanny scolding the people in the kitchen (before he learned the word chef) when his oatmeal wasn't prepared properly, his mother and father sitting across from him in one of his family's many rolls royces and range rovers; a physical dynamic that would certifiably establish his role and purpose, being taught to scrub the words mom and dad from his vocabulary at age five for the queen and his royal highness when secretaries and other subordinates were around—most of which were not as fiercely practiced with his four siblings (two brothers and two sisters, coincidentally enough.) all except that last rule, however. mother and papa were fine on lax occasions. such as family easter brunch, christmas day, or when one has returned home from a long engagement to fulfill your duties for the boss—a term his eldest sister coined for their mother—herself. the eldest and heir apparent to his nation's throne, seunghyun isn't allotted much wiggle room. but he'll be damned to let antiquity trump autonomy.

he's kept a diary (yes, he calls it as such because words are just words, no matter how hard your youngest brother may laugh at you) since he was a boy. the practice has stayed with him well into his adult life, bemusing himself intermittently reading old entries. no matter his state of mind, he finds himself turning the yellowed pages that were once crisp white, ink still jet black as he read the thoughts of a precocious adolescent whisked away to boarding school as per longstanding royal tradition. putting on a strong face, horrendously underprepared for sudden isolating independence, and thirteen years old, he was surprisingly if not humorously so with hindsight, inquisitive. I have a mom, dad, brothers and sisters. So I have a family. But it feels like a system. We all have a part. I don't know if that makes sense. "it does." he would say to himself in his bedroom in the royal residence he inherited at age eighteen—one of over 150 owned and overseen by the royal family—equipped with seven bedrooms and drawing rooms, despite him being the sole resident apart from his staff. excess was no stranger to the uber wealthy, let alone the royals, but he made due with the space bestowed upon him: writing here . . . reading there . . . painting outside . . . testing a film camera in this garden . . . returning the queen's calls here . . .

for many monarchies around the world—including the one seunghyun was born into—it is historically believed the monarch's right to rule comes directly from the divine. between himself and only himself, he doesn't know if he believes it all that much. he's felt more spiritual than religious all his life from the moment either concept grasped his mere periphery. that's not to say, however, he will suddenly be a no-show to the christmas day church service in which hundreds of civilians camp outside for hours to catch a fleeting glimpse of the family their taxpayer dollars go towards, or reject the holy oil on his coronation day. some traditions have room to be questioned whereas others seem an untouchable force. no matter how deeply seunghyun exhaustively pondered, an alternative felt both irrationally childish and obscenely necessary. he felt his existence was a continuous contradiction: the blood of his ancestors of monarchs past flowing through his veins, but also serving as reminder he just so happened to win the greatest genetic lottery known to humankind. it could have been anyone else, he's thought to himself since he was a teenager, looking at his siblings sat with him at a polo match; all two or three years apart in age, but for some reason, it was me.

in pursuit of modernization, seunghyun has fallen privy to expectation. finishing preparatory story was akin to re-debuting to the world as he was now of age and ready to tread headfirst into the transition of working as a royal full-time. he enrolled at oxford for his undergraduate endeavors—a choice of institution purely by the power of the boss (seunghyun much preferred the programs at harvard.) his english was more proficient than he'd give himself credit for. add it to his arsenal tipped off by his mother tongue, functional japanese, elementary-level french and "just a spot" of italian—he was an intellectual force to be reckoned with. he's remained precocious all his life. surely, a product of being the eldest and therefore the designated thesaurus of all things whatever-my-mind-comes-up-with, but also the one was born to be dependable, reliable, and have all the answers both metaphorically and literally.

It could be an imbalance of pressure, he wrote in his diary a couple weeks after his freshman term began. he was clad in a white ribbed tank top and briefs in bed, cigarette hanging from his lips, fanning himself with his other hand to deal with the faulty air conditioning unit in his dorm room. seunghyun was caught in the memories of helping his younger sisters with their coursework upon his return home from boarding school for the holidays; accosted by the accusatory secretaries of the boss and her husband claiming he wasn't letting his siblings be independent, yet receiving vitriolic blame when their marks weren't high enough. But I am a master at exhausting each working part of my brain, seunghyun scribbled onto the page with his fountain pen, Despite that, I think I've grown. I do not feel that insatiob insatiable nibbling (?) or need for approval as much anymore. Perhaps its been temporarily replaced by undeterred untainted plain determination. I'll see how I feel in a few months time.

seunghyun certainly did, just not in the way he envisioned. just two days—two days—after declaring his dual majors, finding leeway for delving into his interests by choosing political science and physics concentrating on planetary science to scratch both sides of his brain, he was forced to take a two-year leave of absence from university. a few weeks after writing the aforementioned diary entry, a sour public opinion poll was plastered on the front page of one of the nation's top newspapers, alleging over forty percent of the public thought seunghyun was "underserving" as prince. despite the cloudy word choice, the number floating below fifty, and the overall danger of depending on something as fickle as a fucking poll, the queen was somehow cornered and convinced by an advisor to prematurely send seunghyun to a training course prefacing four terms at a military academy.

the idea of serving in the armed forces wasn't outlandish. his father served in the navy; his uncles the air force; his mother and aunts in auxiliary services. it fits the utmost bill of expectation. seunghyun and his siblings have known of this part of their duty since they were children, but it being this early in seunghyun's life was the disorienting bit. here he was again: underprepared, yet forced to put on a strong face. he was eerily silent on the jet and car ride home—blowing his voice and slamming doors after a yelling tirade with the boss and her husband. seunghyun knew there's no world—at least not yet—that he would win the fight, so despite being reduced to frustrated tears in his personal quarters at the palace, some part of him remained dignified that there was even a fight to begin with. he could say something—it'll lead to doing something next, or something shifting into place.

his two-year leave led him to being in your graduating class. countless summer barbecues and holiday dinners where your cousins routinely asked the same question upon arrival: "what's it like going to school with a prince?" to which you always responded, "i haven't seen him around." it's the unequivocal truth despite their animated groans of annoyance. when seunghyun returned to campus harboring a buzz cut growing out handsomely (much to the frustration of his brothers and amused fascination of his father,) and freshly branded with three honorary military titles after barely passing his combat fitness test (he dominated his flying exam though his humbleness deters any need for boasting,) he stayed mostly to himself his first term back at oxford. to reconfigure his mindset and pick up the pieces of the person he left behind, mostly, but also to find his footing. he wasn't seen outside his dormitory hall unless it was for lecture or the library; zeroing in his assigned readings and corresponding coursework before gradually integrating any extracurriculars of interest; meeting his cousin whom was a year above him on the weekends which turned into a rather large friend group. seunghyun knew he did something right when he walked into the dining hall for breakfast one morning to minimal heads turned and watchful eyes, leaving him and his mushroom omelette to just be.

you only saw him once the entirety of your undergraduate pursuits. once—and it was fleeting; seeing him walk hurriedly down one of the campus gardens, presumably late for something. upon reading in the paper that he was studying political science as well, you were remised to not feel slight disappointment from having no shared lectures or even damn tutors. not that you thought you had a chance . . . that never percolated in your mind . . . but it would've been nice to actually and tangibly see him, or perhaps hear his voice. him and his family were continuously all over the papers and covered in news broadcasts; ever-present around the globe, even reaching yours—though everything and nothing was known about them. its on purpose, you figured, as it did seem like the proper formula for the elite, let alone someone from the aristocracy: move with muted grace, but not without them knowing first. however, when this one in a trillion chance of fate aligned—going to college with a goddamn prince—it was completely understandable to be at least somewhat interested or curious about him . . . he was rather handsome . . . and seemed secure in himself . . .

your time at oxford was lively nonetheless. you were one of a small group of students whom was offered a full scholarship to the university—a direct result of your academic tenacity, your family scrounging the funds together to buy you an airplane ticket for your admissions interview, and the universe patting you on the back for your efforts. that's not to say it hasn't been difficult: it took nearly an entire term to mend the visceral homesickness that nauseated your heart and stomach, and a few failed essays to adjust to the different style of coursework and grading scheme. you were fortunate to find a tight knit group of friends who just understood you; a metaphorical warmth to embrace you in the library or anywhere, exhausted by the various part-time jobs you held to afford the international calling cards necessary to phone home, and just have pocket money in general. you graduated the top five percent in the college you studied under at university, landing you and two of your closest friends well-paying jobs in the city. a month after graduating, you were splitting rent on a modest townhouse with those two friends—happy, content, and for the first time in a long while, stable. the prince was long gone from your periphery. those sort of paths aren't meant to cross, anyway—until they did.

around a year later, tipping off the summer of 1984, the landline rang in the kitchen. it was a friend from college, passing knowledge of a get-together in the coming weekend to your flatmate who picked up the phone in the middle of dinner. "everyone who's graduated last year's coming up to the village again for drinks—to catch up and such. it was initially more intimate, but now with what i've last heard, its on the precipice of growing out of control," she giggled into the receiver. "can i count on you fun lot to be there? its next weekend—the 21st." you three took the train up to oxford the following saturday, dropping your overnight bags off at a frequented village hostel before heading to the listed pub later that evening. it was certainly bustling—the amount of people surrounding three small tables pushed together, making use of one side being one long cushioned booth whilst the others grabbed chairs from wherever they could—squashing the simplified explanation of its saturday night, illustrating that, indeed, an impromptu college reunion had unintentionally blown out of proportion.

you felt alive again—laughing the hardest you had in a long time, trading endearingly awkward anecdotes with friends you last saw on move-out day; basking in shared timidity of not knowing how to be adults whatsoever, and gradually drinking your pint. you hadn't scratched the halfway point, but it was a hell of a lot better than when you first arrived in britain all those years ago, barely able to stomach the malt and earthy flavor, let alone the amount of money you wasted to partake in the nightlife. it was when you wiped the foam from your top lip with your napkin after taking a sip that you saw the prince sat on the opposite end of the makeshift long table—on the booth side, just one or two people away from the corner. he looked deep in his own conversation, dabbing a handkerchief on the sweat building at his temple, his other hand nonverbally accentuating whatever point he was making to his friends before reaching in into the stack of peanuts between them, crushing one idly before eating the savory snack. you tried to keep your surprise muted, but your flatmate and friend—the first one you made at oxford—knew your widened eyes better than anyone else. sat on the chair side, she's been waiting for you, or anyone she knows, to notice seunghyun. she leaned in, a hand on your arm, "i know, right?" she said. "properly out of control." you giggled with her like schoolgirls at a sleepover, faces hot with giddiness.

seunghyun noticed you later on in the night, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in the midst his conversation with the live band playing in the pub. no one had felt tied to the table anymore, dispersing throughout the room. you and your friends stayed put, taking advantage of the added space. you moved completely to the booth side, arm relaxed atop the table with your hand propping your head up, laughter ringing out of you; entering the reminiscing-about-college part of the night. "i still can't believe i somehow churned 2,500 words out of me. in four hours, and weekly, mind you!" a friend tsked from the other side of the table. "i couldn't figure out for the life of me how to balance that with my dissertation." "those assigned readings were the bane of my existence." you added, a flurry of agreed nods paired with a friend who was particularly more tipsy letting out a slurred yet very parliamentarian "hear-hear," in support. "i mean—it'd say chapter five, but then chapter five would be a ghastly one hundred pages long. it was actually impossible on top of everything else. so many days where personal hygiene was compromised . . ." you erupted in laughter, catching seunghyun's ear.

he grinned to himself, the shared joy palpable despite not being in on the conversation. his swift glance turned into a lingering stare, quickly looking away when you got up. "i won't be long. you said that bathroom was just around the right? alright—thank you." you turned the corner, another person walking by when you past him. seunghyun looked over his shoulder, gradually turning around, his eyes following you until you disappeared behind the swinging washroom door. he found himself waiting, half-listening to the keyboardist go on about his prospects at college. when you emerged again, seunghyun's posture straightened, hands going into his pockets until the perspiration of his palms made itself known. you stepped to the side, inadvertently planting yourself a couple feet away from him, making room for what looked to be a group of co-workers walking by. your eyes met momentarily, feeling your heart freeze, somehow moving your head into a polite nod. seunghyun mimicked you, feeling the same grin from before stretching his mouth once again. he took a step closer, his voice next to your ear practically sending you into cardiac arrest before you could scuttle away.

"you have a very beautiful laugh." he said. you turned your head, looking up at him, seeing him scratch his chin; trying to find a word. "prolific." he spoke, looking into your eyes. "i don't think i've heard anything like it before." "t-thank you." you nodded. your mouth felt dry and your chest pounded as if you were in trouble—which didn't make any sense, because he was being perfectly polite. normal, even. but its who he is that's terrifying me, your inner monologue was screaming. like if i say something, i'll be black-bagged and taken away. "that's very kind of you to say." you told him, your arms akin to jelly and brain on auto-pilot. "i do like to . . . laugh." you descended into an embarrassed exhale, unsure of what to say. seunghyun chuckled, his eyes kissing at their respective ends. "that's always good." he concurred. "i'm seunghyun." he rested his palm atop his chest. "its lovely to meet you." you introduced yourself, shaking his hand when he extended it. he internally cringed at himself—i probably shouldn't've done that, his inner monologue voiced; too late to retract his hand. you then asked the question that would eventually lead to a new era of the royal family: "were you also—" you cleared your throat, nerves nowhere near subsiding. "were you also here for the—the, sort of— impromptu oxford reunion?"

your friends read the room and left you alone, eyes drifting over sneakily when you and seunghyun sat at your own small table, him flagging someone down and ordering drinks for the both of you. seunghyun was a skilled conversationalist and put you at ease surprisingly quickly, satisfied upon noticing your relaxed posture as you went on about your time at college. "i can't believe we haven't met before." he said, taking a sip from his drink. "i mean, we studied the same subject and all." your eyes softened, if only he knew i thought the same thing, "i know. it is rather peculiar." you said, smiling when he let out a laugh. "peculiar indeed." when your friends decided to call it a night, they tried to hurry their goodbyes as to not take you away from him, but seunghyun's niceties activated quickly. "i don't want to keep you from your friends—" "—its alright—you're not keeping her away!" your eldest friend interjected, shaking her head with a grand smile. "we're staying at the hostel just a few blocks down. its not a problem at all." with that, seunghyun nodded, bidding his goodnights to them; seeing her shoot a wink at you before heading out the door, smirking upon casting his eyes on your sheepish expression.

"i'm sorry, she can be very—" "—supportive?" he cut you off. "that's one way of saying it, yes." you chuckled nervously. he found it sweet, eyes tenderly cast on you. "i'm quite thankful for her, then." on the walk home an hour later, seunghyun's head was stirring. he walked wordlessly next to you on the side closest to the road, pondering on what to do next once you two reached your hostel. you glanced at him from the side, feeling warmth travel up from your neck into your cheeks from something other than the summer night humidity at the sight of his hands behind his back in an admittedly very princely manner. you had no way of knowing this, despite the pose feeling very familiar from photos you've seen in the paper, but its the way he's carried himself since he can remember—mimicking his father and his grandfather before him. you finally got to see his outfit outside of the dimly-lit bar: a white short-sleeve button up tucked neatly into jeans, complemented by a dark brown belt and adidas trainers. its like those tabloid photos of him and his family have come to life before you, with the addition of his cloudy round wire-frame glasses from the heat; seunghyun's forgetfulness to clean them; and his prescription eye contacts not coming in on time.

"this is me." you came to a halt in front of a brick building. "i had a—" the nerves returned when your eyes met. "i had a wonderful time tonight. thank you for everything, seunghyun." it felt so strange to say his name so casually though he introduced himself as such—how many royal protocols am i breaking? he admired the sight of you: hair slightly frizzy from the heat, skin glowing in the lingering humidity, shirt endearingly wrinkled. "its been nothing short of a pleasure." seunghyun nodded, eyes soft. the sound of your sweet, soft laugh made his brain briefly short-circuit, speaking before thinking clearly. "goodnight." "goodnight." you said back to him gently, not surprised yet feeling bittersweet disappointment. for a fleeting moment, you believed this was the start of something. but, alas, seunghyun is seunghyun, and you are you. a prince and a commoner—a tale too good to be true. perhaps this night was destined to become part of your story-telling rolodex, unexpectedly dropping it on your grandchildren in fifty years time.

he turned to make his way back to the pub and to his car when you started climbing the stairs. not even five steps in, however, did his chest sink to a level so deep that an alarm rang ferociously in his head. i'm making a grave mistake, seunghyun turned around, quickly jogging to the bottom of the stairs. "can i call you?" "hm?" you turned around, about to enter your key into the door lock. "can i—" the nerves caught in his throat, swallowing. "may i call you? i'd like to . . . i'd like to get to know you better. i'm starting my masters here in the fall, and i'd like to have a familiar face." he had plenty, but its the first thing he could think of to keep himself tethered to you. you smiled, glancing at the pavement below your feet. "y-yes, you may." you said. "have you—do you have something i can write our landline number on?" "i—" he patted his pockets—nothing. "i don't." shit. "i'm sorry—" "its not a problem," you attempted to troubleshoot this quickly. "i'm sure there's something in the hostel—" you thought aloud, looking down at him. "would you mind coming in for a second? i just want to make sure i give it to you." you chuckled nervously, seeing the smile on his face. "of course." he climbed up the stairs, sending your flatmates listening behind the door into a frenzy. "go! go—that way!" your eldest friend whispered in panic, the both of them scurrying to the other room.

thus began a new chapter in either of your lives. seunghyun worked towards his masters in art history on the weekdays at oxford, traveling to the city discreetly to visit his girlfriend on the weekends. you worked your nine to five as a policy analyst for a non-profit on the weekdays, taking the tube home to find a deliveryman walking to your gate the same time you were, holding a vase filled with flowers from your boyfriend; the note signed with an S, sneaking him in through the backdoor when he arrived late-friday evenings and left sunday night. you made meals together and took walks around the park, sharing your first kiss underneath a weeping willow tree. his hands were politely behind his back as per habit, stilled even in your holding of his face. "you can hold me, you know." you murmured. "oh, right. yes—" his hands found your waist, gliding warmly to your lower back, bringing you in, "come here, then." he kissed you tenderly, feeling and hearing your amused chuckle against him.

your flatmates were over the moon for you—exhilarated by being in on one of the most exclusive and secretive relationships in the world. seunghyun's upbringing taught him to get along well with just about everyone—having no problem chatting politely with your friends on the phone when they were the ones to pick up, waiting for you to come down to the kitchen. speaking of the landline, it was just that singular one in the entire townhome. the cord could only go so far, so when you had enough of standing or pacing, you pulled a chair against the wall. where seunghyun was staying in the surrounding oxford area, his staff watched in amusement at him dragging the connecting cable and cord to his bedroom to lay comfortably in his bed whilst speaking with you, holding in their laughter when they heard his shoes skid against the floor.

you traded annotated books, reading the pages in each other's voices; ways of thinking; inner monologues. he adored your scribbles and you his chicken scratch, though legibility was another conversation entirely: "is it a prerequisite for future monarchs to write so messily?" you heard seunghyun laugh from his end of the line. "i can hardly make out your thoughts on frost." "he's one of my favorite poets. that's really all there is to know about that," he chuckled. "the queen's penmanship is wonderful, if i'm to be candid. and your's is not all that better than mine, my love." an upside down grin pulled the corners of his mouth. "and the choice of red has me feeling i'm reading a marked essay instead of hemingway." he let out a hearty laugh at your groan and tutted good-faith insult, his face feeling warmer than before. there was equal, if not more, admiration when your eyes were casted on his mother language, thumb dotingly grazing the text before reaching his rushed etchings. you couldn't understand, but you could feel.

perhaps the rumors swirling around your four month anniversary could be attributed to your trips to the back of the movie theater; sneaking kisses between scenes, trips to the farmer's market every other sunday; clad in sunglasses and baseball caps, though a few papparazzi took some nondescript photos of you two—landing on the boss's desk, or driving with the windows of his range rover down; rolling them up once seunghyun pulled into an empty parking lot, your antics in the backseat blacked out by the glass. before seunghyun left for the weekend to see you, he routinely reminded his personal secretary to "only page me if the queen has been compromised, the family's in trouble, or if we've been found out," leading to many peaceful nights in your bed. he falls asleep so easily with the warmth of your plush body nuzzled into his chest; lovingly encased in his arms. light, content snores emit from either seunghyun and yours' nostrils after making love, failed attempts at silencing your lustful moans and whimpers through half-covered mouths—the squeaking of your metal bed frame saying enough to your flatmates if they went got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

having a future monarch's head between your thighs, his hair messy and noises of his mouth and tongue suckling your clit so poetically lewd, was a sight to see and experience to behold. his soft palms moved romantically up and down your sides and stomach, tenderly yet briskly kneading your rolls, savoring the feeling of your stretch marks against his fingers—marks of the divine he calls them in his head—moaning lowly against your puffy lips, his hands making their way up to your perky breasts. "feel me." he egged, vibrations of his low voice against you making your eyes roll back. "feel me. feel my tongue." "o—oh—just like t-that—just like that!" you begged in a pitchy whisper. seunghyun looked up from his place being so hotly squished between your thick thighs, moving your stomach a little to make view of your face. how he wishes he occupied the talent to immortalize such beauty on a canvas whilst sat in his garden at home . . . the sheen of your supple skin nurtured by your building sweat, disheveled hair messily strewn along your forehead and pillow, lips slightly swollen from the heavy kisses you shared moments before you blessed him with your taste, eyebrows upturned, mouth agape, calling his name so delicately . . . he closed his eyes, continuing his ministrations, encouraging you to fasten your grip around his head with his palms on either sides of your thighs.

shortly before the holidays, you and seunghyun mutually agreed to tell your parents about your relationship. "i love you too much to keep being so secretive." he leaned down, planting a purposefully long kiss onto your cheek. you tsked, taking your eyeliner pencil away from your lid, seeing seunghyun smirking above you. "you're going to make me poke my eye out, seunghyun." you tutted, only to soften once meeting his eyes. "i love you, too." you moved closer, signaling for him to come down, pressing a sweet kiss onto his lips. "now behave and let me finish my makeup. we have to leave in twenty minutes." "will do." seunghyun was about to leave his spot leaning against the bathroom sink, quickly kissing your temple before you went in with your eyeliner, scurrying away when you turned, seeing him sat on the cushioned toilet lid cover. "you are the purest of evil." your smile gave you away. "ouch." he clutched his heart foolishly, your collective laughter rivaling the lionel richie cassette playing in the living room down the hall, intermittently interrupted by commotion in the kitchen.

your townhome was filled with either of your friend groups, gearing up for a night out together. you set the black eyeliner pencil down when it was to your liking, trading it out for mascara. seunghyun looked down at his wrist, fixing his watch. a question pestered his mind: "do you think your parents will like me?" "i think in any world—in every alternate dimension," your intonation was minutely altered, your mouth hanging open in the midst of applying mascara onto your eyelashes. "i should be the one asking you that question." you switched to your left eye, seunghyun exhaling through his nostrils. "i'm serious, my love. i can't help but be a bit anxious." "it means that you care." you answered, hearing him hum in acknowledgement. "don't be too hard on yourself. there's already so many other things pressuring you unfairly." "i know." "i'm happy you care, seunghyun. they'll really like you, i just know it." you screwed your lid of your mascara until it tightened. "although," seunghyun looked up, unsure of what you were going to say next. "they may not believe me for . . . obvious reasons." an amused grin tugged at his mouth. "i might require photographic evidence. or a court document." you threw in the latter to thwart off your increasingly flustered state. "i see." seunghyun let out a laugh. "i'm more than happy to oblige."

your gaze fell to the sink, avoiding his. "come here." you beckoned. seunghyun got up, taking the two steps it took to be in front of you; the bathroom wasn't spacious whatsoever. the moment your palms rested on his biceps, his arms made residence around your waist, pulling you in. "you look very pretty." he spoke softly, voice characteristically low. "i do?" the playful grin on your face said you knew the answer. "mhm," seunghyun nodded, feeling your hand travel up his chest, settling behind his neck. "very much so." "well, since you're being so nice," you closed the gap a little, but not entirely, "and so well-behaved." the breath of his chuckle tickled your skin, bringing your lips to his. seunghyun reconnected them feeling either of your hands hold the back of his neck—the kiss slow, intentional; intimate.

he rested his cheek against your temple when you turned your head away. "i have an idea." you said aloud, picking your black eyeliner from your makeup bag. "i wouldn't be opposed," said seunghyun. "but that's not going onto my eyes, is it?" "no," you shook your head. "but stay still nonetheless." "alright. have at it." you undid the first three buttons of his shirt, seeing the suggestive look on his face immediately. "don't look at me like that." you muttered, bringing the pencil to his exposed chest. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, much to your endearing protest. "stop scheming. i told you to stay still." "i'm not scheming. i'm loving you." "you can be so horrifyingly cliché that it somehow morphs into charm." "thank you." he exhaled, mouth molding into a sheepish smile. "have a look." you told him, putting the cap on the pencil, taking a step back to allot seunghyun room to look in the mirror. what reflected back at him brought out the smuggest grin ever to grace mankind.

KING—not written in lettering large enough to rival a billboard, but legible to the point of it being irrefutable. "is it in case i forget?" he asked, looking at you through the mirror. "yes," you nodded, playing along. "the idea was more attractive in my head, but after the first letter i realized it would've been much easier with lipstick. it was too late to stop, though." seunghyun turned around, facing you entirely. "i can wet a cotton pad and—" "—no, no. its fine." seunghyun shook his head in quick reassurance. it clicked for you when he buttoned his shirt. "i like it. it can be our little thing." he said earnestly. "we'll try it next time with your lipstick—the deep red one." you smiled with a nod, suddenly wishing you weren't going out tonight. "okay." your voice was notably quieter. seunghyun was winning; his admiring grin on full display. your face sunk into your palms, "you truly can be so horrible to me sometimes." you complained, gentle tone contrasting with your rhetoric, feeling his arms find your waist. "how am i supposed to go out in this state?" "poor you," he tutted playfully. "so worked up over a bit of teasing." "you're awful."

before the three taxis arrived, the polaroid camera was passed around, decorating your kitchen counter with developing photos. a good number with friends, your flatmates, and seunghyun—one took candidly of you two standing together in the hall; you sat on his lap on the couch, arms around one another, grand smiles on your faces; stood up, his arms around you, cheeks pressed together—all of which you took home to show your parents when you flew home for christmas. your father was flabbergasted; your mother shocked. so many questions were hurled at you, and you answered all of them. excitement soon ensued, you having to hound your father away from the phone, halting his pursuit of calling a travel agency to book a flight to meet seunghyun. "he's telling his parents this holiday, too. i'll let you know when its a good time." "you mean the queen?" your mother raised her eyebrows. "wow—it really must be real if you're talking about them so casually."

much to seunghyun's surprise, his parents were more approving than he anticipated. sure enough, the critical look in their eyes said the trial's only just begun, but in terms of his past girlfriends, this had to be the smoothest sailing yet thus far. arrangements to meet you were quickly set into motion, his mother asking nearby staff to call for her personal secretary—seunghyun stopped her, setting his utensils down. "i would like to meet her parents first." he said. "i want us to be on an equal playing field." "surely, yes," his father spoke knowingly from across the table. "but does she happen to know who your mother is?" "full well, yes." seunghyun answered, nodding. "but, i want to take a step forward in modernizing the monarchy, as i've always desired. this would be an admittedly minute step, yes, but it could set something in motion. she has the ability—the confidence. tenacity, too." he explained. "i would like for us to meet each other's families before our relationship becomes public." "before her life is altered indefinitely, you meant to say." his mother interjected, taking a sip of her water.

seunghyun's shoulders felt heavier—the impending reality weighing down on him. "yes." he answered truthfully. "as you wish." said the queen. "i trust your judgment." he flew your parents out to britain in february, a few days after your first valentine's day together, meeting them during dinner at your townhome. he was a nervous wreck the night before and morning off, his rambles keeping you on the phone instead of preparing for their arrival ("does your mother prefer chocolates or perfume?" "just get her flowers, seunghyun." "oh my goodness, how could i have forgotten that? how about your father? what kind of ties does he like? or is he a cologne—" "—seunghyun, baby, if i don't vaccum right now, i'm going to lose my mind.")

your parents were elated to meet him. seunghyun hurdled through their interrogation with poise, despite having to clear his throat from time to time to thwart nerves. he made a good impression, exemplified by how your father patted him on the back and your mother embraced him like a son-in-law before settling into the taxi, heading to their hotel. you were officially slotted to cordially meet his family come may, ushering in summer 1985; seunghyun receiving his masters degree; closing in on one year together—until his pager beeped in late april. it was around 11:30 pm that friday night. you were laid together in bed: you having just taken the cap off your deep red lipstick, seunghyun's shirt unbuttoned. "is everything okay?" you asked, tone laced with concern. seunghyun shuffled through his dufflebag, pulling out his brick mobile, extending the antenna. "yes—i just have to call my secretary." he dialed, bringing the phone to his ear. his mind rifled through those three reasons he set forth for paging, painstakingly wondering which one it could be . . .

"your royal highness?" "yes, hello—can you hear me?" "i can, sir, yes." "is it the worst possible news?" "no, sir. thankfully not. but you're not going to like this either. i'll get straight to it—" the conversation was in his mother tongue. you gradually sat up, waiting patiently. seunghyun sat down on the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair. though you couldn't understand, you saw he was listening intently to whatever the information was —either humming "mhm" or saying something with the cadence of a question. "its everywhere, sir," his secretary said into the receiver. "not just at home, but international outlets as well. i was able to receive faxes of the cover stories ahead of time—but there is no way out. they will be published come morning." seunghyun's shoulders didn't sink just yet. "the photos are clear. she will be identified immediately. it will be a matter of hours before the press find her residence."

seunghyun sighed. here it was: the brute, unforgiving, oncoming force touching down in less than twelve hours. with the time difference, mother and papa will find out with the rest of the world, his inner monologue reeled, hiding his face behind his palm. your worry intensified, but kept it at bay, knowing it was unreasonable to ask whilst he was still on the phone. "i suggest you leave now, sir. to avoid compromising your safety—" "—and leave her to the wolves? is that really what you want me to do? there's no world where i am cruel enough to do such a thing." "sir, with all due respect," his secretary cleared his throat. "she was—she was aware this would happen, right?" seunghyun hung up.

he hastily shoved the antenna down, holding the phone with his right hand, his left running over his face. "seunghyun?" your palm traced his shoulder, bringing him back down to earth. but he wasn't sure if this was the planet he wanted to be on at the current moment. he set the phone down on the floor, turning to face you. "that was my secretary." he explained. "my love, they know. we'll be in the papers in the morning—everywhere in a matter of hours." you didn't freeze, but the shock rattled your chest. you knew this day would come at some point—it wasn't unexpected, but in fact established in open conversation when you first started dating. however, its one thing to hear about something, and another to experience it. "we've talked about this before—" "i know, seunghyun. i'm okay." you assured. he huffed, conflicted thoughts permeating the furrow of his eyebrows. "do you want to come to oxford? where i'm staying? i can have the car ready as soon as possible." you contemplated for a moment, ultimately shaking your head. "i can't do that to them, seunghyun."

he knew you were referring to your flatmates. before he could protest, you get out of bed, making your way to the door. "i'll go tell them now—so they can prepare for the morning." "they? what about you?" seunghyun stood to his feet. "seunghyun," you let out a breath. "i've long made my decision since the moment i went on a date with you—since the moment i had a drink with you at the bar." you said, gesturing to your side, but in your head it was the aforementioned memories. "like you've said, we've talked about what's coming, and now its here. if i run away now, there's no point. i have to face them. it might as well be tomorrow." part of you knew you had no idea what you were talking about, that there was no true way to grasp the severity of circumstance until you're thrusted into it. your stubbornness persisted. "my love, you're not running away—" you cut him off by leaving the room, heading up the stairs, knocking on your eldest friend's door first.

a debrief occurred in the kitchen until three am—the makeshift council deciding it was best for seunghyun to return to oxford before morning. "please don't think differently of me." he pleaded into your neck, holding onto you so tightly it was as if you would wither away. "i won't." you said earnestly. "you're the best thing thats ever happened to me." he lifted his head, looking into your eyes. "please—please, i beg of you, don't let these vermin take you away from me." "i won't." you repeated. "come here." you said softly, molding your lips with his. he returned the sentiment, kissing you harder, his hands holding your face in his palms. "i love you so dearly." seunghyun whispered. "i love you more." you whispered back. "page me when you're home safe, okay?"

it was horrendous. catastrophic. absolute pandemonium. the night's deliberations led to the arrangement of your flatmate driving you to work. there were a handful of reporters outside that morning as the news waves hadn't entirely penetrated yet in those early hours—you kept your head down and sped walked to the car. however, stepping foot outside lended your location as if you paged the entire nation, and coming home was a disaster-filled saga. over fifty paparazzi booked it to the car—the clattering of camera shutters continuous as if an off button wasn't an option. your name was hurled at you like a frantic, hunger-filled insult, followed by some of the most invasive questions no one in your close circle could've ever drawn up. by primetime, everyone around the world knew your name and how to spell it.

you tried to exit more discreetly through the backdoor, but the press soon figured that one out, forcing you back to the front entrance. much to your benefit, you became rather skilled at strategically scurrying away—though some reporters more agile than you would give you a run for your money, shoving a microphone in your face as they frantically looked back and forth from you and their cameraman, asking any question ranging from "has his royal highness spoken with you today?" to "how do you think your prospects are to serve as queen?" it escalated to finding you on grocery runs or simply out and about running errands and living normally—the papers all filled with photos of you walking with your head down, hand covering your face. you told seunghyun exactly what you needed: "i need protection," you told him over the phone. "a driver, for a start. her poor ford escort can only take so much." he also arranged for your parents to have security, putting his own money down to pay for the cost.

it then escalated to the point of no return. reporters were knocking—some breaking and entering—your neighbor's homes in hopes of getting intel on you; photographers climbing power poles to zoom in on your windows, leading to blankets being strung up for privacy, and somehow someway the leaking of your landline number; cutting the cord after it rang for over fourteen hours. after two months of mayhem, your flatmate couldn't take it anymore. "they've started contacting my family," she said, wheeling her suitcases out through the backdoor, the rest of her belongings in her car. "i have to draw the line." that night was dreadful—a harrowing image of you sat in the living room with deepened eye bags and a thousand yard stare, commotion of reporters behind a strung up blanket. the couch dipped next to you, your eldest friend bringing you into her arms. "i really can't blame her," you cried. "i—i don't—" "—its okay, its okay." she comforted. "at least marry him so we can get a party out of all of this." she smiled hearing your meek laughter, holding you closer.

when you wouldn't give an interview (or in other words, compromise your privacy for nasty people whom you owed nothing; you and seunghyun weren't even engaged yet) then came the unsavory photos published, op-eds written, and outright lies spread. your middle-class background was villainized to falsely frame you as a gold digger ("i've learned quickly that there's nothing people hate more than those who defy their heinously preconceived notions." you told your flatmate over wine one night); photos of you with an accentuated double chin from struggling to open the car door, a body roll somewhat visible in the millisecond it took you to fix your blouse, an angled photo of your legs taken when you were throwing the garbage out; digitally manipulated to over-exaggerate your natural cellulite were intentionally plastered on the front pages with unfavorable headlines digging at your body. some language tip-toed and was more fluffy whilst others were unabashed: Princess Piggy; Biting off More Than She Can Chew?; Local retailer says she won't carry size "Infinity XL" anymore. your body was treated akin to a moral failing. you remained strong, but felt yourself begin to chip away. you were only human, after all.

seunghyun wanted to set the world on fire. he didn't attend his ceremony, receiving his masters degree quietly before being made to fly back home for good old-fashioned damage control. he donned his round wire frames for a softer, more approachable look, shaking the hands and greeting the hundreds of people waiting to see him outside of the research center he just cut the ribbon for. many were supportive, handing him flowers and other gifts whilst saying "she's so beautiful!" or "you two are such a fine match, bring her home soon! the country wants to meet her!", swiftly walking past anyone stepping over a boundary with their question or remark—until a reporter had something to say. seunghyun didn't overhear what he said at first ("your royal highness, how could you—with someone so below you!") since he was accepting a small bouquet of daises grown in a garden of a mother of four, but looked up before being ushered to the car. "its an embarrassment, sir! you're a future king!" the cameraman caught him, and the mic picked up on his voice: "you could only be so lucky."

you were flown out to meet his family in june. driven hours into the remote countryside to a castle ("i've grown up calling it an estate. its the queen's favorite of our holiday homes." "this is not the time for semantics, seunghyun. thats a fucking granite and slate castle.") the day before his siblings and parents were to arrive. seunghyun gave you a tour of the grounds whilst your luggage was carried in and set up in your quarters by staff—the greenest, crunchiest cabbage growing in the garden; ten tangerine trees scattered throughout a neighboring courtyard; the distant stable, just a mile away from a freshwater stream ("the horse i've known since my childhood is still with us. i named him ben—i was probably around nine years old." "when i was that age, i was just lucky enough to see one in a field during a long car ride."); and the part of the castle you two were staying in—seunghyun reciting facts about various portraits, art pieces, and overall architecture of one of the homes he grew up in ("do see those engravings—just by the chandelier? they've been there for over four hundred years." "that's older than me." "yes, me too, my love."; "my mother and papa usually stay just down that hall." "seunghyun, your parents are just going to be around the corner? and you're just telling me this now?")

as the evening progressed, your nerves did, too. perhaps it was the staff prefacing your surname with "miss" when addressing you, the three course dinner you had looking over massive, fruitful acreage, or staring into the eyes of seunghyun's generations-old ancestor painted onto canvas, almost falling after leaning on what was both part of the library but also dually acting as a secret door into another room, practicing your curtsy an infinite amount of times in the bathroom along with reviewing how to address certain members of his family did it all start to feel a bit too real. you didn't sleep a wink, tossing and turning whilst seunghyun slept peacefully at your side. at half three in the morning, you got up, quietly leaving the bedroom to clear your mind. you didn't stray too far, only going down the long corridor connecting the landing of the staircase to where you were staying for the duration of this trip. the ceilings are so high. its like a different altitude up there, you thought to yourself, craning your neck upwards.

your fingers brushed against the top of the wainscot rails lining the wide walls, turning the corner, finding yourself stood in front of the same portrait as before. it was humungous. the man was aged and dignified, demonstrated in his pristine posture and polite expression. though the portrait had evidence of upkeep and attempts at restoration in its scratched golden frame and crinkled corners, if you looked close enough, you could see where seunghyun got his looks from—those kind brown eyes, smooth nose bridge, and prominent ears didn't spring out of nowhere. it was one thing to know he comes from a lineage so indescribably powerful and influential, but entirely another to see it for yourself, and the person before you wasn't even alive anymore. your eyebrows furrowed, thinking i wonder when this was commissioned. you took a step closer, eyeing what looked to be white numbers in the corner. your stomach churned—1679. you clutched your mouth, running to where you remember the bathroom was, retching into the toilet.

seunghyun stirred awake. senses exhausted in interrupted slumber, he noticed you were gone, along with the subtle shin of the morning sun beginning to purify the curtains. he turned onto his left side, aimlessly grabbing the clock on the nightside table, squinting at the time reading 5:17 AM. he put it back, hand patting the surface to feel for his glasses, putting them before sitting up. a yawn escaped his lips after opening the door, shuffling his bare feet against the carpeted floors. he crossed his arms over his chest, walking halfway down the hall before spotting your head in the sitting room. "my love?" his voice was low, another yawn leaving him. "is that you?" "yes, seunghyun." "come back to bed, baby," he approached the couch you were sat at, sitting down next to you. "its so early." he muttered, eyes still half-closed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "is there a reason you're up? is everything okay?" he asked, rubbing the remaining exhaustion out of his eyes.

you were upfront. there's no point in sugarcoating it, even if the timidity of your voice contradicted that. "i'm very nervous about meeting your family." you whispered. "i haven't slept at all. i was—i was looking at the painting of your . . . your—" "uncle with too many 'greats' before his name that no one cares enough to say." seunghyun nodded after clarifying. you couldn't help the smile stretching your mouth, or the amused exhale leaving your nostrils. he always had such a way of alleviating pressure through humor. despite what others may think, he never really took himself too seriously. "yes, him." you chuckled. "i saw the date the painting was commissioned and i just . . . i just fell apart. your family's history, seunghyun . . . i am no match for it. i don't know who i think i am being here." you shook your head, looking at him pleadingly. he shut that shit down quickly, shaking his head. "nope, we're not doing this," he tutted. "not now. not ever." he moved closer to you, taking your hand in his. "we've talked about this before, my love." his voice was smooth. "you belong here just as much as i do." "thats whats wrong!" you exclaimed. "i don't—" you stuttered, frustrated. "its hard for me to share that feeling. this is all so—its all so big, seunghyun. what if . . . what if your parents don't like me? or your siblings? i don't have the faintest clue of what i'm doing. they're going to see right through me today."

"you do know what you're doing." seunghyun corrected you. "in the way you round the press up like cattle and rightfully give them nothing in return, you know exactly what you are doing. the fact that you have suffered so much these last two months, and still agreed to come here with me, shows that you know what you are doing." he didn't stutter a single vowel, let alone take his eyes off of you. "you already have the spine." said seunghyun. "but its only been two months since we've gone public," you countered, him listening carefully. "what if i break? what if they break me? they've already turned on how i look. who's to say it won't be how i dress next, or how i drink from a glass of water? or how much space i take up in a fucking photo?" you ranted. a long breath escaped your lungs, eyes closing momentarily. "i know its part of the package—part of dating a future king." you said. "i know that i'll be torn to bits. fodder for gossip, target of jealousy, receiver of criticism both deserved and not. i know it so well that it weighs down on my skull, even in its infancy." you lifted your head, meeting his eyes. "but my soul is fragile, seunghyun. i'm am only a human." you shook your head, feeling your eyes become misty. "i'm not—i'm not supernatural."

"that's precisely why i want you here." seunghyun leaned closer to you. "i feel your warmth when i hold your hand. embrace you, kiss your lips. i feel it in your gaze when you look for me across the room. that's not a feeling i've known often in my life." he shook his head. "i was born into a kind of privilege i will never be able to fully understand before i leave this earth. but—but affection, space to listen and be listened to in return, to be so naturally loved . . . those are luxuries my lineage will never be able to afford. you are not a husk. you have a beating heart." his thumb ran gently over your quivering bottom lip. "what if they turn me into one?" your voice barely trailed above a whisper. seunghyun didn't hesitate in his answer: "i would abdicate before i let that happen to you, my love."

you blinked, suddenly feeling hot tears stream down your face, your fingers swiftly flicking them off. "i never thought it was possible to love someone as much as i love you." your voice quivered, an emotional frown tugging at the corners of your mouth, avoiding looking at him in fear you would cry harder. "me neither." his eyes twinkled. he leaned in, hands coming up holding either side of your face before you stopped him. "i—" you glanced down, embarrassment filling your chest. "i vomited earlier. in the . . . in the bathroom." seunghyun turned your head, bringing his lips to your warming cheek instead. "if i knew you felt so uneasy, i would've pushed this trip back." he spoke to you so tenderly, as if you were the only two people in the world. "i just needed assurance." you told him softly. "do you feel reassured?" he genuinely asked. "almost entirely." "come," seunghyun stood on his feet, tugging gently at your hand. "let's go for a walk. it helps clear my mind. i'm sure it'll help you, too."

you walked hand in hand underneath the rising morning sun, ankles tickled by the remnants of the previous evening's sprinkled rainfall soaked into the grass. the door into the horse stable was wide open, seunghyun peering in to see the two royal stablehands already hard at work. you watched swift head bows before politely greeting them yourself. "i can't believe i forgot to show you this yesterday." seunghyun took your hand, ushering you to the other side of the barn. he peered around the corner, carefully stepping onto the gravel upon spotting a fluffy tail. "one of our gardeners wrote to me saying a stray cat has had her kittens here." before you could register the anecdote, an adult cat followed clumsily by three toppling kittens emerged from behind a ledge, scuttling away to nestle underneath the shade of a tangerine tree.

his family was a mixed bag. seunghyun's parents were running late, so you didn't meet them all at once. first came his four siblings who arrived with ten minute increments between them, making your stomach feel queasy whenever the double doors swung open, preceding a brief announcement recited by a secretary of who's arrived. you were all relatively the same age, the eldest after seunghyun 24 and the youngest 17—set to begin college at cambridge in the fall. seunghyun's sisters were like looking at the same person at different stages of her life (his oldest the second eldest of the family, his youngest the baby,) whereas his brothers—the certified middle children—were at times at stark odds. the younger one was demonstrably more extroverted, laying back on the couch with his feet propped up on the table, speaking to you as if you've known one another your entire lives within five minutes of meeting, whereas the older brother was more observant; chiming in whenever needed, but not without his handsome smile.

seunghyun held himself differently, as anyone would in front of their family. there was slightly more command in the vibrato of his voice, though his relaxed body language and knack for witty banter was like looking through vignettes of memories. it was clear this bunch were true siblings, not only bound by blood, but through pointless bickering; weaponization of embarrassing stories; and playing rock-paper-scissors over who gets to eat the last scoop of bingsu for dessert though dinner hadn't started. when the queen and his royal highness arrived on the premises, the eldest sister tugged at your wrist, bringing you towards the back of the group ushering collectively down the hall. "we'll play uno after dinner with the boss." she told you lowly, checking to see if seunghyun overheard. he was occupied, fixing his cufflink. "there's positively no way you'll leave us without seeing how worked up he gets over color coordination."

the execution of your curtsy was pristine, though your heart was beating in your throat. if the queen was interrogating you, she was a master at subtlety, because that beautiful smile and warm, comfortable laugh never disappeared. his father's critical gaze earned a defiant nudge on his arm from his eldest daughter when you weren't looking, followed by hushed bickering before asking a question receiving her nod of approval. you slept better that night following a fanatical five rounds of uno, after each of which seunghyun sat closer to the edge of the couch before standing completely on his feet; pacing four steps back and forth, nearly tripping over nothing to beat his eldest sister, or anyone for that matter, in shouting the winning word. you woke at fifteen past six the next morning to use the bathroom, approached by the queen's secretary on the walk back to your bedroom. "her majesty and his royal highness would like for you to join their morning tea. either will be in the same dining hall as the night previous in one half hour."

you dressed quickly, keeping your composure. she’s just a person. she’s just a person, you repeated in your head, fixing your bracelet for the nth time whilst descending down the wide staircase. your curtsy went even deeper than the previous evening’s, nearly freezing when you felt her lay her palm atop your shoulder. “please, come join us.” her tone was unreadable (or perhaps you were just in overthinking overdrive,) but her idly soft voice put your subconscious at ease, no longer feeling your loafers pinch the back of your ankles. you dipped into a curtsy again at the sight of his royal highness waiting with his hands behind his back—seunghyun is his exact carbon copy—at the far end of the long dining table, offering you a curt nod of acknowledgement. "i was upset we couldn't speak as closely last night," the queen's voice returned your attention to her. "with the commotion of our family and all." she chuckled politely, making you grin in an unavoidably nervous gesture. "i look forward to getting to know you better now. we've heard nothing but the highest of praise." "or perhaps excitement is the preferred term." seunghyun's father chimed in, sitting himself down across from you.

"she's always been so bad at hiding when she's not being subtle." the queen's youngest son critiqued from the sitting room window, watching with his older counterpart with his arms crossed over his chest. "never." the eldest concurred. "remember when she and papa—" "move." a frustrated seunghyun forcibly nestled his way between them, making room for himself in front of the tall window. the youngest kissed his teeth, horrendously annoyed by seunghyun's nuisance. "fuck off, will you? it hasn't even been twenty minutes since i woke up." seunghyun ignored him, gesturing sharply at the view below: his mother and father on either side of you, walking along the grass. "they have her caged in—like an animal!" he thought aloud, baffled. "talk about a metaphor." the younger brother snickered, shut right up when seunghyun reached behind him, nudging the back of his head. "the second she's alone, they ring her in like prey! its like—its like they haven't changed at all! and worst of all, they're completely shameless about it!"

"what's going on?" the sisters entered the sitting room, the eldest tying her robe closed over her pajamas. "its hardly eight am and your ruckus is already carrying throughout the house." "i wanna see!" the youngest of them all chimed, scuttling over, pushing seunghyun's arm out of the way to get a better look. his eldest sister couldn't help her grin. "oh, the boss certainly means business." she let out a tired yawn, rubbing her right eye. "even brought out the translator." she referred to the man walking five paces behind you three—a polyglot the queen has employed for decades, handy for state banquets and trips abroad. she and her husband felt comfortable in their english, but kept him close by in good faith. the five of them watched in awe-filled silence. seunghyun was at a loss for words. his sister assured him like it was muscle memory. "you have nothing to worry about." she told him, the lot of them watching their father pat you on the shoulder, able to make out the comfortable smile on your face despite the growing distance. "that's the most relaxed i've seen papa in years." as if he overheard, their father turned his head, looking behind him at the sound of guardsmen walking by. "the curtain!" the youngest brother yelped, all five hastily reaching their hands up to pull the thick fabric.

later in the morning, you asked a guard where seunghyun was, politely directing you to a nearby garden. seunghyun closed his book, rising quickly from his seat on the bench, walking to you with haste. "my love—good morning." he pampered your lips with his, holding your face in his palms. "so?" was all he was able to muster, anxious thoughts running endlessly through his mind that his thinking became fragmented, eyes flittering around your face for an answer. "i think i passed?" you smiled, easing into laughter feeling seunghyun embrace you with a grip that could only be pure relief. "your father has a penchant for going endlessly back-and forth." you spoke, hands traveling up. "i can see where you get it from." you chuckled, giggling sweetly when he held you tighter.

your first public outing as a couple came july 1985 at the dual-venue benefit concert, live aid. wembley stadium was overflowing with music lovers and spectators alike. it was an atmosphere unlike any other, settling into your suite with friends who tagged along as well. photos in the papers chronicled your frizzy hair and his blowing in the wind churning through the open-roof stadium, beer in his hand, both of you donning ray bans; you two stood on your feet, moving your hands in unison with thousands of others when queen took the stage with radio gaga; you taking your lightweight blazer off, dancing and twirling in your maxi skirt whilst david bowie performed modern love, seunghyun's shy smile about to live on for years on the bedroom walls of teenage girls around the world. you looked so natural, as if you were having the time of your life, because you were! better yet, it inadvertently became a very effective optics campaign. there's nothing more relatable than two twenty-something-year-olds who love live music as much as they do each other. luckily for seunghyun, it was real love.

the tide was turning now that people know you and seunghyun were serious. the vitriolic attacks on your privacy not only persisted, but maximized: private letters leaked, random classmates you've never met claiming to be your "closest confidant" coming out of the woodworks for their fifteen minutes of fame, the outside of your car swarmed in the middle of a traffic jam—it was endless. tiresome. draining. it severed his heart to hear you sound so pitifully defeated over the phone (a new landline specially encrypted with a direct line to him, also protecting other calls needed to be made), your voice often times descending into unintelligible whispers, succumbing to tears. "i just want to tell them to get lost." you wiped your cheeks, clutching the phone like a lifeline. "but i'm afraid of what they might do next. its like they're—they're checking off a list of things to do to me, one by one. 'how cruel can we be today,' or something like that." seunghyun armed you with his family's attorneys, sending them off into battles in the courtroom to squeeze tabloids and other defamatory cases dry.

many spectators anticipated a certain announcement to follow the reporting of you and seunghyun moving in together after three years of dating. it was the fall of 1987—seunghyun began pursuing his history of art phd at cambridge, with you landing a senior position at a non-profit's policy advisory board. seunghyun happily departed from his residence after years of flying back and forth, settling into your three bedroom flat with unbridled ease, furthering the next chapter of your shared lives together. you split chores: trading who washed the dishes on an every-other-day-basis, seunghyun cooking most nights with sunday being the designated takeout day, you telling him to buy a new hoover after your current one gave out in the midst of cleaning the living room, etcetera.

your couch has seen a lot. anecdotes and conversations a rolodex of parasitic tabloids would beg on their hands and knees to obtain—offering to oust one another via sacrificial rituals to print; kisses that would scandalize seunghyun into an overnight sex symbol, defying multiple centuries of articulate public relations handiwork molding the impenetrable influence establishing him as a noble figure; you in such overtly compromising positions that would've been the most expensive paparazzi photos ever sold, if only you and seunghyun didn't live on the top floor with your curtains closed. your knees burned atop the cushions with every ministration of your hips, seunghyun's knees seemingly on opposite ends of the room from how far he's spread his legs. your respective movements were messy and disjointed—but so carnally aligned. he thrusted up into you whilst you worked yourself down onto him, condom slick and creamy, your thick, soft thighs jiggling with such force in collision with his hips. all that can be heard are soft whimpers and helpless gasps. "o—oh!" you squeaked delicately next to his ear, almost drowned out by the lewd sound of your skin slapping together. "s—seunghyun—" you mewled, holding the back of his head, pressing your temple against his. "i-i'm lost in you, my love," he panted, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "utterly lost—hngh!" he slowed his hips, calming himself down after your gummy walls tightened mercilessly around him. his hands quickly traveled up your back to catch you when you momentarily lost balance, providing leeway to do some work. "let me make you feel good as you do me, yeah? f-fuck! o-oh my—oh my f-fucking—"

afternoons and nights where your thighs fondle his head, legs cast over his shoulders whilst his knees prop him up on the carpet floors, making love to you with his tongue. you've long forgotten about the wine glasses on the coffee table, or the load of laundry waiting to be transfered to the the dryer. that can wait for an eternity, as far as you're concerned. its a sight to behold: you taking off his glasses after they continuously travel down the bridge of his nose, putting them atop your head for safe keeping, your fingers combing his soft hair back; the subtle tinkering of your bracelets falling down your wrist egging him on further. his backpack and textbook waited patiently on the dining table—he has a meeting with his academic advisor on campus in forty-five minutes. you separated your legs, lifting your hips to lay more comfortably, pushing his head in deeper. seunghyun continued his lethal ministrations on your clit, separating your puffy lips with his pointer and middle fingers, isolating it entirely. "f-fuck! yes!" your voice croaked, cracking into an abrupt gasp. "j-just like that, s-seunghyunnie! oh my fucking god!" you almost sounded offended by how good at this he was. your furrowed eyebrows fought with your fallen jaw, "you're gonna—mmf!—y-you're gonna make me cum!" "that's the goal." he muttered. "this is not the time for—o-oh my f-fuck—" the vibrations of his chuckle shut you right up; eyes squeezing shut, back arching, in utter bliss. "i-i'm gonna—i'm—o—oh!"

two years later, you were in finland on holiday. friends came and went in their respective cabins, leaving you and seunghyun alone those last few days before flying home. you two have considered marriage for a while now—having shared many open and transparent conversations regarding the matter. on a human level, you've been ready for the question since your six month anniversary. however, on an impending-public-figure or more aptly put, future-wife-of-the-monarch-and-serving-as-queen level, it took some self reflection to say the least. his belief in you is what sealed the deal: "i was raised to be honest." he told you one night, tucked underneath the duvet alongside you. "i was also raised to root out weakness. if you didn't have what it took, i wouldn't have let my heart surpass the point of no return." he picked the ring out a few weeks before boarding the royal jet with you to finland, and a week after receiving your parents blessing, discreetly tucking it away securely into one of his duffle bags. he routinely built a sweat on that trip despite the cold winter temperatures—checking multiple times a day if the small velvet box was still with his belongings, as if it would somehow grow legs and walk away.

the aurora borealis bloomed above you. it was your second time seeing the phenomenon on this trip alone—basking in the closest thing, to you, humankind will ever come to experiencing magic. seeing it the first time earlier in the week was purely out of fortune. the skies were clear, your entourage pulling into your cabins after a late dinner, only to stand outside in your long puffer jackets and thick beanies for the next twenty minutes in utter awe. the second time it happened, only now it was only you two coming home to your cabin, seunghyun took it as a sign; a leap of faith. he non-suspiciously excused himself, muttering something about retrieving his camera, hurrying to your shared bedroom and sifting through his duffle bag—unzipping the side pocket tucked behind spare clothing, clutching the small box in his palm. he was down on one knee ten minutes later. nothing moved in the world in those moments except you two. his hands shook as he aligned his eye with the film camera’s viewfinder, the flash making the diamond ring sparkle in the night.

to think your first introduction to his nation was as his fiancée was inexplicably and objectively insane. a concurrent move of grandeur and strategic privacy, you thought, whilst preparing for the engagement photo call and subsequent interview. you looked like a match made in the portraits released to the public: stood outside of the palace; seunghyun in an ashy black suit paired with a deep maroon tie, you in a navy blue long sleeve dress that cut off right below your knees. he was holding his arm out for you, your hand adorned with the ring resting in plain view in the allotted gap. the smiles on your faces were irrefutable—this was solid; written in the stars. your eight minute engagement interview aired the following night—prefaced by b-roll of you two perusing the gardens arm-in-arm; him fixing your dress; you straightening his tie—reaching millions around the world. you were received as a kind, well-spoken, intelligent woman topped off with an endearing sense of introversion—“an expected prerequisite of stepping out of her shell,” the news anchor called it, to be specific. the details of your love story of the prince falling for a commoner (and your dress, quite frankly) led to record numbers of undergraduate applications sent to oxford the following cycle; local seamstresses became booked for weeks on end; department stores selling dupes of your dress were sold out for months at a time.

the several months between your engagement and wedding day were colorful in every possible meaning of the word. your time was spent wishing you had more time, in between moving into his residence (“our residence now, my love.”); sorting out your patronages and honorary titles you were to take on after officially becoming both a princess and the future queen; sifting through heaps of doting letters from the public and trying to respond to at least ten before heading to bed; fittings for an endless array of things (most importantly your wedding and reception dress, along with tours planned months in advance for when you’re officially a royal); cake and food tastings; visits to florists; selecting and meeting your new staff, bodyguards, and secretaries; routine visits with your fiancé to your future in-laws’ palaces to pick out a venue; setting up your office … it was endless.

seunghyun was born into this rodeo, so he helped wherever he could. he didn’t want to stifle any opportunities of you establishing your footing in a brand new lifestyle you needed to learn the ins and outs of, but also didn’t want to leave you hanging out on your own. he knew there was a very possible balance between the two, but couldn’t help but get ahead of himself sometimes (“a lady-in-waiting should be someone you’re close to. she’ll help in daily tasks and anything else you might need help with. i’ve told you this before.” “i don’t know who to pick, seunghyun. i don’t have many friends.” “we’ll find you some, then.” “no—that’s not what i’m trying to say, baby. i don’t want just anyone at the wedding, or in my daily life like that.”) he could only be so aware of his indescribable privilege and being privy to such dense knowledge of royal life. he’s admitted to these faults before, and they’ve manifested throughout your relationship. whether it be more passive—addressing luxury cars as if they were toyotas; footing the 12,000/month rent for your shared flat; using a first edition print of a classic novel as a makeshift coaster when he couldn’t find one in the kitchen cabinets; walking barefoot in his centuries-old historical residence decadent in paintings and fixtures worth millions in nothing but linen shorts and a lightweight v-neck sweater; eating a slice of pizza with a knife and fork, much to your amusement: “no, baby.” you simply tutted, getting up from your seat, a hand on his shoulder. “hm?” seunghyun turned his head, attention returning to his plate when you took the utensils out of his hands. “it comes to a point.” you told him with a grin, directing his fingers to hold the crust.

or it can be much more apparent. do not be mistaken by your faces being printed onto dinner plates and sold in gift shops—you and seunghyun are not the perfect couple. you’ve had petty arguments, a disagreement here and there, or outright misalignments. you try to talk it out, but if the circumstance proves to still be sensitive, you take an hour or two away. to seunghyun, this is your shared secret of a long lasting relationship—a testament in your trust of one another. that no matter what, a momentary rift is just that: momentary. you trust each other to feel love and happiness, but also frustration and disappointment—yes, they are equally important. there’s no point in suppressing what makes us human, especially in highly contentious environment seeking to suck the humanity out of you, such as the institution you were marrying into. he needed you, even when he acted amuck.

he had just hung up the phone with his eldest sister—a conversation ending in raised voices and inflamed discontent. he marched out of his office, running his hands over his face, trying to ease his frustration. you turned the corner, “oh, there you are.” his back was turned to you, hearing your loafers against the carpeted floors. “just when i think i know my way around this place, i walk into one of the three dining halls thinking its the hallway to your office.” you chuckled. seunghyun turned around with haste, trying to thwart his irritation. “what is it, baby?” “i wanted to tell you the appointment with our florist’s been moved to this thursday at three. my secretary received the call just a few moments ago. i’m hoping we can finalize the arrangements for the wedding.” “thursday?” seunghyun’s irritation was noticeble to you now. “this thursday? does it have to be?” “i’m afraid so.” you said, carefully observing him, a little confused. “is something wrong?”

“its just that—” he huffed. “its just that my sister’s suddenly—outlandishly demanded my presence.” “for?” “the architect i suggested for her renovations doesn’t meet her hellish standards, as she just so dotingly relayed to me on the phone just now.” he gestured dramatically to his office, returning both of his hands to his hips. you hummed in acknowledgement, nodding. you remembered she was moving into one of the family’s many cottages. as decadent and historical it was, it was aged and in need of an upgrade, at least to their standards—insert seunghyun referencing his trusted architect-interior designer duo he employed for the renovations made to his residence years ago. part of you couldn’t recognize what the fuss was all about. the cottage was huge, bigger than any normal person could ever hope for, yet there they were, bickering like it was a dinky studio apartment in the city. an air of snobbishness certainly ruminates in these halls, considering in this brief beat of silence, seunghyun cut you off before you could say something.

“she wanted an ‘egalitarian flair.’” he recited, kissing his teeth. he turned his head, watching you watch him. “you wouldn’t understand—” he cut himself off the moment he realized what words were leaving his mouth. he didn’t know what came over him, but the sight of your appalled expression served him right. “no, go on.” you challenged, crossing your arms over your chest. “i am your fiancée and the woman who will serve as your next queen. you should feel at ease saying anything in front of or to me. go on.” your stubbornness served as your defiant armor protecting you from a contradictory, unforgiving world, but being at the brunt of it was both humbling and shitty. seunghyun’s head sunk, slowly walking over to you with a stride of sympathy. “i’m sorry, my love,” he said. “i don’t know what came over me. i didn’t mean that.” “tell me what you said.” your tone was firm. “i’m not going to tell you something that i don’t mean.” said seunghyun. “why? because i might not understand it?” you retorted sharply.

frustration brewed in his chest. “if you knew what i said, why make a fool out of me?” “because you’re the one talking in circles—thinking i don’t know what egalitarian means!” you exclaimed. seunghyun huffed, “thats not what i—” “—i went to oxford too, you know.” you cut him off. “i might’ve not been at liberty to renovate my home at the drop of a hat, but i can understand where others are coming from.” seunghyun’s jaw tightened, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. “don’t make this about that.” he turned around, walking to the end of the hallway towards the terrace. “you know full well i am not the type of person to judge someone based off something as—as s-stubborn as the cards they’ve been dealt!” he exclaimed over his shoulder, sending a butler whom was walking down a neighboring corridor to re-route his path, avoiding the brewing conflict. you quickly followed after seunghyun, “you aren’t!” you said with haste. “and i know that!” you stepped out onto the balcony, the early spring wind brushing against your face.

“but—but these pockets of frustration—” it was so hard to find the words, like they were clogged in your throat, coming out fragmented. “its unfair for them to be mis-directed at me, with no warning! and with hardly an explanation afterwards.” seunghyun reached into the left pocket of his trousers, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. before he could open the box, you snatched both items away. “absolutely not—those things will kill you.” you scolded firmly, placing them atop the glass table behind you. brief, needed silence separated you two. seunghyun was the one to break it, “i’m sorry.” “for?” “being a stuck-up fuck.” you lifted your head, seeing him already looking at you. “i’m not going to lie and say you don’t have the tendency sometimes.” “i’m not sure if you knew this,” he eased into it. “but that’s why i have you around in the first place.”

you scoffed, unable to shake the smile off your face. “your apology’s only partially accepted.” seunghyun made the four step stride over to you, placing a kiss onto your temple. “is it whole now?” he asked. “marginally.” you answered, looking at the meadow ahead of you. you giggled at the ticklish feeling of his lips hovering closely above your cheek, kissing your lips softly. his hands made residence onto your lower back, pulling you closer when you reconnected the kiss. “whole.” you confirmed, hand holding the back of his head as he leaned down swiftly, planting a kiss just below your neck. his hand grabbed your left, pressing his lips against the back of it, humming in contentment upon feeling the diamond gently rub against his skin. “your sister needs to stuff it.” you told him. he looked at you, amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “can you put that in writing?”

your wedding took place in the summer of 1990. just under 1,500 guests attending the ceremony, ranging from close confidants to political leaders, to a much more intimate 200 invited to the evening reception. no amount of rehearsal could’ve prepared you for the oddity of the day. that saturday felt as if it played out in both slow motion and ten times fast—flashes of thousands lining the barricaded streets, you waving with a grand smile behind your veil and the closed windows of the rolls royce, your parents overjoyed and overwhelmed at the energy surrounding you; your eldest friend, most concrete confidant, and overall key to surviving your then-broken heart fixing the train of your off-white gown after you successfully got out of the car and made it inside, the chimes of bells filling your ears; the broadcast cameras capturing seunghyun’s siblings standing to his left at the altar as you walked down the aisle, already trying to blink away his tears; the organ drowned out any possibility of overhearing seunghyun’s “you picked a good one,” to you, quickly wiping away a fallen tear after taking in the sight of your gown and tiara adorning your fucking beautiful head—bridal boutiques were never the same; his sneaky, subtly and characteristically funny expressions to alleviate your nerves when repeating your vows the officiant recited for either of you—romance novels were never the same; suddenly, the wedding bands were on, and deafening celebration surrounded you as seunghyun’s hand held yours, helping you into the carriage before settling in himself for the public send off. “and here they are now,” a reporter from overseas spoke into his microphone, pressing down on his earpiece to hear himself. the cameraman zoomed in, capturing you and seunghyun waving graciously, smiling unabashedly. “a future king and queen—an unexpected match that has resonated with many far and wide. waving to not only the people of their realms, but to the world itself. may they—perhaps this partnership will fulfill the phrase we’ve known as children, and only from fairytales: and they live happily ever after.”

in the few hours before your reception, you and seunghyun re-cooperated at your residence. as soon as your dress was off, you made a b-line to the bathroom, soaking your feet in the cold water seunghyun had drawn in the tub at your request. “remind me to never break in heels the day i need to wear them.” you let out a breath of relief feeling the cold water hit the irritated skin of your feet, relaxing into your chair. seunghyun chuckled, pulling his own next to yours. he admired how you were able to humanize such grand things (you did just come home from a show-stopping wedding, after all) with undiluted, transparent humor. it was certainly a coping mechanism, and it worked well. “noted.” he murmured, kissing your temple. “we’ve done it, y'know.” he said, earning your attention. “we’re married now.” “we are.” you smiled. “you were magnificent up there,” seunghyun doted. “my beautiful wife.” “my beautiful husband.” you said back to him softly, earning a flustered giggle from him. “you make a very pretty princess.” he leaned in, kissing your lips gently. “i knew i made the right decision accepting your ring when the tiara started to feel weightless.” you both erupted in harmonious, organic laughter, bringing his lips back to yours.

transitioning to life as a working royal was unique. it brought about questions that opened a part of your brain and unleashed emotions you didn’t know you had: I’m not a political figure, yet a handshake or how well I do on do in outings hold as much as power as a legislator does signing a bill into law, you scribbled into your journal—a habit you inherited through osmosis from your husband early in your relationship; initially beginning as letter-writing when he was abroad—I’m not here to share to have or show my opinion, but if I don’t give the impression that I have a working brain, I’m labeled as a ditz. How funny is that? you let out a breath, stretching your arms out before returning your fountain pen to the page. Being impartial isn’t natural. No one wants me to change the world, but they want me to be it. Am I a humanitarian? A projection Something to be projected onto? I brought it up to the husband the other day during lunch, and he said I know who I am and I can make it however I want it to be. He’s got a point. He always does.

by far, he is your biggest fan. when you go on public engagements together, he is smiling in those photos like he’s the one meeting you. whether it was another hot mic moment where a reporter unknowingly picked up on him telling the head of a research facility “i can’t believe i was the one who got to marry her” before embarking on a guided tour of the building, or his asking staff to tape your news coverage when you were performing duties abroad by yourself; always making time to talk on the phone when either of you too were away—time differences were an effortless obstacle (“you are utterly magnificent, my love. you were born for this. i can’t believe it—i think you’ve given me an irregular heartbeat.” “i never thought your dramatics could be transmitted overseas, but i stand corrected.”); or trying to make light of harsh, unruly tabloids, he always stuck out for you—“this is my favorite one.” he slid the paper over to you, hiding his mischievous grin behind his teacup. “really?” you gave him a look. “the one about my armpit being too dark?” “its a ridiculous a waste of resources and insult to intelligence—thats why its hilarious!”

you never thought someone who looked like you would become a fashion icon, yet here you were. steps towards modernization came in waves: unsavory rumors began to swirl around of you being “difficult” when in actuality, you were refusing to work with luxury fashion brands if they rejected expanding their sizes for regular consumers and not just tailoring to you because of your status. it was of no problem to you since other brands naturally stepped up to the occasion, along with integrating small businesses and growing independent fashion houses into your professional and casual wardrobe, helping the underdogs of the world gain traction, as that was once you. not matter if you donned an evening gown and tiara, or a windbreaker with denim shorts and a baseball cap—things were flying off the shelves, camera shutters were going off, and fashion magazine sales skyrocketed.

your precision showed in your makeup choices, too: enhancing your features, but was ultimately sheer, particularly the foundation. you wanted the world to see your freckles; hyperpigmentation; a new spot, or whatever it was. you also had a hand in your speeches—making the language less academic, and more personable. the royal family always moved with purpose—this was just part of your personal arsenal. as confusing as this dynamic was to navigate, no matter how your secretaries or seunghyun told you to explore this multi-layered endeavor, all you knew is that you wanted to be approachable. to be real. this was just one way to do it, even if at times it compromised the amount of respect you received within palace walls. the fact that your popularity was directly derived from your subtle defiance of antiquated tradition certainly ruffled the feathers of traditionalists that shall not be named. but just one strongly worded letter from seunghyun, however, or him threatening to drive his range rover up there, and no advisor dared to say another thing. “all she does is exist as she is, and they love her. do you know how hard it is to do that?” seunghyun ranted in the voicemail box of one of the queen’s advisors that he never liked (the one that got him sent off to the military academy, specifically.) “you’ve never been able to figure out how to do yourself in the fifty years you’ve worked for my family. don’t try to now. see the bigger picture. they adore her. they saw a glimpse of her goddamn lip balm and now she has to get it shipped from elsewhere because its completely sold out. get your head out of your ass.”

you were pregnant six months later—seunghyun and you reduced to joyous tears at the sight of your baby girl on the ultrasound screen. the country and world celebrated with you: landmarks, bridges, and fountains suddenly illuminated with the color pink after the printed and framed announcement was posted on an easel outside of your residence. you continued your duties into halfway through your second trimester—photos of your darling baby bump underneath your coat and glowing skin coating the papers. but once you couldn't stand the heels as your back pain and nausea worsened, and your loafers weren’t doing the trick anymore, you gradually took a step back. your morning sickness fluctuated, at times leaving you bedridden until the early afternoon. your stomach made it hard to shave your legs; too embarrassed to ask a member of your staff to help you, and too fragile to put on stockings, you let it grow.

pregnancy was excruciating. there was no sugarcoating it. seunghyun did everything he could as per the doctor’s orders and his plain instinct from seeing you in so much fucking pain—decorating your side of the king-sized bed with the best maternity pillows in the market; massaging cocoa butter onto your bump every night and morning; making love to your puffy lips like clockwork, helping you relax overly-tense muscles before helping you dress; reading every single piece of what to expect when you’re expecting-related literature he can get his hands on; blinking away his misty eyes at the sound of guttural relief ringing viscerally from your lungs when he held your bump in his palms, pressing kisses to your shoulder—“i am so sorry.” he said meekly. “its—its duty.” you were out of breath, holding onto your wooden bed frame for support whilst seunghyun adjusted his grip below your stomach. “she’ll be worth it. our match made.” you huffed. “she kicks a lot—she’ll be a ruckus force just like her father.”

you and seunghyun have seen one another in vulnerable states throughout the years, but it seems marriage and preparing for parenthood lifted a new veil entirely. the vows for better or worse, in sickness and in health echoing through the high walls of your wedding ceremony and subsequently the world held massive merit, and though some spouses may not mean it when they say it, you two certainly did—your growing baby meant recalibrating your body from time to time to find a new sleeping or sitting position, walking in a way that didn’t have more back begging for mercy, and more pressure applied to your bladder. you were carrying, living, breathing, eating, and digesting for two now, which meant frequent trips to the bathroom throughout the night; fragmenting your sleep. if you didn’t get up from your side of the bed or shuffle across the bedroom in time, seunghyun then helped you into the shower to wash off, or sat in the bath behind you if you felt particularly sheepish.

a month before you were due, seunghyun woke up to your empty side of the bed. hastily speed-walking out of your bedroom, he heard shuffling in the kitchen. he opened the door, seeing you; heavily pregnant, standing in the dark, trying to open a jar in tears. your husband’s silhouette is second nature. seunghyun looked for the light switch, but you quickly protested, “d-dont.” you sniffled. “my—my vision’s a bit sensitive. the lighting makes me dizzy.” his hand found your lower back, lips kissing your temple. “my love, what’s wrong?” he asked so gently, lips returning to your skin upon hearing you cry harder. it didn’t matter that it was half three in morning on a tuesday night and he had to be up at seven for a busy day at work—he was here. “what’s wrong? hm? tell me.” “i just—i just wanted peanut butter.” you said weakly. “and i—and i can’t see the expiry date well because i can’t t-turn on the light. and i can’t reach the bread, because its high on the shelf and the pain is just too much,” you had to momentarily stop yourself from succumbing to blubbering through your tears. “and there’s this—there’s this itch on my back that i can’t fucking reach.”

seunghyun didn’t hesitate. “here, i’ll do it.” he said, fingers ghosting your back. “by your neck? or—” “—below my left shoulder.” his forehead found your temple at the sound of your relieved breath, his hand underneath your shirt, nails raking gingerly on the troubled spot. “i’ll put lotion and oil on your back before bed. you need to rest.” he spoke softly. “its nearly impossible to feel comfortable.” you muttered. “everything hurts.” “i know,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “d'you want me to make some toast, baby? it won’t take long.” “how am i supposed to be a mother, seunghyun?” your voice sounded perishable. “let alone—let alone raise a fucking future monarch?” your bottom lip trembled, pressing your fingers against it in an attempt to halt the brewing tears. “i’m trembling over a piece of bread, yet there is someone on the way who will depend on me to live. i don’t even know what i’m doing half the time. what am i supposed to tell her? its all—its all guesswork for me. i—i don’t know what i’m going to do.” “you have me.” his voice remaining stable helped ease your heartbeat. he was always so good at this. “she has us. we’ll figure this out together. i know we will.”

your first-born daughter and the nation’s future monarch came into the world early in the morning in september 1991, a few months after your first wedding anniversary—screaming at the top of her lungs. labor was arduous, pushing even more so. you called desperately to your mother, whom was also in the delivery room with you and seunghyun at your request. her kind, encouraging words coupled with a tender hand on your forehead provided solace, but once it was time to push, all hell broke loose. you squeezed the life out of seunghyun’s hand, yelling in pain whilst his lips never left your temple, tears escaping his eyes as his words were extensions of his vows: “you’re doing so good. you’re doing so fucking good, i’m so proud of you. you’re the strongest person i know, baby,” breaking into a sob once he heard his daughter make herself known, staring in awe as she was dried off and placed onto your chest for skin-to-skin, snuggled underneath a warm blanket.

the following day, she was introduced to the world. swaddled safely and tenderly in what looked to be the softest blanket ever stitched, her small face and full head of hair painted the nation’s landmarks in a celebratory shade of pink once more. initially held in your arms, you and seunghyun stepped out of the hospital wing to rapturous celebration when those doors opened. it took on an entirely different, almost awestruck tone when you came into view, descending down those few steps with his hand carressing your lower back. in your time as a public figure and dutiful worker under the crown, you had never heard camera shutters go off so fast. you carefully handed her off to her father, the both of you approaching reporters side by side after giving each other a quick nod—a coordinated team effort. “she’s thankfully got her looks,” seunghyun spoke with a smile, letting out a laugh at your playful scoff, your own beautiful smile adorning your face. “well, i don’t know about that.” you chuckled. “seunghyun was actually the one who changed the first diaper!” you answered another reporter’s question with glee, hands instinctually re-tucking the blanket after a small gust of wind flew by.

figuring out parenthood, as anticipated, was at a day-by-day basis. you and your husband learned her different cries quickly, and he was a master at holding her securely with one arm by the end of her first month. you were offered nannies as protocol, but turned most of them away, preferring to be hands on as much as you could before your maternity leave ended, ushering you back into your duties. there were patterns in your daughter’s behavior, but if anything new came up, it was a quick call to action from both her mother and father. she traveled with you once she was old enough and given the all-clear by the family pediatrician—a break from antiquated tradition seunghyun was more than happy to break from, doting on his seven month old as she had her tummy time on a pull-out bed aboard the royal jet. My daughter won’t spent her most important developing years wondering where her parents are like her father did, seunghyun wrote in his diary. I was taught an at early age that my parents were busy. They were, and for good reason. But a child is a child. And sometimes, I just wanted my mother.

once she started walking, it was tough for either of you to catch up with those small legs—numerous accounts reported in the papers of people seeing you and seunghyun in the park, tuckered out by your toddler’s antics before strategically ambushing her by a picnic table, seunghyun scooping her into his arms; photos taken at the annual palace garden party hosting dignitaries and political leaders alike, the future queen scuttling quickly across the green grass meadow towards an archway decorated with multi-colored balloons whilst her parents, the heirs to the throne, just let her have her way at some point; paparazzi capturing you and seunghyun on an afternoon walk outside of your residence, clad in puffer jackets, sunglasses, and baseball caps as he pushed your sleepy daughter in her stroller. the world’s reception to you as parents was thankfully very supportive and understanding, as any parent would empathize the uncertainty that came to doing this for the first time, and on a global stage, for that matter.

your subtly unconventional approaches to what is historically practiced by the royal family routinely littered the papers, starting with the outfits you wore when you introduced your daughter to the world: a light sweater, trousers, and loafers. seunghyun wore something similar, although he had adidas trainers on. critics pointed to how royals, including seunghyun’s close relatives, donned dresses and suits when first introducing their children. to you, personally, that was outrageous and not on the table whatsoever. “to each their own,” you told seunghyun in your hospital room, gearing up for the press call after your hair was washed by a midwife you will never forget. “but i would rather not be grimacing at my heels pinching my feet as i hold the most precious cargo i could ever bear.” some part of it worked in your favor (“as always,” particularly aggrieved palace personnel would begrudgingly acknowledge) optics wise, mostly with fellow mothers: I see myself in you, a young mother of two wrote to you when your daughter was four months old. We know what that pain feels like and what it can do to our bodies. To hell with people who want us to perform.

your daughter started needing personal space at three-years-old, nudging herself off her father to have her feet on the sidewalk, holding his hand as he led her into the hospital wing to meet her baby sister. “wave to them, my love.” he told her gently, gesturing to the crowd with a flick of his head. “go on.” a smile stretched across his mouth when her palm shook in the air for a brief moment, unable to help his leaning down and pressing a kiss onto her face. your daughters were a dynamic duo if you’ve ever seen one: the youngest demanding with her limited rolodex of words that she also come to send off her older sister to her first day of kindergarten; shy, yet coordinated funny faces to cameras on the handful of royal engagements you brought them on throughout their childhood; seunghyun and you caught comedically off guard when you pointed out their grandfather in the crowd of a tennis tournament, seeing your eldest tap your youngest on the shoulder before both of them stuck out their tongues; or the paparazzi photo that sealed the belief of you being a tight-knit family: your six-year-old asleep on your husband’s chest, your nine-year-old sat in the middle seat and dozed off on your shoulder, either parent getting much needed shut-eye after a long two weeks of summertime travel, safe in the confines of the rolls royce about to leave the airport tarmac.

you took the babies to disney world when they were fifteen and twelve, respectively. despite having bodyguards, cameras following you, and eyes of strangers lingering at all times, you wanted to give them a normal childhood as much as you possibly could. you stood in lines for rides and food, dressed in light jackets and stylish sneakers—enjoying your vacation like other families. you got onto whatever your children desired, starting the day with you and seunghyun playing a quick match of rock-papers-scissors since the kids wanted to go on different rides, and either of you found yourself aligned with either of them. he ended up winning, but you got your reward later that afternoon on a water ride, laughing with unabashed joy at the sight of your soaked husband sat in a different car, as there wasn’t enough seats to fit him in with you and your daughters, sending him humorously to sit with the bodyguards. he didn't hide his chuckle when your eldest pulled you towards the drop tower shortly before leaving the amusement park in the evening, overhearing your “i don’t know if i have the heart anymore for that, baby,” before standing in line without further protest. the photos from this day didn’t leave the papers for weeks.

seunghyun sat comfortably in his seat on the royal jet. he looked to you sat across from him, his darling wife of nearly two decades, fast asleep with your arms crossed over your chest. a bracelet your youngest daughter—now fifteen years old—made for you poked out of the sleeve of your windbreaker; blue and silver beads adorning your wrist. your silvering hair glistened in the peeks of sunlight funneling through the plane window; smile lines evidence of a life lived with transparent and unapologetic emotion. you were still a princess and seunghyun a prince, protocols for his coronation—whenever that day would come—long known for you since your engagement, and him since his sentience. perhaps it was only a matter of time before that day came, but for now, you lived and served as you knew how. he’s grown with his work, finally able to integrate his academics and interests into his life as a royal—serving on the board for the country's national art archive. you have a surplus of engagements, as does seunghyun, mainly ranging charity and non-profit related endeavors closely similar to the work you did before becoming a royal.

it was a physically and emotionally exhaustive last few days. you and seunghyun helped your eldest, now eighteen, move into her dorm and settle in at oxford before term started later that week. your youngest currently resented you two for her not being able to come due to her third year at preparatory school beginning earlier than her sister’s university start-date, but you and seunghyun would address that when she visited home next weekend. your youngest’s school was much closer to home and less strict than seunghyun’s was when he was her age. he’s always the first to greet her at the door with a kiss and hug when she came home every other weekend, making sure the chefs prepare her favorite dishes and receive shipments of the palace’s tangerines in time as she’s always been fond of them.

seunghyun unzipped his bag, pulling out his journal and fountain pen. with a satisfied huff, he turned to the next open page, which was about halfway through. When I was nineteen, with a buzzcut and deeper resentment for my parents than when I was thirteen, I used to often wonder about a different version of my life. If I was born into a different family, or better yet, not the eldest. his crow’s feet crinkled with his amused grin, continuing his scribbles. I wasn’t elected to do my job, but I have to serve nonetheless. Its even more ridiculous that I have to ask someone else to do it with me, as embarrassing and greedy it feels. But when I see my beautiful daughters who are wholly the product of my gracious, intelligent, generous, and indescribably beautiful wife, I cannot help but be selfish. To tell myself I deserve the life I live, that it is not a lottery but a fruit of hidden labor, and I won’t let anyone stop it or even attempt to step in the way of it.

he took a breath. I am able to love because of her. We bicker over what to eat for dinner. I tell her when I don’t like her dress, and she tells me when she doesn’t like my tie. My daughters make fun of my shoes and scurry away embarrassed when I drop them off at school playing my cassettes. The love of my life knows me, and I know her. I couldn’t ask for anything better. For the first time in my life, I have made peace with my fate of duty. I do not have to pretend to be happy, for I am so lucky to have a beating heart.

honey's tag list! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf, @infinetlyforgotten, @mesopotamism, @riddlerloveb0t, @pepsicolapussi, @breakmeoff

[loveesiren]

Freaks

[petersasteria]

boys, boys, boys (3) - all

Pairing: jiyong x reader, daesung x reader, seunghyun x reader Summary: a silly tiktok trend

Daesung: fashion and random childhood lore no one asked for

Daesung is usually quiet on social media, so you took it upon yourself to feed your boredom and his fans to some new content.

"Let's make a TikTok!" You exclaimed giddily. He looked at you like you grew another head.

"I'm good, thanks." He said, not really up for it. The thought of filming something and doing it all over again just for a 15 second clip is so taxing.

"Noooo, I promise you'll have fun!" You pleaded.

He whined and said, "I don't fee like dancing, Y/N."

"We won't dance!! We'll just do a few silly trends." You promised, with a smile on your face.

"A few??"

"Okay, maybe just two because that's all I can handle." You confessed and he nodded. "Alright." He shrugged. "What're we going to do?"

"I really want to do the Super Freak challenge thing." You laughed and showed him a few videos.

"Ooooh, so it's like random lore from like ages ago. I see that most of it is being sent to the emergency room or something like that." Daesung said, finally getting it.

"Yup." You smiled. "We'll do separate videos for it. I'll film you and you'll film me."

"Got it. You can go first so I know what to do." Daesung said.

Getting to work quickly, you gave Daesung your phone and he started filming. When the music began, you held back your laugh and started talking.

"One thing about me is that when I was 16, I got a part time job at a grocery store. It was a tiring job, but it was fun because every day is like a wild card." You started.

Daesung nodded intently. It was his first time hearing about this, after all.

"On a peaceful Sunday, my whole being shattered because of my co-workers. You see, I had to restock instant ramen noodles so I went to go and get it at the back room. When I got there, I heard some noises. I literally stopped in front of the door. I was scared to go in because it sounded like porn."

Daesung let out a laugh.

You laughed too, "I thought I could handle it because it's no big deal. It's normal to watch porn. I went inside and to my surprise, I saw my two co-workers getting it on. I was so traumatized that I just stood there. I didn't know what to do because I was only 16. My co-workers saw me and literally stopped. The three of us stared at each other. Then I said, 'I need to get some ramen' and then I just walked passed them and grabbed a box of ramen. As someone very awkward, I told them to 'carry on' before I left. So the next day, I quit my job. That's the story of my short career as a part time grocery store employee."

Daesung stopped filming and he couldn't stop laughing. "Oh my god! That's so traumatic!"

"Yeah, it was! Your turn!" You were very excited. You wondered what Daesung's secret lore was. He stood where you stood earlier as you took his place on the couch.

"Okay, I'm ready for my close up." Daesung jokingly said. You laughed and hit record.

"One thing about me is that when I was 6, we had family reunion at my aunt's house. My older cousins were all together and I wanted to be just like them. They did gymnastics and they were doing all these tricks. I wanted to impress them 'cause they were so cool so I went up to them and told them to see what I can do."

"Oh god." You muttered, stifling a laugh.

"I showed them a lot of different tricks. I did a flip and landed in a split. I wasn't supposed to land in a split, so when I did, I heard a few cracks. My cousins were shocked and stood there in surprise. I held back all my tears and tried to look cool. I even did a pose and tried to wink, but the pain was unbearable and I started to cry." Daesung said with a bright smile on his face as he told the story.

"Oh no." You giggled.

"One of my cousins, helped me stand up but my legs were hurting so, so bad. My mom and my aunt heard that I was crying so they went outside to see the commotion. My other cousin explained what had happened and my mom panicked and called an ambulance. When they arrived, I was screaming in pain. I was sent to the E.R. and my thighs were swelling and my mom created a scene. I was so embarrassed that I covered my face and then my thigh's muscle decided to strain. Due to my age, I was in sheer agony so I started to faint. When I woke up, it was already the next day and I was in my room with ice packs on my thighs. When it got healed, I never did a flip ever again." Daesung finished his story with a laugh.

You ended the video and uploaded both of your videos on TikTok and Instagram. You immediately got a bunch of notifications (especially from his fans) with funny comments to read. Many people even requested you two to do more.

Surprisingly, Daesung was the one who initiated your second TikTok. He wanted to try the random fashion one while you were out shopping. You entered a thrift shop and started filming each other. Like last time, you went first.

You stood next to a random rack of t-shirts and started walking as Daesung filmed. "Stop." He said.

You grabbed the shirt and laughed, "Oh my god. This is so 2012."

"You gotta get something to pair it with." Daesung chuckled. You both went to the pants section and you started walking.

"Stop." Daesung said.

You pulled out the pants and your jaw dropped. "No way! Can I try again?"

He shook his head laughing, "Nope! Don't cheat! Get some shoes now."

You went to the shoe section and you closed your eyes (as per Daesung's instructions). You held your hand out and hovered over the shoes and you began walking.

"Stop."

You opened your eyes and laughed. "What the actual fuck are these? Oh, god. I'm so getting revenge on you."

You went to shirt section again and Daesung seemed nervous.

"I'm actually scared."

"Oh, you should be." You joked.

He chuckled, held his hand out and started walking as you filmed the whole thing.

"Stop." You said

He grabbed the shirt and loudly said, "Yah, why is it like this!?!" He turned the shirt to show you and you laughed so hard.

"Bottom wear time!" You laughed.

You went to the pants section again and he started walking.

"Stop."

He grabbed the pants and sighed in defeat, "These are so ugly! Oh my god. I think they're too small!"

"Yeah, but you can't go again." You giggled at his misery.

When it was time to get shoes, Daesung said, "Make it a good one at least."

"No promises. Go!"

A few second later, "Stop!" You said.

Daesung groaned, "Jesus! They're in different colors too!"

"Ready to buy them?" You laughed, still filming him. He shook his head and playfully glared at you, "I hate this."

You laughed and he ended up laughing too. You ended the video, paid for the clothes, and went home. When you got home, you wore the clothes you bought and took pictures to post on your Instagram: new tiktok video coming soon x

"I really love doing these random things with you." Daesung chuckled.

"Aww, I love it too, Dae."

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you more, Dae."

"I love you most."

Jiyong: suspect

You wanted to do a TikTok challenge, but you didn't know which one to do until you watched a few videos of people doing the suspect challenge. That's when you had a bright idea to bring in Jiyong with you.

"Why do I have to do this?" Jiyong sighed.

"Because it's funny and your fans will like it." You shrugged.

"And how do you do this challenge thingy?" Jiyong questioned with a hand on his hip.

"Basically just roast me and I'll roast you." You explained and he nodded. "Got it."

"How about I'll go first so you get the gist?" You asked and he nodded. You started filming and he starts jogging. "Suspect acts all tough, but relied on Youngbae to save him at school."

He stopped jogging and turned to you with his jaw dropped, "Oh my god. Shut the fuck up. My turn."

He turned the camera towards you and you started to jog. "Suspect orders a bunch of food and claims she prepares it."

You gasped, "That only happened once!"

Thus, began the back and forth banter.

"Suspect keeps coloring his hair to deem himself cool, but his hairline is receding." "TAKE THAT BACK!!"

"Suspect says she doesn't need glasses, but she can't read from afar." "I don't need them!!"

"Suspect acts all big to compensate for his short height." "Fuck you, honestly."

"Suspect has a lot of junk in her bag and claims that she's sentimental." "I AM!!" "Throw the candy wrapper away, Y/N!! THAT WAS FROM TWO YEARS AGO!!!" "Yeah, but you bought that for me from Japan!"

"Suspect wears my clothes just so people will compliment his fashion choices." "GIRL, YOU DID NOT-"

"Suspect pretended to not know who I was when we first met." "I WAS TRYING TO BE CUTE!!"

You uploaded the video and it immediately got a ton of views. You and Jiyong were actively reading the comments and laughed every time someone said something funny.

"I kinda wanna do a part 2." Jiyong confessed. "I had so much fun roasting you."

You snorted, "Likewise. Let's do a part 2 soon."

"Yes, please!"

Seunghyun: we listen and we don't judge (we lowkey do tho)

Your boyfriend was never chronically online. He never kept up with the latest trends and challenges so he was surprised when you asked him to do a TikTok with you. Usually, you'd ask your friends and sometimes, Daesung, to do one with you. He was so honored.

"So what'll we do?" He asked as he sat down on the floor, staying in frame as you set up your phone on the coffee table.

"We'll do the 'we listen and we don't judge' challenge. It's basically confessing your opinions or thoughts that you never told anyone." You explained, getting ready to start filming.

"Okay." He nodded. "You go first so I know what to do."

"Alright. So, we have to say 'we listen and we don't judge' together before every confession."

"Got it."

You started filming.

"We listen and we don't judge." You said in unison. "Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I pull up a PDF version of the storybooks I used to read as a kid and read to myself until I doze off."

"Oh my lord." He laughed. "Wake me up next time so I can read to you!"

"We listen and we don't judge."

"To get away from everyone, I tell the guys that I'm coming home early to hang out with you, but I just go to a samgyeopsal place to eat by myself in peace because I rarely have me time these days." He chuckled.

"You don't have to use me for your cover up." You laughed. "Just tell the truth."

"We listen and we don't judge."

"Sometimes, I tell you that I ordered something healthy so that I don't have to hear you nag about me eating junk." You said shyly and his jaw dropped.

"Are you scared of me?" He laughed hard and you nodded. "To be fair, you look like a meanie." You defensively said.

The more you did, the more judge-y it got.

"We listen and we don't judge." "I'm not gonna say who, but I don't like that one friend of yours because she's fishy."

"We listen and we don't judge." "I'm not a fan of your new cologne."

"We listen and we don't judge." "Sometimes, when we go out with your friends and their boyfriends, I judge their boyfriends because I don't see them as a good fit for your besties." "Oh my god, do you really?!" You laughed and he nodded, holding back his laughter.

"We listen and we don't judge." "When I took your nephew shopping, he accidentally ripped the sleeve when trying it on and I told the saleslady that it was ripped and I blamed it on the previous kid who tried it on." "My god, Y/N, that's evil!" He chuckled.

"I'm having so much fun!" You exclaimed happily.

"Maybe we should do this while doing skin care next time so it's more calming." He suggested.

"Wait, what do you mean 'next time'?" You eyed him.

He shrugged, "I like hanging out with you and I really liked this... activity."

"Aww, I'm glad you had fun! I love you so much."

"I love you too."

-

permanent taglist: @redhoodedtoad @billiesiousji @hayd3n8 @sherrayyyyy @nbjch05 @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @emmiesoverthemoon @breakmeoff @sayugarper @gdinthehouseee

jiyong taglist: @loveesiren @aizshallnotbefound

seunghyun taglist: @loveesiren

daesung taglist: @tabibabib

[sillylilsquid]

I was wondering if you'd ever consider writing a sub Thanos fic 🧍

ask and you shall receive! this was so much fun writing, i live for sub!thanos. thank you for the request!!

𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢

♥︎summary: Thanos might play the tough guy in front of his friends, but behind closed doors, he only submits for you. One night, after a fight and a party, you decide it’s time to remind him who really holds the reins—and make him beg for what he wants most.

♥︎trigger warnings: au, no squid game. afab!reader. oc thanos, sub!thanos sexual themes, brief descriptions of weed. minors dni!! 18+

♥︎a/n: 7.8k words. i did not proof read this, so apologies if there are any mistakes!!🖤

The hum of the club was almost soothing, a distant pulse of music vibrating through the walls. You stood at the bar, tapping your fingers against the counter as you waited for the drink you ordered, eyes shifting around the sea of people, when suddenly you heard a familiar voice raised in anger.

It was Thanos. His deep baritone, usually so calm and controlled, was now edged with something you couldn’t quite place. You leaned slightly, hoping to hear better as you caught snippets of his conversation with someone else. A low chuckle followed by sharp words you couldn’t quite make out, but the tension in his tone was unmistakable. His friends had to be the ones on the receiving end of his frustration.

You turned your head slightly, eyes scanning the crowd. There they were–Thanos surrounded by his usual group, but tonight something was different. Nam Gyu, in particular, was egging him on. His friends didn’t seem to care that Thanos wasn’t playing along. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying whatever game they were playing at his expense.

“I’m not a fucking joke,” Thanos growled, his jaw clenched. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and for the first time tonight, he looked…vulnerable.

Nam Gyu laughed, a taunting sound, clearly pushing Thanos’ buttons further. “Oh, come on, Thanos. What are you gonna do? Get all tough guy on us again?”

“You think you’re the only one who matters?” Another friend snickered, clearly enjoying the tension building. “Tell your girl to stop acting like a bitch and let you off that lease she has you on, then maybe we’ll all be cool.”

You felt the insult cut through the air. Your girl? You hadn’t even realized that part of the argument had escalated to that point. Your chest tightened, but you didn’t flinch, not yet. What really stung was that his friends were deliberately trying to provoke him with comments about you. They knew that would hit him where it hurt.

Thanos’ eyes flashed with fury, his muscles visibly tensing as if he were about to explode. His usual icy composure was unraveling. “Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, voice barely above a growl. “You don’t know anything about her.”

There was a moment’s hesitation as the others sensed that they had pushed too far. But Nam Gyu, ever the instigator, wasn’t backing down. “Come on, man,” he laughed. “I’m just saying, maybe she’s the problem. You’ve been a different guy since she showed up.”

Thanos’ eyes narrowed, his whole body going rigid. He wasn’t going to tolerate this, but the anger was bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to break free. He spun around quickly, his fist slamming into the counter of the table with a deafening crack. “I don’t have time for this.”

Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the club, pushing past his friends as if they were nothing. His footsteps were heavy, distant, and you watched as he made his way to the exit. 

You didn’t hesitate. You set your drink down, heart pounding, and quickly you made your way toward the door, following him outside.

As you stepped into the cool night air, you saw him standing alone by his car, back to you, staring off into the distance. The sounds of the club faded away, leaving only the quiet hum of the city around you. He was so still, his posture rigid, his broad shoulders tense. You could feel the weight of everything he was holding in, his frustration, his anger, and now…his exhaustion.

You approached slowly, your shoes thudding softly against the pavement. “Thanos?” Your voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the silence between you.

He didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t even move at first. His shoulders stiffened as you spoke, and for a second, you thought he might tell you to go back inside.

“Go back inside,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You shook your head, refusing to back down. “You’re not fine,” you replied, your voice hesitant. “That wasn’t nothing back there.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence between you. He didn’t speak, his jaw still clenched as he stood there, staring off into the distance, clearly unwilling to open up. You could tell he was trying to shut you out, but you weren’t going to let him. Not this time.

You stepped closer, your hand reaching out to rest gently on his chest. The moment your touch made contact, he froze, his muscles tightening under your palm. But this time, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you stepped around him, positioning yourself in front of him so he couldn’t look away. You needed him to face you, to confront this.

“What happened back there?” you asked softly. “Why did you leave?”

Thanos didn’t respond immediately. He stared down at the ground, a muscle in his jaw twitching, before his voice broke through the quiet. “I’m just tired,” he said, voice rough, raw. “Tired of pretending to be something I’m not. Tired of acting like I have everything under control when I don’t.”

You could see it in his eyes–his tough exterior was slipping, and he wasn’t sure how to stop it. The walls he’d built around himself were crumbling, and the more he fought to keep it all together, the more  you could see the vulnerability in him.

You took a step closer, keeping your hand on his chest. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered. “Not tonight.”

Thanos’ eyes flickered to yours, and you saw the hint of something deeper there. Something that wasn’t just anger or frustration. It was yearning. He was letting himself feel something for the first time in what felt like forever, and that alone felt like a victory.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t deepen the kiss. He was still, almost unsure if he was allowed to surrender. But then, as if testing the waters, his hands reached up, hesitating, before gently resting on your waist, pulling you closer just a little.

When you pulled away, your breaths mingled, and his eyes were darker now. There was something different in them, something that wasn’t there before.

“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse, a quiet plea. “Tell me what to do.”

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers over the side of his jaw. “I will,” you whispered back, your voice low and commanding. “But first, you’re going to listen.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes on your lips. You could see him bracing for whatever came next, trying to hold on to the last sliver of control–but you weren’t giving him the chance.

“You’re going to go back in there,” you said calmly, “and you’re going to tell your friends we’re leaving. No excuses, no attitude. Just tell them we’re going home.”

Thanos blinked, confused, almost like he hadn’t heard you right. “You…want me to back in there? Now?” he asked, cautiously.

“Mhm,” you nodded, your thumb brushing lightly over his chin. “And you’re gonna let me drive.”

His brows furrowed, immediate resistance flashing in his eyes. “My car?” he asked. “Babe, I don’t let anyone drive my car.”

You stepped even closer, your body just barely pressing against his. “And yet,” you murmured, eyes locking with his, “you’re going to hand me the keys.”

Thanos hesitated. A beat of silence stretching between you as the weight of your words sank in. You could see the war playing out behind his eyes. His pride, his instincts, his carefully curated tough-guy armor trying to hold on just a little longer.

But you didn’t budge. Your gaze was unwavering, your tone gentle but firm. “You don’t get to act like you don’t want this. I know what you’re like when it’s just us. I know how you soften up. How you need someone to take control when you’re like this. So let me.”

Thanos’ breath hitched, his throat moving as he swallowed again. You could practically see the moment he gave in–shoulders slumping just a little, fingers twitching like he was reaching for something to ground himself.

Then, slowly, wordlessly, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the keys. 

You took them gently, not breaking eye contact as you closed your fingers around the metal. “Good boy” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. He let out a shaky breath, and for once, he didn’t argue.

The engine purred to life under your touch, smooth and powerful, just like the man now sitting in silence beside you.

Thanos hadn’t said a word since you took his keys. He’d told his friends you both were leaving, then opened the passenger door without protest, and slumped into the seat like he was still recovering from the fact that he’d actually handed the keys over. You didn’t even have to look to know his hands were clasped in his lap, his legs slightly spread, jaw tight with tension he wasn’t sure how to carry anymore.

The road was empty, the streetlights casting long, golden shadows across the pavement. You drove slow–on purpose. Letting the silence hang, letting him stew in it. You could feel his glances, those flickers of hesitation, like he wanted to say something but knew better than to break the tension you’d built.

Your hand casually slid to the gearshift, brushing against his thigh. You felt him stiffen, just barely, but it was there.

You smirked. “You okay over there?” you asked, like you didn’t already know.

He shifted, not meeting your gaze. “Yeah,” he muttered.

A soft noise escaped your lips, almost a hum. “You’ve been quiet. That’s new.” You turned your head just enough to catch the way his jaw flexed. “You always get this quiet when you’re being good?”

His lips parted, like he was going to answer but nothing came out.

You let him sit in the silence for a beat longer before adding, “I like it. I like seeing you like this.”

Thanos exhaled slowly, chest rising with the effort of keeping himself composed.

“You always act like you’re in control,” you went on, voice smooth, controlled. “Like you’re the one pulling all the strings. But the second I tell you what to do…you fold.”

“I don’t,” he said too quickly.

You raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide your amusement. “No?”

He glanced over at you, eyes darker than before, mouth slightly parted. “I just–” he cut himself off, then looked out the window. “I just don’t want to fight you.”

“Is that what this is?” you said softly, keeping your eyes on the road, but your hand steadily moved to rest on his thigh. “A fight?”

Another pause. Then, quietly– “No.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Because you want to give in. you want someone else to decide for you. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You slid your hand higher up his thigh, not enough to touch anything important, but just enough to make his breath catch.

Thanos tilted his head back against the seat, lips parted as he stared at the roof of his car. “You’re not playing fair,” he mumbled.

You smiled. “I’m not playing at all.”

Thanos didn’t say a word when you parked the car in front of his apartment building. Just climbed out quietly, hands shoved into his pockets to hide how tightly they were clenched. He unlocked his door with slow, careful movements, holding it open for you like he always did, but not looking at you. You didn’t call him out on it–just walked in with your chin high, claiming the space like it was yours.

Because tonight, it was. The door clicked shut behind him. The silence stretched, warm and heavy.

You turned to face him, watching the way he stood there, tall and still and tense like was waiting to be scolded. Or told what to do.

“You did good,” you told him, fingers reaching up to brush the collar of his jacket. “Listening to me. Letting me drive your precious car.”

He gave a small nod, eyes on your mouth.

“But,” you continued, letting your fingers trail down his chest, “you hesitated. You still fought it.”

“I didn’t mean to–” he started.

“I know you didn’t,” you cut him off gently. “But I think you need a little help…letting go.”

You stepped closer, closing the space between you and pressed your hand against the center of his chest. He felt solid and warm beneath your palm, his heart beating a little too fast.

“Take off your jacket.”

Thanos obeyed instantly, tugging it off his shoulders with practiced movements. You took it from him and tossed it on the kitchen table. 

“Now, sit.”

His eyes shot to the couch, then back to you, like he was waiting to see if you were serious.

You didn’t break eye contact. “Now.”

And god, he moved. Sat down with a thud, legs wide, hands braces on his knees. Looking up at you like he didn’t know whether to beg or apologize.

You stood between his legs, fingers slipping into his brightly colored hair. “You’ve been holding back for so long,” you whispered. “Trying to keep up this tough act. But I see you, Thanos. I know what you really need.”

His eyes fluttered shut at the sound of your voice, and you felt the smallest tremble in his shoulders. 

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” you promised. “You just sit there, look pretty, and listen to me.”

He let out of the softest, breathiest “okay” you’d ever heard.

And then you leaned down, lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “good boy.”

You didn’t sit beside him. You didn’t straddle him or lean in for a kiss. Not yet. Instead, you stayed standing between his legs, close enough that your thighs brushed his knees, but just far enough that he couldn’t reach you unless you let him.

Thanos looked up at you, confused, a little lost. And maybe a little desperate. 

You smiled slowly. “Don’t slouch,” you murmured. “Back straight. Hands on your thighs.”

Immediately, he obeyed. Back straightening, fingers flexing before they settled flat on his jeans. Waiting. Listening.

Then you circled him like a shark–slow, deliberate steps, one hand trailing along the back of the couch, then across his shoulders. You felt him shiver when you passed behind him, the way his breath caught when your fingertips skimmed the side of his neck. But you never stayed in one place too long. Never gave him enough.

When you came back to face him you noticed the tension in his jaw. The restless twitch in his hands like he wanted to grab for you. You didn’t let him.

“You’re so good at pretending, aren't you?” you asked. “So good at acting like nothing gets to you. Like you don’t need anyone.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“But when we’re alone,” you continued, leaning in just enough for your breath to ghost across his cheek, “you look at me like you’d fall apart if I told you to.”

You let your fingers glide along his jaw, soft and teasing, before pulling away again. His eyes followed you like he couldn’t help it. Pupils blown wide, lips parted. But still, he stayed quiet.

Until you said, “You want something, Thanos?”

He blinked. “Y-yeah.” 

“What do you want?”

He hesitated. That pride still lingering, that little voice in his head trying to keep him in control.

You stepped closer again, tilting his chin up with a single finger. “Use your words.”

“I want…” he paused, flushed. “I want you to touch me.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, head tilting. “You mean like this?” you dragged your nails lightly down his throat, just enough pressure to make him flinch.

He exhaled shakily. “Yeah.” 

You pulled your hand away again, just to watch him squirm.

“I’ve already been touching you,” you said. “But that’s not what you meant, is it?”

Thanos looked up at you with pleading eyes. “No.”

Leaning down again, so close your noses nearly touched. “Then say it.”

He closed his eyes, chest rising and falling like it physically hurt him to say it. “I want you to touch me like I’m yours.”

Your stomach fluttered at the sound of it–broken, quiet, like it cost him something to admit. And it thrilled you.

You cupped his face, both hands now, and leaned in so your forehead touched his. “That wasn’t so hard,” you whispered. “You’re doing so good for me.”

A soft sound slipped from his throat, halfway between a sigh and a moan. His fingers curled into fists on his thighs, like he didn’t know what to do with all the heat suddenly crawling up his spine.

“You want more?” you asked.

He nodded, desperate now. “Please.” 

Your lips brushed against his, light as a whisper. Not a kiss. Just a promise. “Then you’re gonna keep listening. You’re gonna beg for everything I give you. And you’re not gonna touch me unless I say so.”

“Yes,” he whispered, breathless. “Yes, anything.”

You didn’t wait for him to beg more. You didn’t need it. He’d already given you everything. You kissed him–not sweet, not soft. Deep. Claiming. You took his breath like you owned it. Like he’d given it up willingly. And he had.

He moaned into your mouth, hands twitching on his thighs, desperate to touch you, to pull you closer, but holding back because you told him not to. You felt it in the way his body trembled beneath you, in the way his head tipped back when you bit his bottom lip just hard enough to make him gasp. His fingers barely moved to ghost across the skin of your arms.

You pulled away, just barely, lips brushing his. “Keep your hands to yourself, baby.”

“I–fuck, okay,” he whispered, eyes glassy.

You straddled him now, settling in his lap, your thighs on either side of his. His hands gripped the couch cushions like they were the only thing grounding him. You watched him fall apart under you, breath shallow, lips kiss-bruised, eyes pleading.

Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the sharp line of his waist. You felt the way his stomach tensed, how he sucked in a breath like your touch burned him alive.

“So reactive,” you murmured, dragging your nails up over his abs, slow, deliberate. “You get like this for anyone else?”

Thanos shook his head immediately, voice barely audible. “No. Just you.”

You smiled, pleased. “That’s right. Because no one else knows how to handle you.”

You pushed his shirt higher, watching the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch. “You’re always in control, huh?” you muttered, fingers teasing the waistband of his jeans. “Always the one people listen to.”

His chest heaved as he swallowed.

“But right now?” you leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “You’re just my good boy.”

Thanos groaned, hands fisting the cushions now, knuckles white. You were driving him insane, and you hadn't even done anything yet. He was wrecked from your voice, your touch, the way you hovered just above what he needed without giving it.

Your hand slid under his shirt, palm flat against chest now. His skin was hot, heartbeat thudding wild against your fingers. His head tipped back against the couch, mouth open, like he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Say it,” you whispered. “Say what you are.”

He hesitated for half a second, but you saw it. The way he broke. The way his body leaned into yours, craving the weight of control.

“I’m your good boy,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “Please–please don’t stop.”

You kissed his throat, soft and slow. “Good,” you breathed. “Now beg.”

“Please,” he whispered again, breath hitching as your hands moved over his chest, nails dragging just enough to sting. “Please touch me more. Please say my name. Please just…keep doing this. Keep telling me what to do.”

“You’re doing so good,” you cooed, kissing the edge of his jaw. “So pretty when you fall apart for me.”

Thanos whimpered–whimpered–like the sound surprised him, like he didn’t even know he had that kind of noise in him.

“You want to be mine?” you asked, fingers teasing at the button of his jeans, not undoing it yet. Just enough pressure to make him ache.

“I already am,” he mumbled, eyes blown wide. “Please let me prove it.”

Finally, you popped the button of his jeans. Slowly. Like you weren’t in any rush, because you weren’t. He was panting now, squirming under you, hips twitching like he couldn’t help it. Like he was trying so hard no to thrust up into your hand, to be good like you told him. Every muscle in his body was wound tight, every breath ragged.

You palmed him over his brief, just once. Firm and slow, causing his whole body to jerk.

“Fuck,” he gasped, forehead falling against your shoulder. “Fuck, baby, I–please.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hand resting right where he needed it most but not moving. Not yet.

“Please what?”

He looked up at you, lips red, eyes wide and desperate. “Please let me come. I–I can’t take it, I need it, I need you–please.”

“Shh,” you said sweetly, brushing his hair back from his face. “Not yet.”

Thanos’ whole face crumpled. “Please, I’ve been good,” he whispered. “I’ve done everything you said–please let me come. I’ll do anything.”

Your lips brushed over the corner of his mouth as you leaned in. “You’re doing so good, baby. But I need you to hold it for me, okay?”

He whimpered. Whimpered like a goddamn prayer. “I’ll try.”

“I know you will,” you murmured, stroking him through his briefs. Slow and cruel. “Because you want to be good for me, don’t you?”

“Yes–yes, fuck. I just want to make you proud.”

“You already have,” you replied against his jaw, kissing his skin gently. “You’re so good like this. So sweet for me. So pretty when you beg.”

Thanos was falling apart. Completely. One hand gripped the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it, the other hovering uselessly at his side, twitching like he wanted to touch you so badly but knew better.

Your hand slipped under the waistband, finally wrapping around his cock–and he cried out, biting his lip hard.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” you warned, stroking, making him tremble. “Not until I say.”

He nodded frantically. “I–I won’t. I promise.”

You smiled, proud, dragging your thumb over the tip of his cock just to watch him fall apart again. 

“You’ll wait for me,” you said, voice low and commanding. “Because you’re mine.”

“Yes,” he gasped, eyes squeezed shut. “Yours, only yours! Please, please please…” Thanos was shaking now. On the edge. So close it hurt.

“Good boy,” you whispered, leaning in close, breath hot against his ear. “You can come now.” 

He broke instantly. With a strangled cry, he collapsed into you, arms finally wrapping around your waist as his whole body convulsed with relief. His moan was filthy, ruined, and so goddamn beautiful it made your stomach flip.

You held him through it, kissing his temple, stroking his hair, praising him softly as he breathed hard against your neck. “So good for me,” you whispered. “So perfect. My sweet, obedient boy.”

And he just held on, like that was all he ever wanted to be.

The water steamed around you both, fogging up the mirror and curling along the bathroom tiles. The sound of the shower was soft and steady, a hush that filled the silence between you as you stepped in first, holding the curtain open behind you.

You didn’t wait. “Strip,” you said, calm and certain. “And get in with me.”

Thanos froze where he stood in the doorway, shirt already gone but jeans still hanging low on his hips. His jaw tensed. He looked like he wanted to speak, maybe to explain or deflect, but your tone didn’t leave room for either.

“Now, baby,” you added, softer but still firm. “I’m not asking.”

He swallowed, eyes flickering up to meet yours. His hesitation lingered a moment longer, then his fingers moved to undo his fly. Silent. Obedient. When he stepped into the shower, steam curled around the both of you, clinging to skin and breath and tension.

He stood there stiffly, not meeting your eyes. You reached for him. Palms to his chest, your hands pressed flat against his skin, warm from the water, and he trembled slightly beneath the contact. You leaned up to press a soft kiss over his heart. He exhaled like you’d knocked the breath from his lungs.

“You trusted me,” you murmured. “That’s not something to be embarrassed about.”

He closed his eyes. “I’ve never done that before.” 

You smiled, brushing our thumb over one of his tattoos. “I know.”

“And I…” his voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t want to stop. I still don’t.” Your heart swelled at that.

“Then don’t,” you said gently, but with that same edge of command. “You don’t have to go back to pretending with me. You can be like this. Soft. Needy. Mine.” 

His eyes opened, searching yours. “You want me like that?” 

“I love you like this,” you told him honestly, fingertips trailing water down his ribs. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Thanos finally touched you. Hesitant hands at your waist, like he needed permission to hold on. “Even when I fall apart like that?”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his chin. “Especially then.”

He let out a shaky breath–half laugh, half sob–and pulled you close. You held him under the spray of the water, feeling his chest rise and fall against yours, his breath warm against your neck. Then you nudged him gently, guiding him to switch spots with you so he was in the stream and you were out of it.

“You’re gonna let me take care of you,” you said, already reaching for the shampoo. He nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

And when you lathered his hair, when you rinsed him off, when you kissed his temple and told him he was good–he leaned into you like no one had ever done this for him before. 

When he whispered your name like a prayer and said, “don’t leave me,” you didn’t hesitate.

“I won’t,” you assured him. “You’re mine now, good boy.” And he believed it.

A month later the two of you found yourselves at a party. It wasn’t your usual scene–crowded house, music blaring, someone’s drunk cousin doing karaoke in the kitchen, but Thanos’ friends had dragged him out, and by extension, you came too. You’d been here maybe twenty minutes, and already you could feel him slipping into that cocky posture he wore around them. Arms crossed. Mouth sharp. Laugh too loud.

He was leaning against the wall in the living room, a beer in hand, jaw tight as he traded jabs with one the guys across from him.

You walked up behind him slowly, letting your fingers graze his back just enough to make him twitch. He glanced at you over his shoulder, just a quick peek, but you caught the way his hand gripped the bottle tighter.

“Having fun, baby?” you asked sweetly, your voice barely audible over the music. 

He nodded, cleared his throat. “S’alright.” You smiled. Then leaned up on your tiptoes, lips against his ear. “Don’t lie.” His jaw clenched.

His friend wasn’t watching, as he was already drunk and his attention was elsewhere. 

So, slipped your hand lower, pressing your fingers ever so lightly over the waistband of his jeans. Just a tease. Nothing anyone else could see.

“I know you’re already hard for me,” you said. “Trying so hard to act normal. But I felt you shift the second I walked in the room.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t answer. Didn’t deny it.

“You’re gonna listen tonight, just like always,” you murmured. “And if I tell you not to come till I say so, you won’t. Right?” 

Thanos’ breath hitch, subtle but not lost on you. 

“I asked you a question.”

He turned slightly, trying to shoot you a warning look. One that said not her, not now–but the panic in his eyes was delicious. You saw it all unraveling under the surface. That shaky edge he was trying so hard to hide.

“I’ll wait,” he muttered finally, quiet enough that only you could hear. “I’ll be good.”

“Good boy,” you replied.

You let your hand drift lower, just a little. Pressed the heel of your palm to him. The shudder that rolled through his body was immediate. 

He cleared his throat again, louder this time, trying to brush off the way he shifted his hips like he could escape your touch. His friends didn’t notice, thank god. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything.

“Something wrong?” one of them asked, chuckling.

Thanos gritted his teeth. “Nah. Just hot in here.” You grinned to yourself.

“You’re gonna keep talking like normal,” you said, all sugar and venom in his ear. “And you’re gonna smile when they joke around and pretend I’m not palming your cock in a room full of people.”

He grunted under his breath.

“And if you come in your pants, you’ll regret it.”

He nodded, barely. But you weren’t done. You leaned in once more, breath hot on his neck.

“And when we get home,” you teased. “You’re gonna drop to your knees and beg me to let you finish. I might make you do it with my foot on your chest. Or maybe not at all. Maybe you don’t deserve it.”

A sharp breath escaped him then. It wasn’t quite a whimper, but it was damn close. And god, he looked beautiful like this. Flushed. Shaking. Trying to keep his cool with the weight of your words sitting heavy in his lap.

You let him go–just as easily as you touched him. Turned around and walked away, toward the kitchen like nothing happened, leaving him standing there wrecked and needy with a beer bottle in his hand and no way out.

Soon you reappeared in the living room like nothing had happened. No sultry whispers, no sinful touch, no threat of denied release. Just a soft smile and a drink in your hand.

Thanos was now posted up on the couch, arm slung lazily over the backrest, trying to look unaffected. Like he wasn’t sweating bullets in his hoodie. Like his leg wasn’t bouncing slightly from the effort it took to not fidget.

You slid in beside him and sat close. Your thigh brushed his, your perfume curled under his nose. He tensed.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you purred, voice just low enough for him to catch over the music.

He didn’t answer. Just nodded once, the barest hint of a sound in his throat. You saw the way his hand twitched on his knees, fingers curling slightly. Like he was holding on to every ounce of composure.

His friends were loud, laughing about something one of them said, but one of them–Chan, maybe–glanced at Thanos and narrowed his eyes. “You good, man?” he asked, grinning. “You look kinda…tense.”

“Yeah, you sick or something?” another chimed in, nudging his leg. “You been acting weird all night.”

Thanos forced a laugh. “Nah, I’m good. Just–tired.” You sipped your drink, leaned into his side a little more.

“Tired, huh?” you echoed softly, just for him. “Or is that you can’t stop thinking about how close my mouth was to your cock ten minutes ago?”

He coughed. Coughed. The boys turned to him again, laughing. “Bro, are you seriously blushing right now?” Nam Gyu joked.

Thanos shot them a look, rolling his eyes to brush off the comment. “It’s hot in here. Chill.” 

But then one of the guys, Yunho you think, pulled out a small bag, shaking it slightly.

“You sure you’re alright, man?” he asked with a raised brow, opening the bag to reveal a small stash of weed. “You’re looking like you need to relax. Maybe take a hit. Might calm you down.”

Thanos hesitated. You could see it in his eyes–that hint of temptation. You knew he wasn’t above a little weed here and there, but he’d never let his guard down around his friends. Not like this. Not when you were this close, making him unravel piece by piece.

The offer hung in the air for a moment. The boys were still laughing, distracted. Yunho took a casual drag and passed the joint over. 

Thanos glanced down at it. His grip on his beer tightened. You didn’t say anything. Just watched. You leaned back a little, but your eyes were fixed on him, calm and steady.

His hand hovered for a moment longer. You saw his jaw twitch, then he took a long breath in, and with one smooth motion, he pushed the joint away.

“No, I’m good,” he muttered, voice sharp. He forced again, “I’m just–like I said–tired.”

The guys didn’t press it. They shrugged it off, but the moment had passed. Thanos was still trying to act like the tough guy, but you both knew it was a lie. He was barely holding it together.

You leaned in once more, your breath hot against his skin. “You’re gonna keep talking like normal,” you said, “and you’re gonna smile when they joke around and pretend like I’m not sitting on your cock in a room full of your friends.” 

He shuddered. His face flushed as you moved, sitting on his lap now. You sat with your back to his chest, sipping your drink as you looked around the party.

“Dude, what is your problem tonight?” Chan asked again, laughing but confused now.

“Nothing,” Thanos snapped a little too quickly, rubbing his face like he was trying to wipe away the heat crawling up his neck.

You shifted slightly in his lap. “Thanos is just having a long night,” you said sweetly, and the double meaning didn’t miss him. His hand squeezed the beer bottle again, threatening to shatter it. 

The night felt like it was dragging on, the sound of music and laughter from the house party fading into a distant hum as you turned to Thanos. His eyes were still darting around, trying to act normal, but his flushed face, the slight tremble in his hands, and the way he kept stealing glances at you told a different story.

You’d had enough of this charade.

The group was still chatting, oblivious to the tension between you two, but you could tell Thanos was beginning to crack. His posture was stiff, like he was holding himself together by sheer will.

“Ready to go?” you asked softly.

His eyes locked onto yours, momentarily startled. “Uh, yeah. I guess.” He cleared his throat, a little too loudly, trying to act casual. You smiled to yourself, sensing the vulnerability. The two of you walked outside hand in hand and when you stopped at his car you held out your hand.

“I’m gonna drive. Give me your keys.” He blinked at you, still flustered, clearly trying to recover from the conversation you had earlier. His lips parted, and for a moment, he seemed like he was going to hang them over without question, but then he shook his head.

“No.” His voice was firm, maybe a little too firm.

You arched an eyebrow, a smile curling on your lips. He couldn’t even meet your eyes, shifting uncomfortably in front of you. It was like the tiniest crack in his armor, and you were going to take full advantage of it.

“Excuse me?” you asked, keeping your tone even but dripping with authority. “You don’t get to say no.”

Thanos looked at you, his confusion evident. “I just…you know I don’t let anyone drive my car. Remember?” 

You leaned in a little closer, just enough to get in his space. “You don’t get to make decisions right now. I make them for you. Now–give me your keys, Thanos.”

His breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted around as if searching for an escape, but all he found was you standing in front of him. Tension building even more.

“You–” he cut himself off, visibly flustered now, his throat working like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. The confidence that was usually so effortless for him had evaporated.

You pressed further, your hand brushing his to reach for the keys. “I’m not asking,” you said softly. “You will give me your keys. Now.”

Thanos let out a shaky breath, finally looking down at your hand. His fingers twitched, like they were ready to fight you–maybe argue a little more. But all that bravado faltered in the face of your quiet demand.

“Now, Thanos.”

He opened his mouth before closing it again. With a defeated sigh, he plopped the keys into your hand unable to make eye contact.

“There. Happy?” he muttered, but his voice held none of its usual edge.

You smiled sweetly. “I’m very happy.”

With that, you got into his car not sparing him another glance. He followed suit, not daring to say another word.

The car ride was quiet. Too quiet. You glanced over at him, letting your eyes linger for a moment, just long enough to make him squirm. You watched as he fidgeted with his fingers and bounced his leg nervously.

“You know, you didn’t have to act like that back there,” you spoke quietly. “You’re not fooling anyone, Thanos.”

He opened his mouth to respond but closed it quickly, not trusting himself to speak.

“Just relax,” you murmured. “It’s just me. Just let yourself go, for me.”

You could see the way his shoulders tensed with the words, and he let out a frustrated sigh, his hands gripping the seat a little too hard.

Finally you pulled into the apartment building parking lot. The silence between you was almost unbearable now–he was fighting himself, struggling to keep up his image. But you knew better. You always did.

The moment you stepped out of the car, he followed you like a shadow, his steps obedient. You led him up to the door, unlocking it without a word, before you turned to face him, the weight of the night settling around you both.

“Inside,” you ordered softly. He stepped through the door before you, his back slightly hunched as though waiting for further orders.

You followed him inside and locked the door behind you, eyes never leaving him as you leaned against the door, arms crossed. He stood there, eyes glued to the floor, breathing shallow. 

“Get on your knees,” you commanded. “Kneel pretty for me.”

Thanos waited a brief moment, his throat working like he wanted to protest but when he met your gaze, that look in your eyes it made him do as you said. He dropped down slowly, struggling to keep his composure, but you could see how badly he wanted it.

“Good boy,” you praised, that alone was enough to make him shudder. “Now…you’re going to apologize for your little act back there.”

His eyes widened in confusion and a flash of something else–a flash of panic–before he spoke up. “What act?” his voice sounded tight, almost defensive, but the apology was already starting to slip out.

“Don’t play dumb,” you chided, teasingly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The act you put on about your keys, your car. The act you put on in front of your friends, like you weren’t ready to fall apart in front of me.”

Thanos swallowed hard, the reality of what you were asking hitting him. His breath halted, and he lowered his head, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in his tone made you smile. “I shouldn’t have…acted like that. I–I wasn’t thinking.”

You stepped closer, leaning down to tilt his chin up, making him look you in the eyes. “That’s right,” you hummed. “Now, we’ll see if you can remember who’s in charge, won’t we?”

Thanos stayed still beneath you, kneeling, his dark lashes fluttering as you stepped closer–slow, deliberate, like a predator circling prey. His breath stuttered when you reached for his chin again, guiding his face to stay tilted up toward yours.

“You remember your place now?” you asked, dragging your thumb across his bottom lip.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice cracked around the word.

You smile, wicked and satisfied. “Good. Because you’re not getting what you want tonight. Not unless I decide you’ve earned it.”

A whimper escaped him. Soft, involuntary. The kind that came from deep in his chest, like the need had been building for hours. Maybe even days. His hands twitched on his thighs like he didn’t know what to do with them.

You nudged his shoulder with your hand. “Get up,” you said firmly. “Crawl, if you have to. We’re going to the bedroom.”

Thanos moved instantly, standing up from his place like his body belonged to you. Head bowed as he followed you down the hall. You didn’t look back until you reached the door, and even then, it was only to watch the way he hovered behind you, barely breathing, eyes wide and dark.

“Sit,”  you ordered once you were inside. He sank to his knees again, right there beside the bed, trembling slightly from the effort of staying still.

You didn’t waste time undressing. You peeled your shirt off first, slow and fluid, and his eyes tracked every movement like he was starving for it. Each piece you pulled off was for yourself, not for him. But you knew what it did to you. You wanted him to ache.

“You look like you’re in pain,” you teased, stepping closer as you unhooked your bra. “You want to touch me so badly, don’t you?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

You raised your eyebrows. “And what did I say about begging?”

He whimpered again, biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself. His forehead dropped for a second like he needed to ground himself. His whole body was tense, straining, flushed.

You settled on the bed, legs spread slightly, reclining back just enough to give him the view he was dying for. He held his breath.

You slipped a hand between your thighs and sighed–a sound of pure satisfaction. Thanos groaned under his breath, shifting like his own skin had become unbearable. He watched you fall apart while he couldn’t even move.

That was the punishment. That was the reward. You took what you needed from yourself right in front of him, sighing, moaning, whispering soft praises into the air while he sat there, trembling, desperate, undone.

When you came, you didn’t hold back. You let him hear it, the pleasure in your voice, the tremble of your thighs, the way your hand didn’t stop until you were gasping. You locked eyes with him through it all, and the noise he let out? Absolutely ruined.

Finally you leaned back against the pillows, catching your breath. He stared at you like you were divine. Holy. Unreachable. “Did you like that?” you asked smugly.

Thanos nodded, eyes glassy and lips parted. “So much,” he whispered. “Please…please, I–”

“Ah, ah,” you warned. “You don’t get to beg yet. Not until I say so.”

Again he whimpered. So hard he looked like he was going to break apart right there on the floor. He was sweating, skin flushed, his knees spread slightly now as if his body had stopped obeying him completely. 

You dragged your fingers up your stomach and licked them clean, watching him squirm. “You’ll sit there and suffer like a good boy,” you said sweetly. “Because I got to come tonight. And you? You got to watch.”

His jaw dropped. “Please…” he whispered again, and this time, it didn’t sound like he was talking to you. It sounded like he was praying.

Thanos remained on his knees, still trembling, still aching, while you lounged back on the bed–completely satisfied, completely in control.

He couldn’t look away from you. Could barely breathe.

“You know…” you started to say in a syrup-sweet voice. “I wonder what your boys would say if they saw you like this.”

His head snapped up, panic flashing through his eyes.

You smiled wider. “The big, mean thug who’s always starting fights? The one with the temper and the reputation?” you dragged your nails lightly across your thigh, watching his reaction. “What would they think if they saw you like this? On your knees. Whimpering. Desperate.”

“Please,” he rasped, but you weren’t done yet.

“I should record you,” you teased, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. His eyes went wide, pupils blown. “Send it in the group chat. I bet they’d love to see what their fearless leader turns into behind closed doors.”

“No–please, no,” he gasped, breath catching as he leaned forward slightly. “You wouldn’t…”

You leaned in towards him, just enough to make him squirm, brushing his cheek with your fingers. “Of course I wouldn’t, baby. You think I’d ever share this with anyone else?”

He sagged with relief, but his face was redder than before.

You tilted your head, watching him suffer. “But I like seeing you panic. Gets me wet.”

Thanos groaned, raw and helpless, and that’s when you knew he couldn’t take another second. You moved to the edge of the bed and crooked a finger. “Come here.”

He scrambled forward so fast it was pathetic–so eager to be close again. You let him settle between your knees, cradling his jaw in your hands.

“You did so good tonight,” you murmured, finally soft, finally rewarding. “Took everything like a good boy.”

He nodded, eyes glassy. “I tried.”

“You did more than try. You obeyed me. You suffered for me.” You traced his lips with your thumb. “Now you get what you’ve been begging for.”

He moaned just at your words alone, rocking forward slightly–but you held him still.

“Easy,” you whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”

And when you finally let him fall apart, it was with your hand around him, your breath on his neck, your lips murmuring constant praise right into his skin. You told him how pretty he looked like this. How much you loved seeing him undone. How sweet he sounded when he whimpered your name.

Thanos came hard–shaking, gasping, half wrecked with how intense it hit him. You held him through it, stroking his hair, kissing the side of his face. “There you go,” you whispered. “That’s it. That’s my good boy.”

Later, after you’d cleaned him up, curled into the bed beside his spent body, you ran your fingers down his spine and whispered against his shoulder. “Still wanna act tough around your friends?” you teased.

Thanos groaned into the pillow. “Shut up.” 

You smiled, dragging your nails gently across his skin. “That’s what I thought.”